Hell Has No Road
Pairing: Crowley x Reader
Warnings: None really, just a liplock.
A/N: I started this months ago, my inbox of requests is just now getting filled. It’s 1:30 am and my muse has hit me hard. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I don’t remember where I was going with this originally but I went with it.
Summary: Reader listens to AC/DC. Crowley finds a way to cope.
Now, for the sake of veracity it must be pointed out that you didn’t hate Queen. Never said it, never thought it. Quite the contrary, you adored Queen.
It was just, that at times, Freddie’s soft, pure voice didn’t go hard enough.
So AC/DC it was. Or Stix or Foreigner and others for classic rock. Metal was a whole other story for another time.
Growing up in a time where parents enjoyed teaching children about the top charted music of their high school and college years you were exposed to a great amount of music. Some of it less than savory to the general public, and some of it soft and sweet.
Today was not a soft and sweet day.
Today was a day for harsh lessons and even harsher nightmares.
Hence the rolling guitar and bass of AC/DC.
Today was a day for cleaning.
You had discovered, through much trial and error, that hard rock was the best way for you to get off your ass and clean.
(Said trial and error could also be construed as crying and moping on the floor surrounded by laundry and cleaning products but you don’t speak of that to anyone.)
You had already burned through the Metallica, Deep Purple, Aerosmith and others besides Queen in your collection. Each for their own duty in inspiring an organizing mood.
Now it was time to die by the hands of gods.
A sponge in one hand and a soapy bucket of water in the other you went to tackle your nemesis.
Kitchen grease.
Normally it wouldn’t be as bad as it was, usually only cooking for one the very few instances you put aside time to make a meal for yourself that wasn’t something incredibly simple. However, over the past week you had been cooking meals for Aziraphale. A lot of meals. A lot.
You had been spending more time with him and Crowley, while one didn’t eat the other surely made up for the lost place setting.
By now you were tired of the kitchen being as gross as it was. Completely and utterly fed up.
With Bon Scott blaring out your speakers you dug in.
If you hadn’t had your music so glaringly loud you would have heard your flat door open and banging shut. You would have heard the groan come from the new occupant as to the taste in music. However, it was that loud, so you heard none of this.
You weren’t aware you had an infiltration of your house until, bent over the stove scrubbing the grease into submission, hands grabbed your waist, jolting you into a scream and attempt to run.
This also proved to be a mistake as the bucket you had filled to help in your cleansing of your resin laden kitchen had now unfortunately been tipped over. Not onto you of course.
No, that honor was laid on Crowley.
Hand covering your mouth as you leaned against the counter you stared in a fascinated horror at the site before you.
Drenched from chest to thigh, the demon stood before you in a state of shock, the brackish water darkening the grey shirt to black and tightening already painted on jeans.
You let out a helpless giggle at the sight, unable to contain it behind your hand as you stored the, absolutely hilarious you would never let him live this down, image into your memory.
He glared at you, “This is your fault, all this disgusting water on me is your fault.”
You scoffed at him and shrugging you turned away from the mess, “You snuck up on me remember, casualty of your own war sweetie.”
Hearing him mumble as you walked into the living area, you laughed under your breath, knowing he was complaining about being stuck with the mess.
“You better clean it all up, since you wasted my cleaning water!” you yelled at him, making sure he understood it was all most definitely his fault.
You turned down the speakers and grabbed a blanket from your pile on the couch, still hot from the dryer. You had hoped they would’ve cooled down while you cleaned the kitchen, but that was a moot point now.
Hearing his footsteps you looked up at him, folding by muscle memory. You raised an eyebrow at his sullen look. He strode in, plopping himself next to the pile on the sofa.
He glanced at you from over his glasses, “Is that blanket Aziraphale’s?”
You looked down, not surprised to see it very well was, “You tell him, and I’ll pluck you bare.”
The redhead lifted his hands, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You smirked in triumph, setting the blanket on the ottoman and grabbing a new one to fold.
She was a fast machine
She kept her motor clean
She was the best damn woman I had ever seen
You didn’t notice Crowley staring at you as you started bobbing your head to the song, mouthing the words as the song began, too entranced in the rhythm of folding. He watched the way your hips swayed slightly to the beat, how your lips wrapped around each word of a song meant as a testament to a gorgeous woman. Sure, it wasn’t Queen, but it would do for you. A woman who made him weak at every smile.
She had the sightless eyes
Telling me no lies
Knockin’ me out with those American thighs
You loved this song, a perfect mix of sex and love. A man professing how a beautiful woman sees him and still wants him. A woman who makes a man crumble inside and out. You wanted to do that to a man, make him weak for you every time you look at him.
Taking more than her share
Had me fighting for air
She told me to come but I was already there
As Crowley stood you noted it in the back of your mind, focused on the task of folding the last couple blankets. You did notice when hands gently laid themselves on our hips, so as to not startle you this time.
“’Cause the walls start shaking, the earth was quaking, my mind was aching, and we were making it and you,” Crowley murmured in your ear softly. You felt goose bumps break out down the side of your neck, his thumbs barely rubbing along your waist. You clutched the blanket to your chest, feeling the demons lips against your ear.
You felt your breathing stutter as lanky arms wrapped around you pulling you against his chest, a snap of fingers taking the blanket from your arms and folding the remaining one.
She was one of a kind
She’s just mine all mine
“Are you Y/N?”
Crowley had his chin rested on your head, “Am I what?” you responded.
“Are you mine?”
You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his chest, “Why wouldn’t I be? Besides the fact that you’ve never asked me to be. I’ve always been here for you, even when you’re an utter dick.”
You could barely see yellow eyes behind the dark shades, his thin lips quirked up, “I’m always an utter dick, love. But I’m asking you now.”
Reaching up you slowly grabbed the frames of his glasses, pulling them off and tucking them into the collar of your shirt. You trailed fingers up his neck, cupping his jaw in one hand and continuing the others journey to his lips and forming around his cheekbone. You rubbed your thumb across it, feeling the slight stubble on your palm contrasting with the smoothness closer to his eye.
His lips had tightened, thinning out at your actions. Pupils wide behind the narrow slits of his eyelids, you could tell he didn’t quite know how to react.
You tilted your head, considering, “Well, I would imagine so since I hardly go to anyone else, for anything,” your lips tilted up. It was true, you hadn’t had a relationship, of any kind, since getting to know the demon before you. Of course, this resulted in some, ahem, personal nights away from both men, but who could blame you? You were a healthy woman and it was stress relief.
His pupils widened even more, “Anything, hmm? That’s quite a boast coming from you.”
You drew your hand away from his cheek, smacking the back of it lightly against his chest, “Excuse you, that was one time and I told you that I would be busy so you can just piss right off-oomph!”
It was different. Kissing him. Every other time you had kissed or been kissed didn’t prepare you for the feeling of his lips on yours.
It was electric.
His hand had swiftly cupped the back of your head, the other keeping your hand against his jaw, lips meeting with yours to cut off what would have been an impressive tirade concerning his previously interrupting a night you had been planning to spend with someone you could only introduce as a friend, in the loosest sense.
It was as if you had stuck a fork into an electrical socket, not that you ever had of course, you could feel each point of contact with him keenly. His lips tugged at your bottom lip, urging you to reciprocate. Which you did, enthusiastically. Your hand on his face moved to his hair, his own hand slipping down to your waist.
You could feel the warmth of his body flush with your own, goosebumps rising along your skin, your heartbeat high in your throat as if it wanted to pour out of you and into him.
You wanted to pour it out, wanted to fill him with you and have him fill you until neither could tell where the demon or yourself ended and began.
Feeling the shift in his body you slowed your kiss, uncurling your fingers from where they had gripped his hair at the base of his skull, you pulled back, panting.
From the flush across his cheekbones, and similar breathing state, you assumed the kiss had taken the same toll on him as it had for you. He brushed his thumb over the sliver of exposed skin his grip had caused on your waist. His other hand softly caressing behind your ear as he released his own grip in your hair. The touch sent more shivers over your skin, causing your breath to falter even more.
The redhead huffed, “If I had known all I had to do was kiss you to stop your rants I would’ve done so a lot sooner.”
You leaned into him, tugging his hair lightly at the remark, “Oh shush you, question is, why didn’t you?” You wonder at him, his golden eyes a thin ring around a void, one you seemed to not mind getting sucked into.
He sucked his teeth, clicking his tongue before saying sheepishly, “I didn’t want to presume, especially after the, uh, incident.”
Laughing out a breath, “Darling, I would’ve traded him, along with all others, for you a long time ago. Don’t think otherwise for a second.”
Crowley visibly softened at that, “You mean that?”
“I do,” I always have.