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Chapter Text

You down the last few drops of the bottle of wine that you had been drinking alone in your room at the Men of Letters bunker, your mind plagued with sin. If Sam and Dean knew all the unholy thoughts you have had about their prisoner in the dungeon, the King of Hell, they'd be horrified. A part of you is too, but it doesn't stop your mind from wandering, imagining his hands wandering you...

Before you know it, you're dragging yourself out of your bed and messily making your way down the long empty halls that lead to the dungeon. It's late, and you know that the Winchesters' are probably fast asleep by now. You, however.. you have different plans.

With two hands, you pull open the doors to the dungeon, revealing Crowley sitting there, tethered to his seat with warded demon chains locked tightly around his wrists, ankles and neck.

"Hello darling," Crowley greets you, tilting his head with mild curiosity, the chains clanking slightly as he does so. His eyes roam your curvaceous figure. "You're up late."

"How would you know?" your fire back, the faint slur in your voice is evident.

"The endless nattering between those two flannel clad hunters and yourself died down quite a while back now." Crowley drawls in response, watching as you pull the doors to the dungeon closed behind you. "Planning on staying a while, are you?"

You look over your shoulder at him, your stare sultry and filled with desire. "I shouldn't be down here."

"Yet, here you are." Crowley muses.

You make your way to the table that separates him from you, and you rest your palms face down onto the cold surface. You purposefully lean forward so the front of your camisole top droops, giving him an eyeful of your cleavage. His gaze dips downward, unable to resist, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"You've been drinking." he reluctantly peels his eyes away from your chest. "I can smell it on your breath."

"So what if I have?" you answer him, glancing at his restraints smugly. "What are you going to do about it?"

"You know damn well I can't do a thing whilst I'm under restraint like this, love." Crowley's gaze moves down toward them as well. "But I could, if you had the key to these pesky chains."

"Not a chance." you respond.

"You're such a tease." he draws the words out in a way that drives you crazy, and the way he bites his lip after is enough to cause the heat to simmer in-between your legs. His smirk turns into a devilish grin, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You rove around the edge of the table that still acts as a barrier between the both of you, your finger moving lazily across the surface. "I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid, Crowley."

"Touché, darling." he continues to smirk, his gaze as intense as yours. "But I can't help but wonder what Moose and Squirrel would think of you being down here without their knowledge, all alone."

You freeze your promenade around the table, now hesitant to get any closer. Sam and Dean would definitely not be happy to know that you are down here in the dungeon, flirting shamelessly with the King of Hell. In fact, they'd be more than not happy - they'd be furious.

"You're so obedient for those Winchesters," he goads you, knowing that his words will get under your skin. "doing as you're told, like a good girl."

"Shut up, Crowley." you warn him, but there's something about hearing him call you a 'good girl' that sends ripples of pleasure through to your core. "Sam and Dean, they don't control me. I do things of my own accord."

"Oh, do you now?" Crowley hums.

Your annoyance fuels your continuation around the table, all signs of hesitancy have slipped away, until you're inching yourself in-between him and it. You push the worktop back slightly with your ass and the sound of its metal legs screech against the floor beneath them. Your thighs brush up against the insides of his legs.

"I know what you want," he keeps up his nonchalant act, which irritates you immensely. "you have a deep dark desire, don't you love? A desire that neither of those flannel wearing imbeciles would ever be able to fulfil."

Oh, how much you want to want to slap that smug smile from his face, how much you want to take back your control.. he's in chains, for gods sakes. It's time to remind him who has the upper hand here.

You begin to run the palms of your hands lightly over his forearms.

"And what do you desire?" you ask him.

Crowley looks taken aback at your question and the delicate touch, but he keeps his cool, for now. He tilts his head, and aims to tempt you with his escape again. "Isn't it obvious? I want out of these bloody chains."

"Not going to happen." you say, and you let your hands wander upward, over the bulges that are his well-formed biceps beneath the softness of the fabric of his black suit jacket. His lips part ever so slightly, a fiery tension building between the two of you. "With all that human blood, Crowley, you must be craving intimacy.. closeness."

You tilt further forward, the exposed indent of your breasts close to his lips, and before he knows it, the warmth of them are wandering over the curve of your bosom. His stubble scratches at your skin gloriously, and his tongue grazes over your softness; tasting you, more than ready to devour you..

Reluctantly, Crowley withdraws his mouth from your chest, and you hear him inhale deeply, trying desperately to control himself from going any further. Your mention of his addiction to human blood, an addiction that he didn't think you were aware of, is a reminder of how weak he is getting. Suddenly, toying with you back and forth doesn't feel so enjoyable anymore. It feels fragile and reckless.

"I don't care for such frivolous acts." Crowley snarls, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the defensiveness in his tone suggest otherwise. He hauls his gaze away from your chest to look up at you instead, hoping his stare comes across as defiance rather than longing. The darker side of you desires him, and the softer side of him desires you.

"Is that so?" you tease, and you allow your fingers to ghost the stubble of his beard. His eyes flutter closed at the softness of the touch, and despite everything in him telling him not to, he leans into it.

You veer downwards, your lips dangerously close to his, before Crowley is the one that closes the distance, capturing you in a hungry open-mouthed kiss. It feels heavenly for the both of you, which is oxymoronic, considering he is the king of rotten. The both of you have itched a scratch you previously couldn't reach, and the outcome is as satisfying as hell.

You laugh into the kiss when you feel his hardness poke your stomach, smug that you were able to evoke such an intense reaction from him. You playfully roll your hips against it, which elicits a frustrated growl against your lips. Crowley pulls on the shackles that bind his wrists in exasperation, longing to roam your body with his calloused hands.

"You bloody tease." he says through gritted teeth, and you can't help but bask in the satisfying glory of his desperate response.

You've managed to break the King of Hell.

Chapter Text

It's been a couple of weeks since your drunken intimate encounter with the King of Hell in the bunkers' dungeon, which didn't come to anything more, because you were so worried that you would get caught with him. You scurried off back to your room, legs trembling, the memory of his breath hot against your own. You took care of your own release that night, wishing it was his touch instead of yours.

The Winchesters' are oblivious to the energy shift between you and Crowley. It is almost unbelievable that they haven't picked up on it, because the tension that the two of you create when you're in the same room? It could be cut clean with the sharp tip of an angel blade. 

Over the last few days though, there has been no need for Crowley - for cases or for anything concerning the search for Abaddon - at least, not yet. The Winchesters' are more than happy to have no reason to interact with him.. you, on the other hand? You crave him. 

And you find yourself unable to stop thinking of that rather steamy kiss you shared. All the sensitive parts of your body thump mercilessly with need as you lay in your bed, and you try your hardest to push the tantalising feelings away.

It's not long until you can't take it anymore. This time when you make your way to the dungeon, you're stone cold sober. You want, no, you need to feel every feeling, every sensation, to its fullest, whilst you look him square in the eye. 

It's like he's been waiting for you when you pull the doors open to reveal him sitting there, still bound, and you can't help but allow the look of him to excite you. Crowley's wrists are encased with silver chains this time, that are heavily warded with etched engravings. Sam had applied them when the Winchesters' wanted him to decipher an old ancient scripture for a case, and Crowley had eventually obliged begrudgingly. His wrists and his neck are still confined by thick shackles under lock and key.

"I was wondering when you'd be back, darling." Crowley drawls out as you close the doors tight behind you. "Since we were rudely interrupted the last time you were here."

Your last meeting with Crowley, the one where you were rolling your hips friskily against his sensitized shaft, was cut short when you heard Dean calling out your name worriedly, wondering where you had got to after finding your bed empty. Little did he know, you were ferociously teasing the King of Hell in the dungeon that is supposedly his prison. To Crowley? It's his oxymoronic heaven, especially when you pay him a private visit.

"Miss me?" you have worn a lowcut outfit just to taunt him, and he's already staring.

"Always, darling." Crowley hums in response.

You don't make your way over to him, no - you continue your delectable torture by pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. You enjoy the build of the tenderized sensations shuddering throughout your body that manifest themselves just from the simple act of his eyes roving over you..

Crowley had been particularly pedantic throughout the process of interpreting the scripture, which had caused Dean to react in an explosive outburst. He flipped the table that used to separate the chair parallel to the King of Hell, and the table still lays discarded messily on its side on the other side of the dungeon. Crowley can see all of you, and you relish in the fact that he's already showing visible signs of arousal just by your mere presence.

"Your hands are free," you point out.

"Indeed they are," he says, waving the palms of his hands so they jingle noisily. "Makes relieving uncontrollable urges that little bit easier, I must say."

"Uncontrollable urges?" you muse, like it isn't completely obvious what he's referring to.. as if you haven't had to take care of similar urges yourself.

"You know exactly what I mean, darling," Crowley smirks. "It is quite.. hard, shall we say, to control oneself, knowing they're beneath the same roof as such a temptress."

"I don't think Dean is interested in you in that way." you joke, the corner of your mouth lifting into a playful smile. This causes an amused rumble to fall from Crowley's lips, clearly tickled by your deflection. It is deep and throaty, laced with untameable desire.

"I have come to terms with my growing want for you," Crowley tilts his head, roaming every inch of your face, your body. "My growing need for you."

"You're finally admitting defeat?" you grin, enjoying seeing this vulnerable side to him. Crowley senses it on you, your smugness, and it irritates him to no end.

"Defeat?" Crowley repeats with a thick scoff. "Never. I'm the King of Hell, darling. I may be enamoured by you, a cruel result of this pesky addiction of mine, but you still have to do as I say."

"Power play?" you question with an incredulous laugh. "Come on, Crowley. You're the one who's chained and warded, whilst I walk free. If anyone has the upper hand here, it's me."

"Oh, is that so?" Crowley says with a gravelly edge to his tone. "What else have you been doing with that hand of yours, dare I ask?"

Oh, he knows. How could he know? Do demons have some sort of heightened hearing, did he perhaps hear his name fall from your mouth as you arrived at your peak the night you had to leave him? A smirk plays on Crowley's lips as he relishes in watching your smugness crumble away at his insinuation. He can practically smell your impending submission. 

Even though he's without powers, it feels like he's in your head, channelling every dirty thought you've ever had about him. Every breath against your neck, every possessive grip on your skin, every stroke of his tongue between your thighs..

Crowley takes in your flustered state with a deep chuckle. "Oh, darling, there's no need to be embarrassed. In fact, I'm quite flattered, really.."

All you can bring yourself to do is stare at him, your lips parted, your chest heaving softly..

"Tell me, how much have you thought about the kiss that we shared?" he continues, his tone dark and enticing. 

"Why, have you been thinking about it?" you throw back to him, scrabbling for a return to your control, but you're failing miserably.

"Always," the word escapes his lips with such tender intensity that it tightens the coil that has begun to form in your lower stomach. You press your legs together firmly, and of course Crowley notices. He doesn't even try to hide his prideful smile.

"Don't be shy, darling," he purrs, scanning your thighs with undeniable hunger, urging them to part with a vehement glare. "Show me exactly how you like to please yourself."

Crowley's telekinesis is inoperative whilst he is bound to the heavily demon warded chains, but he doesn't need it, not when it comes to you. His lustful look is enough to have you slumped back in your chair, your thighs separating and your fingers teasing the waistband of your clothes. It's a different experience touching yourself whilst he watches. His darkened gaze dares you to dip further beneath the fabric, to the space where you wish his tongue would be, which now glides over his own lips with wanton desire.

"That's it," Crowley's intonation thrums, allowing himself to follow the trail of your hand as it disappears beneath the material of your wear. "Keep your eyes on me whilst you do it, love. I want to be able to see you whilst you fall apart from just the sound of my voice."

You lift your eyes to meet his, your head hanging limply to the side as you're increasingly losing control beneath your own touch. 

"Take it slow, darling." he commands delicately, and the authoritative inclination yearns for your fingers to work overtime, to get where they need to be as soon as possible, but you stop yourself. You have the sudden desire to please him and follow his every order. 

His eyes are tinged with red and they're relentless, yet they're completely impotent under lock and key. Powerlessly, he is able to drive the tips of your fingers to trace the line of your entrance tauntingly, and even though it's your own touch, you imagine it to be his, and his only.

You await for his nod of permission before sinking your index finger between your slick folds, and finding the sensitized nub to titillate with achingly slow circular motions.

"Good girl," Crowley drawls smoothly, and you let out a soft sound of pleasure at the praise, the pressure building in your abdomen from both the tantalising sound of his utterances and your  movements against your core. "You're being so good for me, aren't you?"

Your back arches as the tension builds, the pleasurable sensations consuming your very being. Crowley's delicious accent caresses your ear as you caress yourself needfully, the pairing rich with sweet gratification.

The sight of you squirming and whimpering causes an the already obvious tent in Crowley's trousers to tighten further. Although everything in him urges him not to give into the frivolous desire, he's already unfastening the zipper on his black suit trousers, the silver chains jangling as he proceeds with unignorable craving. 

You watch as he moves the palm of his hand erratically over his girth and grunts gruffly as he does so, and it drives you further toward your impending release. Crowley is incredibly well endowed, and you don't know how much of it was the result of his demon deal from many centuries ago, or how much of it is his natural length, but you don't ponder on the details. You're too busy getting lost in the act, until it has you over the edge, quivering violently,  just short of when Crowley reaches his own explosive peak and he makes sure to never break eye contact with you once.

"You are gorgeous, love," Crowley purrs whilst soft pants escape your lips and you grow limp against your chair that is vertical to him. "Especially when you're following my orders."

You're speechless, and your legs gently wobble marginally in result of the performance you provided Crowley. Your head slants weakly like a puppet on a string. 

Crowley refastens the enclosure of his trousers with haste, slightly embarrassed by his weak yielding at the sight of you succumbing to his every command.

You're promptly startled at the sound of a voice calling out, and you recognise it to be Deans, forever the overprotective, unbearably at times, brother figure. You scrabble to your feet, still trembling from your climax.

Crowley rolls his eyes. "That lumbering pile of flannel will not let you out of his sight for more than five minutes."

"I have to go, if he sees me coming-"

"I saw you coming and it was nothing short of delightful," he interrupts with a smirk.

"Crowley-" You scold him lightly, but you're hiding a smile. You snap back to reality once again when you hear Dean's yell, and this time, it gets louder. "I really have to go."

"Go," Crowley's lustful eyes watch you. He craves so, so much more. "I'm not going anywhere, darling. At least, not for now."

Chapter Text

It gets to the point where you're meeting Crowley in the bunkers' basement almost every night. In turn, you're losing precious sleep. Crowley doesn't need sleep as a demon, and even if his human side brings out lassitude, he has all the time in the world to rest whilst he's incarcerated. Whereas you? You're feeling the effects of it throughout your regular daily life. You've been sloppy on hunts and sleeping in the back of the Impala any chance that you get, black bags beneath your eyes.

Sam and Dean are starting to worry about you, but it doesn't stop you from sneaking across the hall once you're sure that they're asleep. Down the steps and through the sliding doors, as quiet as you possibly can until you reach the basement.. your heart racing in anticipation.

Crowley goads you a little each time that you visit and claims you're obsessed with him, all whilst an affectionate smile slips through the cracks of his usual smug expression. Maybe you are becoming a little obsessed, but so is he. You can tell by the subtle reactions you elicit through each new act of sex. The way he pulls on his restraints each time you settle in his lap, the metal clanking noisily. The frustrated groans when your wet mouth strokes his exposed length that peaks through unzipped trousers. He wants to run his hands through your hair whilst your head bobs, he wants to caress your body whilst you grind against him and he wants to feel you beneath his calloused fingertips. He's burning with the need to touch you.

You want to feel his touch more than anything but you still refuse to let him go.. he has captured your heart but you're still loyal to the Winchesters and their wishes. You've imagined many ways in which he might touch you if he were free. The palms of his hands disappearing beneath the fabric of your shirt. The pads of his fingers against your tongue, before moving them down, down and down.. until they're moving with purpose against your core.  Crowley watching you rub yourself just isn't cutting it anymore.. but your lingering distrust overrides any feelings of intense desire. Crowley understands your wariness.. and he almost admires it.

"Sensible girl. You're right in thinking I'd take advantage of the situation as soon as I have the chance," Crowley had replied to your refusal in response to one of his many attempts in tempting you to unlock his chains. "After I have provided you with multiple orgasms, of course. I'm not that cruel, darling."

Crowley manages to bring you to breaking point invariably, despite being the one beneath lock and key. You can't resist him..  the roughness of his intonation and the bravado that he exudes. He knows what works on you.. and he uses it to his advantage. It's a challenge that has entertained and simultaneously captivated him whilst spending all this time imprisoned in the bunker, rather than ruling Hell. Your copulation is dangerously feeding into his human blood addiction, but he's caring about that less and less. The feelings you arise, figuratively and literally.. they're oh too good to ignore.

Tonight is no different to the rest. Crowley teases you and coaxes you until you have your garments discarded carelessly on the concrete flooring. You face your exposed back to him, with one hand grasped onto his shackled arm to support you. As you arch and part your thighs, all you can see is the tips of his black leather shoes and the grey ground with red etched demon warding's underneath your feet. His stubble scratching at your sensitive skin adds to the glorious friction of his tongue that begins to tickle your aperture. 

"What a naughty sight." Crowley breathes against you with a purr. This is the closest you have gotten to having contact from a precise body part of his against your sex. The thought of escalation is already enough to have your legs trembling.

A combination of the air and the vibration from his spoken words evokes a whine from deep within you. You squeeze his arm tighter. Your fingernails dig into his vessel's skin beneath the fabric of his suit, before pushing back into him; seeking further frottage. Your roughness elicits a short gasp followed by an amused chuckle. 

"Now, now darling... so desperate, so impatient." Crowley presses more firmly, until you can feel the movement of the smirk that he makes in response to the needful pants escaping from in-between your lips. "I take the time to enjoy my meals.. if and when I choose to indulge."

Crowley kisses with the rhythmic ease of a starved man, tongue pushing and swirling, his neck chain clanking with each movement. You gulp down the erotic cries that hover in your throat, until you have to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle them before they can break free.

Fully immersed by pleasure, you don't even notice the doors sliding open to reveal you in your half bare state. Completely and utterly inebriated beneath the tempting motions of Crowley's mouth and tongue..

"What the-?" a horrified voice yells out.

Your head shoots up to meet the eyes of none other than Dean Winchester, before he covers them with the back of his hand and tilts his head away. "Christ, put some clothes on!"

You have never moved so fast. You scramble to retrieve your lower attire that you had shed off earlier to cover yourself, whilst Crowley doesn't even try to hide his laughter.

"In the hall," Dean aims at you gruffly. You can tell he is furious with you now that he has recovered from the initial shock of beholding such a position. "Now."

You oblige, scurrying your way out into the hall, your head hung low in shame. Dean shuts the doors behind you before facing Crowley.

"This is funny to you, is it?" he snarls.

"Oh, maybe a little."

"You took advantage of her."

"I took advantage?" Crowley scoffs with amusement, then pulls at the shackles that encase his wrists. "I'm the one under lock and key!"

"You must have said something to her," Dean throws a hand out. "Coerced her-"

"I did nothing of the sort." Crowley hums, leaning back smugly. "She approached me all on her own... suppose Moose and yourself aren't enough to scratch her itch that so desperately needs scratching."

Crowley chuckles when he notices Dean's fists clench at his sides and his chest heaving with pure fury. Oh, how he enjoys winding him up. 

"Release me from these restraints and I'll be able to fuck her for real.. hard and fast. Or rather, tantalisingly slow. Not my usual style, but she's a sweet and sentimental thing." Crowley smirks. "And what can I say? I'm a giver."

"You give to take, Crowley." 

"I don't know about that." Crowley tilts his head, and his neck chain chinks softly. "I think I make rather a glorious lover."

"You're not a lover," Dean scorns. "You're a demon."

"Well, sort of." Crowley's face falls into a scowl. "Before your half-wit of a brother filled me up with human blood during his failed trial to seal the Gates of Hell."

Dean's expression is unreadable at the mention of Sam. His name is enough of a reminder of his current state. Possessed by an angel. He mustn't forget why he had come to see Crowley in the first place.

"We're not done here." Dean warns Crowley with a point of his finger, before turning to exit the basement. "So not done."

Crowley's smug expression disappears behind closed doors. With his palms face down, Dean leans against them. He lets out a long exhale, still trying to process everything that is happening. Eventually, he turns to address you.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean scolds.

"I'm sorry." you mumble, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. The embarrassment that follows Dean witnessing you at the brink of orgasm is relentless, and your face has turned an entirely different shade of red.

Dean shakes his head once, his lips pursed with annoyance. "How long has this been going on?"

When you hesitate in response, he harshly repeats himself.

"A couple of weeks." you mutter.

"A couple of-?" Dean can't even finish his sentence. He rubs his chin incredulously before letting out an irritated sigh. "You have no idea what you're playing at. That's not just anyone you're fooling around with. It's the King of damn Hell!"

"I know!" you snap back and his stare hardens. You try to soothe your tone of voice. "I-I made a mistake."

"A mistake is something that happens once!" his jaw pulses. "Once and you don't do it again. You chose to come down here and entertain our prisoner for weeks. Th-that's-"

Dean stutters with frustration and he has to turn away from you. He cannot even begin to fathom why you would do it.. and it is only now that the thrill of secrecy has worn off, you are beginning to wonder the same. 

But.. strangely, you have become fond of Crowley. You know that you have a tendency to form attachments to anyone you have intimate relations with.. and that's what makes your decision all the more reckless. 

"I'm sorry." you repeat, guilt gnawing away at you. "It won't happen again."

"You're god damn right it won't," Dean says curtly. "Not under my watch."

And with that, he leaves you in the corridor with the regret of your own choices. 

Regret laced with unexplainable desire..