#crowcas

Crowley didn’t start off particularly fond of Cas, he was useful at times and borderline rabid at others, a nuclear powered mutt with the emotional regulation of an abandoned housecat. That didn’t mean he wasn’t absolutely fascinating to Crowley though, much the opposite - a piece of divine engineering gone rotten around the edges and was so disgustingly content with being the Winchester’s bitey little pet that there had to be something investigatably wrong with him.

Or rather, something within his wiring, angels were like that, you know, all bluster and doctrine and long speeches about free will and duty when really they absolutely hated choosing to do things for themselves. Free will as an infection and all that, why not encode an inbuilt exploit to re-lobotomize them into subservience over and over again, smart thinking really.

Though Cas’ was clearly defective, all that brain scrambling and lurking around the wrong sort of humans had proven - repeatedly - that his own judgement was worse than most by leaps and bounds.

Poor judgement that Crowley was benefitting from immensely, if not in power then most certainly in entertainment. The Winchesters were mad at him for some reason or another, again, probably got caught watching them fuck like some miserable peeping to. Humans loved to think of angels as sexless beings, despite the fact that Dean had fucked an angel himself and have proved time and time again to not be pure under any meaning of the world. Despite all this they remained hopelessly protestant about a great many things

Crowley had learned. Rather wonderfully, that by treating their angel as something above the need for sex and affection led to the miserable thing getting so very desperate. He was still in a human body after all and angels, in spite (perhaps because) of the way that they were, had approximations, those grand gladiatorial fights that were never discussed for what they were but didn't need a genius to figure out was sex-via-combat

It would be remiss to not abuse the fact a little, and angel willingly, (willingly!) dragging itself to his gates because his oh so beloved owners didn't think he needed to be played with. Too obsessively attached to each other to think to throw him a bone.

Such was the fate of anyone who spent too long around them, they orbited each other with such intensity that everyone around them got dragged into the gravity well whether they liked it or not but could never touch unless they wanted to risk obliteration. Cas had fallen harder and worse because he had no other options. Till now apparently.

Even so he didn't expect the way Cas folded. Wet paper with only the nearest token resistance. You'd think, rightfully so, that a high ranking seraph, traitor, bastard, murderer, would at least pretend at control.

Last time they had any sustained…shall we say contact, he'd had a grand old time getting threatened by an angel high on misguided purpose and unprocessed grief. One of the more fun stretches of that rather messy era. Regardless, he'd (foolishly) assumed that this would be the same, all violent romping and threats of violence with proper bite to them.

It wasn't. Not even close. And now Crowley was growing intimately familiar with why so many of the older dukes had entire aviaries for their pet angels.

The poor thing had placed himself at Crowley's feet, cheek resting on his lap half asleep as blunt fingers carded through his hair, greying at the temples, unkempt. His vessel was aging poorly and he wasn't maintaining himself. Disgusting creature

Honestly as long as he could remember the aristocracy had kept fallen angels like particularly spoiled nuclear weapons and he didn't have a clue as to how. Sure he'd met angels, the ones that had fallen topside were feisty little nervous wrecks, stubby and not exactly conducive to keeping.

He didn't know angels could fall down here directly till he held court and half the older dukes brought their pets with them, angels, clearly, they had some sort of field around them that you could feel, big, spoiled, languid things. Nothing like the ones on earth. Angels could fall down here directly instead of detouring to earth. He'd never heard about them because they were snapped up by collectors and the thriving pet trade down here.

Because well, they lost some of their grace falling but not all of it, not enough to turn against their masters but enough to be a deterrent. Though he had no idea how those sleepy, overfed things could ever fight anything. Or have wanted to, rather.

Apparently this little bit of stubbornness has Cas branded as pigheaded up there - they didn't fix it because it was useful in campaigns but otherwise Cas was supposed to be difficult.

He wasn't, not in any way that mattered, sure he was more contrarian and half because of his production and half because the Winchesters had gotten into his wiring and made him weird about things in their protestant way. He had to be coerced and teased and spoiled; Christ how easy he was to spoil. No better than his kept brethren but with a complex about it.

He melted in increments that were so wonderful to watch, first he'd come to one of Crowley's residences pent up enough that he'd gone stupid with it from watching the Winchesters fuck all over the bunker and not pay any attention. Looked a bit like a miserable cucked owl, it was endearing. Not that he said that.

You can't expect a demon to not have sex with an emotionally unavailable celestial entity, especially if the aforementioned entity rocked up at his door of his own volition, practically tracking lust and poor decisions on the carpet.

That particular incident had resulted in bloodshed, a hole in Crowley's chest cavity and Cas tearing at his flesh while humping him. No rhyme or rhythm, just overwhelming feral need. He'd assumed all romps that followed would be similar, it made sense for one to assume.

It had been foolish to do. Not the least because after aforementioned cavity search Cas had looked at him with all the empty eyes of a dog staring through a butchers window, but also about how willing he was to let Crowley touch him after they'd stitched themselves back together again.

A poor assumption to make, as he'd find. Not least because after all that Cas had looked at him with big molten sleepy eyes and was willing to let Crowley play with his hair after they’d stitched themselves back together, he had blood at his mouth and let himself be pet till he dozed. The nickname stuck after that.

Cas grew softer after the first time, not all at once, god no, he'd rather gargle the leviathan again than go soft like that - unbefitting for his rank apparently. But it was piss easy to work on him, you just needed to know the slightest bit of animal husbandry.

It explained why the Winchesters failed repeatedly; for all their height and vague lumberjack looks they'd grown up in the back of a tin can shooting things and eating pasta straight from the can, not on a farm. Thus depriving them of an important set of skills that would work on their unruly little pet.

You had to make him think that he wanted something before being the one to give it to him too, get it in his head that he needed to be fed and kept and spoiled and that the winchesters had been neglecting him for far too long and the angel - in that wonderful state of mindfogged neediness, would believe it wholeheartedly.

Then it was insultingly simple, rich food, soft fabrics, pet the damn thing and let him curl up at your feet or in your bed and tease him. For a career general he was remarkably easy to keep in one place and spoil rotten once he got needy enough, which had the added benefit of scaring some of the dukes because they could all tell he had an angel of his own, and a high ranking one.

He’d taken to scenting the place - not literally (maybe) but in his own way, that buzz you felt around him had settled into the very building itself, Crowley’s clothes, his throne room, marking his territory like some hormonal mutt. One that, objectively, scared the others, even if they’d fallen before Cas did his little stunt in heaven they could always tell a general had been here and all of a sudden their rowdiness flipped into silent meekness. Intoxicating.

But it was obvious that he was just the replacement for the Winchesters, which he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would because it gave him an excuse to bully the angel about it. He doubted they even noticed he was gone half the time, did they angel?

Cas didn’t even try to lift his head, too warm and comfortable, that permanent little furrow between his brow was smooth and he was breathing so slow “mm?”

“I said, do the Winchesters even notice you’re gone or do they not notice the fact that you return smelling like my cologne fucked out of your mind like twice a week.”

The only response he got was a low growl and the feeling of his face bury deeper into his thighs, the angel was comfortable it seems, couldn’t have him being reticent when he was this spoiled now could he?

He lifted Cas’ face from the chin (bloodied) “Use your words pet, do they even notice you scurrying off?”

His words sounded…muddy, when he finally responded “I do not believe they cared.”

Aww, sullen. Poor thing was sullen a lot now when he talked about them, he seemed to have finally realised that he had no chance with either brother despite holding out stupid hope for far too long, it was healthy for him to realise that pining was doing him more harm than good.

It was entertaining though. Big bad seraph grumbly because his owners wouldn’t collar him properly

Half of the evening had been spent hand feeding him, Cas maintained he hated it, he was not an invalid and disliked being treated as one, but he helplessly melted into it anyways

The feral fucking thing liked his meat blue - raw preferably. He loved sinking his teeth into muscle and flesh and feeling the crack of bone under his teeth (sharper than they should be,he was leaking through his vessel) nasty little predator that he was, trying his hand at being human, pretending to be civilized. As such he barely ate around the Winchesters - cooked food offended his sensibilities at an ingrained level.

Who, speaking of, must be terribly surprised that their pet was fattening up so nicely, still wearing a dead man’s wardrobe without accounting for the extra heft that comes with being spoiled rotten by a king.

Not that his vessel was slim in the first place, something about squatting in the body of a midwestern man who sold radio ad space made him tend fatter to begin with; honestly, his vessel didn’t seem to have much of a metabolism to speak of

Now he was getting downright fat and it was helplessly endearing to feel him grumble whenever you brought it up

“Still complaining about them not paying you enough attention are we?”

From Crowley's thighs a muffled “No”

“Mmm. Convincing.”

A beat.

“You do know you've still got some blood in your stubble. That was one of my better behaved prisoners too, and you ate him.”

“If you did not wish for me to eat him, why did you release me into his cell”

“Oh I wanted to see if you could control your greedy little self for a minute or two. Clearly not.”

“I am not greedy. Crowley.”

“Mmmm, sure you aren’t, so the most of an imp in your stomach and..” Crowley did a little pause, all theatre, just to watch Cas sulk, “What was it..3 slices of cheesecake? 4? Was absolutely necessary and not just you stuffing your face because I spoil you and let you eat till you can’t move.”

No response.

“You are getting…prosperous, as some say.”

“You are calling me fat.”

“Of course I am sweetheart.”

“Do not call me that.”

“So you prefer pet is what I’m hearing, never heard you complain to that”

“You are increasingly irritating”

“And you’re fat. And in my lap, might I add. Getting scritches.”

“You are no-”

Crowley immediately started scratching softly behind Cas’ ear and pressing and teasing down to the nape of his neck and watched as the angel’s brain turned off. Visibly, he could feel Cas’ head rest heavier in his lap as the touch activated some long dead response all angels seemed to have to being pet.

“Bet the Winchesters don’t do this to you.”

Muffled and embarrassingly soft came out what was definitely a whine “They do not touch me at all.”

“Hence your..extracurriculars?”

“Hence.”

A comfortable silence for a bit. Absurd how this creature could be pet into compliance. Fattened and fed and fucked too but you could do that with anything if you were committed enough to the cause and Cas looked devastatingly pretty on a leash.

You’d think it would be harder to get Cas to wear the collar - heavy duty leather soaked in sigil work. Not enough to incapacitate the angel - where would the fun be in that - but enough to force his higher reasoning to a standstill. 3 months was all it took to make him wear it willingly and 4 and a half to hate taking it off, he liked not being able to think.

Who wouldn’t? Certainly not the multi-billion year old cosmic bastard resting at his feet like a spoiled hound more than anything else

Cas knew the collar made him stupid - a fool not an idiot, Crowley wanted him more open, receptive, less able to fight, of course he knew it, you don’t lose half of your awareness and not notice when it comes back. But he didn’t make a fuss about it; if anything he’d growled at Crowley when he tried to take it off to send him on his merry way back to the Winchesters.

Crowley didn’t want to take if off him any less than Cas wanted to keep him but the brothers would have his hide if they realised he was treating their pet better than they did; nasty problem with pride they had. Also they’d notice him getting all dumb and obedient and humping their blankets while purring uncontrollably. They’d get him neutered and where was the fun in that.

He hooked a finger under the collar and made Cas look at him “Kittystiel.”

“I am older than your planet. Do not call me kitty”

“You're purring sweetheart, your argument is invalid”

“It is involuntary.”

“You know that doesn’t help your argument, just makes you sound pathetic.” Fingers tracing down under that overworked little button up

The angel twitched under him, full body, lifted his head and glared, awww, kitty was getting restless “Use your words”

“I was not saying anything.” Heavy breathing.

“Don’t lie to me.” He forced a thumb through Cas’ lips and bared a canine, sharp, sharper than it usually was “You’re getting restless and I can’t have you tearing through my prisoners willy nilly just because you don’t know how to use your words. So speak”

The poor thing tried to clear his mind and muster up the energy to be annoyed but so clearly fell through, the sigils were doing their job and Cas was too stuffed and spoiled at the moment to summon sufficient irritation. Only able to muster that lazy half lidded plea that Crowley had grown so fond of.

Words weren’t coming to him properly, no thanks to Crowley, who was petting him in ways that made it even harder to form coherent thoughts - scratching the scalp, under the chin (softened, certainly), the back of his neck. Kitty was all confused, wanting to do something, something, something but couldn’t use his words.

He whimpered, soft, wounded. Pathetic.

So imagine his surprise when Cas decided to take things into his own hands - hauling all of himself onto Crowley’s lap, bracketing thick thighs around him and shoving his head in the hollow of his neck like he was starving.

Crowley might’ve yelped a little “Easy. Easy. You’re getting heavy.” He tried to move “Didn’t I say use your words, not park yourself on top of me.”

“You have said.” The words were more felt than heard, a whiny vibration at his collarbone.

“He speaks! Marvelous.”

No response, not a verbal one anyways, he pressed himself harder against the demon beneath him. Not that there was much space in the first place - Cas had been spoiled into obesity and Crowley had always been on the heavier side. Gut to gut.

Cas was stuffed though and what better way to tell, that imp had rounded him out enough he was having trouble moving, breathing. It was hopelessly endearing knowing that the angel would eat himself into immobility if given a chance.

“Out of breath already?”

Cas contemplated murder but decided against it and instead shut Crowley up by mashing their lips together. Less effort.

Angels didn't kiss like humans did, no romance, no affection, not even lust in the way most thought of it. No. It was consumption.

He kissed like he was trying to suck your soul out and maybe eat your tongue as dessert, a biter. Sweet from cheesecake and coppery from demon. In doing so that stupid little purr he had that he denied so vehemently started back up again, he'd stopped at some point and disliked the silence.

Not that Crowley could focus very well, with those fucking talons clawing up his sides, hard enough to bruise and sharp enough to bleed. Christ that hurt. Do it again.,

Now. Crowley should've told his poorly behaved mutt to get off him and maybe lock him in a cage and make him think about his sins. Or lock him in a cage to watch him squirm. Either way, where was the fun in that when he had him in his lap now.

“Soft.”

“Yes dear, heavy is the head that wears the crown and all that. Though you are not in-” Cas felt Crowley jerk under him when he bit him. “M-u-uch of a position to com-”

Another bite, sharper, he smacked him and Cas just licked the wound and stared with profound insolence.

“Behave. God, were you raised in a barn?”

“I was not raised.”

“Explains a lot.”

Crowley had always been fat, Cas had taken advantage of this more than once back when he still had some pretense of threat, turns out it was very easy to manhandle a demon that had places to grab. However, the angel was a new development, a soft new development lovingly put into place by the demon he was perched on, and what a waste it would be to not admire his handiwork when it was parked right in his lap; stretch marks still fresh enough that thumbing over them made him twitch and moan and jerk into him like some pent up little animal.

“Crowleyyyyy. Stop doin’ that” back to whining. God.

“Doing what darling?

“Touching.”

“You're on my lap grinding into me, fully clothed, mind, like a pup. Fuck you're pathetic like this” Cas was offended on principle by his stupid self satisfied rasp but again, couldn't do much about it

“Not.”

Crowley shoved him back a little and dug his hand into the solid curve of his gut, hard.

“Mh-m-mh” sharp, stuttery and overwhelmed. The perfect state for a thing like him to be.

“See. Pathetic.”

Cas bucked into him again with a shuddery breath “N-not.”

“You're fat, needy, spoiled, stuffed full of my prisoners and all over my lap. Practically the definition of the word.”

All of this done to get a rise out of the angel, as such it would obviously boil over at some point, grinding on his lap fully clothed was not expected but not exactly unwelcome - maybe watching the Winchesters fuck like brain damaged animals had given him some ideas. None that he could reliably attempt but were definitely on repeat in his minds eye

Cas wasn’t particularly well endowed in this vessel, to the point that one wondered how Jimmy Novak satisfied his wife with what little he had down here, and given he’d been fattened  up now too it was even harder (ha) to get anything useful done with it. It's not like he had much experience, of course all he could do was scratching and biting and needy grinding with no aim or goal.

Dumb strength did work at times when there was no technique to speak of, more than enough capacity to scratch deep grooves into him in the name of marking him up and oh was he a hopeless masochist at times. Especially when the thing you had needy and pathetic in your lap could destroy your entire bloodline if sufficiently motivated, and that thing had a collar stating your ownership.

One of his finer ideas no doubt.

He moved to unbuckle it, and Cas grabbed his hands when he tried, the expected result. “No. mine.”

He tried to free his hands, no luck. “You know, a lesser demon would think you like this.”

“I don't.”

“Right. Of course. And why exactly are we refusing to take it off then?”

All he got was a noncommittal grumble. The angel equivalent of pleading the fifth, of course he wouldn't admit that he liked being collared and leashed and kept in one place to be fed and fucked and look pretty, that would be an aberration of his function - however if he was being forced then, again, the rules didn't apply to him and he'd grown oh so fond of this all.

It was getting harder for Crowley to focus though, Cas kept moving and grinding into him, bucking against him at random - it would've been easier to withstand if there was a pattern to it, the mind could get used to that. But this, this was all jerky stop starts and random plunges and withdraws, no coherent technique and it was working on his side for once

Maddening. He would not be having that, thank you greatly.

Unlike the angel he actually had self control when he wanted it, also the ability to string 5 words into a sentence which Cas had seemingly forgotten how to do entirely, the collar was working its magic.

Both directly and indirectly, incredibly Pavlovian species, angels were, and given how much he resisted taking it off it was only reasonable to think that the poor dear had grown too used to being dumb and horny he didn't want to go back.

Fitting that all the pleasure an angel of the Lord deserved was the miserable, collared fully clothed dry humping of a demon beneath him because those he truly attached to didn't care about him that way.

Cas' pace had picked up though, it was getting harder to think for the both of them, faster, sloppier, still hiding his face. Wouldn't it be fun to force the collar off him after this and watch him scramble to justify it to himself.

Cas came down here of his own will and boredom, and every time he hated being reminded of it; maintaining he’d been coerced, forced, manipulated when asked. Conveniently leaving out how he'd practically begged for the collar more than once, or how he'd spend hours down here even when Crowley wasn't present, lounging about his furniture and terrifying the help. To him the collar absolved him of any responsibility and as such hated when he was questioned about why exactly he was in a situation where the collar could be put on him in the first place.

Cas was rocking into him at pace now, groping at him blindly and nosing at his neck without a coherent thought in that pretty little head, nipping sharply whenever Crowley dared to try and move away, it was pathetic. Truly. Soft whimpers that were mesmerising coming out of something so powerful. A high keen that accompanied Cas squeezing his thighs so tight that the demon's hips ached.

Then silence, chest heaving and face still conveniently hidden

“You done angel?”

A stiff nod.

“Good. Go clean yourself up sweetheart.”

He didn’t move, clung harder if anything.

“You’re filthy. Get off of me.”

He did obey that time, but not without shooting him a deeply mournful damp eyed stare at the concept of being separated.

“Take your collar off. That’s good leather and you bathe like an animal.”

“No” “Castiel. Take it off. You’ll ruin the thing and we can’t be turning your brain off for too long. It’ll end up permanent and then the Winchesters will turn me into a decorative rug when they find you humping their blankets.”

Cas let him unbuckle it. Reluctantly baring his throat to let him fiddle with it. Angels didn’t trust per se, but this had to be close.

The dumb haze of the collar suited Cas almost as much as the bone deep embarrassment that shot across his face red-hot whenever it was taken off, he was still filthy, still on Crowley’s lap, still experiencing the kind of post nut clarity that would kill lesser beings. And he did this every time.

“We will not. Talk about that.”

“You wound me angel. Of course we will.” he had the upper hand again, finally “You looked adorable.”

“We will not. I am leaving.”

“Oh clean yourself up first pet, you’ve got cum all over you. And you smell like my cologne, can’t have them finding out I look after you better than they do.”

Cas damn near scrambled off his lap and tried to return to his stiff soldier posture like he hadn’t spent the last 2 hours being stuffed, spoiled and otherwise “Do not call me that.”

And then he was gone.