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There's Travel Yet to Come

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All things considered that their partnership had started as a marriage of convenience, Castiel finding Crowley's contacts within the demon world useful and Crowley finding it useful to not die, it was as much of a surprise to Crowley as he suspected it was to the angel that they should end up on more than civil terms a week before the turning point of the apocalypse was due.

Castiel had thus far kept up his end of the bargain; Sam and Dean would not say yes, and he had gathered all the rogue angels and lesser deities with a taste for good he could manage. Crowley, in turn, had passed on the news of Lucifer's plans for demon-kind through his contacts. And yes, it was a shame he could not greet Meg in person given her position as one of Lucifer's favoured lackeys, but there was no doubt she had received his tape. The anger and fury he missed seeing first hand made itself known soon enough, and many cowards who would not turn against Lucifer at Crowley's recommendation were swift to make allegiance with Azazel's daughter.

Castiel ought to have left once they were through updating one another on the situation as it stood, but Crowley found himself with company for a dinner neither of them truly needed to eat. It wasn't the first time; Castiel had developed a sense of taste recently, blamed it on Famine's lingering influence. Crowley had no complaints, suspected the angel appreciated having someone around who had experienced centuries, not just decades, though the difference between living and watching was clear. Castiel spoke of coming events with a naive weight - knew what was coming and feared it, but did not truly understand. He was no fool though, asked questions whenever he realised he was mistaken or uninformed.

"This could be my last week on Earth," Castiel stated, matter of fact, as he stirred a spoonful of sugar into his tea with undue concentration.

"Leave optimism to the demon," Crowley replied, more interested in the frown on Castiel's face than his own tea for the moment. Cogs were visibly ticking, and it was fascinating to see a creature think that had for aeons been designed to do anything other than make its own decisions.

"I feel restless," Castiel said. "I don't fear death, but -"

Crowley smiled a little at that, placing the angel's look at last. Castiel did not seem to know it, but Crowley had seen it on the faces of many of the older humans he'd come to collect from; an eighty year old man who'd sold his soul for forty years his cancer should have taken from him gave little thought to death, but plenty to life; little to what happened next, but plenty to what could have been. "You wonder what you could have done differently," Crowley finished for him. "What are you going to do with your last days?"

"Help the Winchesters and search for God."

Crowley had to wonder at Castiel's blatant attempts to avoid the very conversation he wanted to have. "Anything else? Nothing for yourself - sex, drugs, rock and roll?"

"That would be unwise," Castiel replied, and if it weren't for the fact Crowley could read in a flicker what others would miss in a stare, it might have slipped by without notice.

Castiel had had this conversation before.

"What happened last time?" Crowley asked, calling the angel out.

The slightly anxious relief was visible. "Dean took me to a den of iniquity. He was adamant I should not die a virgin."

Crowley was very, very relieved to have been holding his tea but not drinking it, as it meant first and foremost he didn't spit it out at that particular revelation, and second, that he had something to concentrate on while gathering himself. "Was he successful?"

"No. As I said, it was unwise."

Crowley put down his cup, wholly uninterested in its contents now. "How did Dean know you were a virgin?"

"He asked."

"And you didn't lie?"

"I'm an angel."

Crowley raised an eyebrow instead of answering that one before standing up, patting Castiel on the shoulder. "Come on."

"I haven't finished -"

"You weren't drinking," Crowley pointed out, waiting for Castiel to stand before stepping into what ought to have been the angel's personal space if angels understood that concept, taking in that mixture of neutral scents making him up. Sweat and breath without the sourness of bacteria or impurities.

"I should leave," Castiel said.

"Yes," Crowley agreed. "You should."

The angel didn't move when he leant in further, but had no qualms about following Crowley's guidance when they kissed.

Made a nice change from stockbrokers and bankers.

"Crowley, I need -" Castiel started, before tensing up.

"I know," Crowley said, wrapping a hand around Castiel's wrist and stroking his thumb across the pulse. "Scary, isn't it?"

Castiel took charge of the kiss this time, hard and hungry, inexperienced but not clumsy, and Crowley had to be thankful for that; after centuries of sealing contracts with kisses, clashing teeth and bumping noses got tiring.

It was still disarming to settle his free hand on Castiel's waist and in an instant go from feeling warm through cotton to feeling skin.

"Clever trick."

"I'm not deceiving you," Castiel replied, looking puzzled and a little offended, and Crowley had to laugh.

"I meant the vanishing shirt." And truth be told, even if shirtless angel looked and felt delicious, the pale of that skin did not belong in a lamp-lit dining room against mahogany furniture. "Come with me."

"Where?" Castiel asked, kiss-flushed but still smart enough to be cautious. Crowley had to hand it to the angel; he actually liked him.

"I may not use it for sleeping but I do have a bedroom."


If Castiel had been quick to take charge of their kiss he was all the quicker to take charge of the sheets, Crowley scarce getting a second's view of the angel naked against black and bottle-green embroidery before finding himself dragged down and under that same angel's weight. Castiel seemed to consider buttons and zips an inconvenience, tearing and scattering layers until Crowley was similarly stripped, and as entertaining as that one time with Bela and the Colt had been, there was more threat and more promise in the very skin of his angel.

"Say yes," Castiel said between driving Crowley mad with slow, exploring kisses and strokes of his fingers, as careful with Crowley's skin as he'd been careless with his clothes.

"To what?" Crowley asked, hissing despite himself when Castiel moved one hand to his neck, fingers trailing up behind his ear and back down, seeming almost to see what made this body tick and -


Really clever trick.

"I want to know you," Castiel replied, and Crowley had to admit, this wasn't quite how he'd seen things going. Still, he had his suspicions the angel would be happy to let him reciprocate later; and it was nice to know he wasn't so old he couldn't be surprised once in a while.

"On two conditions," Crowley said, taking Castiel's free hand from between his legs and closing all but two of the fingers on it. "First, there's lube in the cabinet by the door, and you're going to be very generous with it." Castiel nodded, expression amusingly serious despite the blush tinging his cheeks and a patch across the top of his chest. "Second? It's the twenty-first century, kid. Call it fucking."

The blush deepened, spreading to the rest of the angel's face. "Can I fuck you?"

Crowley sucked the two fingers he'd left free on Castiel's hand between his lips, smirked when it earned a quiet gasp given he had no desire to completely give control over to the angel, before pushing Castiel back off him. "Say please."

"You said two conditions," Castiel replied, narrowing his eyes and seeming to gather himself.

Crowley grinned. "Yes."


Crowley didn't allow himself to feel smug often. Proud, yes, but not smug. He'd lived long enough to know you could enjoy your work and be satisfied in your achievements without penalty, but being smug invited disaster. He'd survived this long outside Hell by making sure his friends downstairs thought him quiet until long after he'd established enough contacts to disappear at will; it didn't do to unnecessarily attract Hell's attention anyway.

Still, he couldn't resist a little smugness just this once, because in all fairness, how many demons could honestly say they'd successfully - and consensually - deflowered an angel?

Admittedly Castiel was only the angel of Thursday, scarcely high-ranking, and currently on the run from Heaven, but that was all moot - Castiel hadn't rejected God and, on account, wasn't Fallen.

Crowley folded his hands on his stomach, ignoring the faint stickiness of his own come as it dried, smirked as he watched Castiel get out of bed and walk to the en-suite shower.

The angel had got what he wanted, and Crowley was more than happy to reap the benefits.


The End