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Unholy Devotion	By : FemmeBono Category: Supernatural > Het - Male/Female Views: 1749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters, nor am I making money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Unholy Devotion
- 2-Cht 2
- 3-Cht 3
- 4-Cht 4
- 5-Cht 5
- 6-Cht 6
- 7-Cht 7
- 8-Cht 8
- 9-Cht 9
- 4
- 5
- 6
Cht 5
The summoning was easy. Everything went without a hitch, and yet Castiel was afraid for a moment nothing had worked. He glanced around, as did Garth, and neither saw a thing. Finally, with a rustle of wings, an angel appeared in the kitchen doorway, his outward appearance that of a rail thin black man with salt and pepper hair.
"Castiel," he intoned with a gravelly voice. "And a werewolf. You make interesting company these days."
"Dumah," Castiel breathed as he took a step toward him. Dumah merely cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Cas.
"What's happened to you, brother?" Dumah queried. "Your grace is severely diminished! You feel as though you are falling…slowly." Dumah marveled at this as Garth cleared his throat.
"Look here, gentlemen—er, angels, how about we have a seat and discuss? Castiel here could use your expertise on the matter of his grace as it happens."
Dumah sat slowly, as though still on guard, but he listened intently as the angel and the werewolf brought him up to speed. When they finished, he sat silently a moment longer and nodded pensively.
"We have to get back to Metatron," he began, then raised a hand when Castiel began to protest. "We won't even have to release him. It is a simple enough spell that uses the words God spoke for me to receive Berith's grace as my own. That is the problem with your stolen grace you see, when it is not taken justly it fizzles out inside you and you fall anyway. We will return to heaven, Castiel, you and I. With me beside you, we will remind the other angels what happens when one's grace is stolen, and how God chose to rectify it."
*************************************************
Miles away, Grainne stepped further into Gambion's office and sat herself idly back in a leather armchair across from his desk. It smelled vaguely of cigarettes as well, due to years of absorbing the smell into its fibers. Grainne steepled her fingers, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. Her auburn locks cascaded around her like a russet halo for the damned.
"Grainne," Gambion said in measured tones. "You've been tracking me for days now. I am surprised at such a bold move."
"I had two other demons tracking me," she countered, with an arched brow. "I had to lose them first before I felt comfortable enough moving in to speak to you. I could tell they were not yours." The lies flowed effortlessly from her tongue. She was not surprised that he knew he'd been followed, but she wanted to distance herself from the others. "You'll forgive me if I want none of Crowley's pets to know we're on speaking terms."
Gambion merely inclined his head. "And what would we be speaking of?"
"Rumor has it that you may know the whereabouts of the new Knight. And anyone who no longer wishes to serve the old watered down king may be able to seek your counsel as to how to join the Marked One."
"Where do you hear such rumors?" Gambion's brow furrowed. "I have been outposted here since Lilith sent me and Crowley saw fit to leave me here." He nearly spat the last, and here Grainne found her opening.
"And a waste of talent it is," she spat. "Gambion! You who are older ever than I, wasting away in this ape infested den!" She allowed her chest to rise and fall as though impassioned at the thought of such an old and wise demon being relegated to a paltry Midwest town. His gaze flicked to her ample swells, barely contained in the steel blue corseting, and she lowered her eyes, looking up through her lashes. "You are far too powerful to stay under the thumb of a weakened king, and the new knight is just such a standard as is more befitting someone of your ilk…and mine," she added, uncrossing her denim swathed legs and allowing her knees to drift apart. His eyes raked downward with her subtle movement and she suppressed a smile. Males of the species were so easy, she thought, letting her hand drift upwards to trace around the base of her neck, once again drawing his eye to the expanse of exposed skin there. Her meat suit was lovely and she used this fact with ruthless abandon.
"Gambion," she purred, tracing the tip of her pink tongue across her upper lip, then biting her tongue as if hesitant to say the next. She glanced at him and allowed the barest blush to creep up, then leaned conspiratorially forward, her cinched cleavage nearly giving in to gravity. "I cannot obey a salesman."
****************************************************
She waited three days for her tail to lose interest after talking to Gambion. She had known that she was being followed from the moment she left the office. She conspicuously "lost" Damian and Roland, which was a sign she had contrived with them beforehand. They had agreed before her meeting that if things went well she would shake them off and meet up again in Gardiner, Maine just in case she was followed by any of Gambion's henchmen.
She spent the three days around town, wreaking havoc, making a couple of crossroads deals, trying it on with the locals. Mixing, mingling, enjoying the vices of humanity. Once they lost interest, she traced her way to the safehouse in the Northeast and let herself into a secluded cabin complete with angel proofing and a small weapons cache. Damian and Roland were there already waiting. At her command, they returned to hell to gather support. She had cased Gambion's club, church, and home and apprised them of the number of demons waiting at each location.
While Damian and Roland led the second stakeout to take out Gambion's guard, Grainne returned to hell to brief Crowley on the recent weeks' developments and what she had found out from her meeting with Gambion.
She found Crowley in his den, no traitor roasting this time. Adrina had been dispatched to the dungeons to wait out her punishment. He sat, as always, glass of Scotch in his hand, poring over contracts ad nauseum. Grainne stood watching while he was absorbed in his reading, taking in the curve of his hand on the parchment, the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he read. "Are you going to stand there for eternity, Grainne, or did you have news?" he barked suddenly. Grainne, arrested in watching him read, jolted visibly at his voice.
"I'm sorry of course, my lord!" she all but stammered. "I do have news, as it were."
He dropped his feet from the ottoman before him and gestured her to sit. As she lowered herself onto it, she caught his gaze drifting lower and realized she still wore the all too revealing corset. Grainne felt a flush creep up her chest to the tip of her nose at the unguarded look of lust on the king's face. Her breath caught, and her breasts rose with it. She cleared her throat once and his eyes flicked up to hers, a corner of his mouth turned up at her apparent discomfort.
"You look well," he said, a sardonic leer gracing his features as he leaned back in the chair. Grainne dropped her gaze and, remembering her purpose, cleared her throat once more before she began. "Yes, sir, well. And as I said," she spoke more strongly now, "I have news."
"Well, let's have it then." He raised his glass to his lips, eyes never leaving hers, and listened as she told him all of Gambion.
Crowley hummed low in his throat as she finished. "Well…," he said slowly. "well done, you."
"So, sir, what best course-"
"Leave our best course of action for now," he interrupted, waving a hand over her opening. "Enough talk of business, Grainne." He poured a finger of Scotch and offered it to her. Grainne would have preferred the Irish, but did not say so in her king's presence for in this he was still staunchly Scotsman and would not hear of it. She sipped gingerly, never having been one for spirits. She had liked to keep her head about her in business and so let the men always drink. It made them more pliable, she had found.
Drink could have no such effect on Crowley however, and he continued to regard her with that penetrating, unnerving gaze. She had not felt so flustered for decades.
"Tell the truth, Grainne," Crowley said at last, "and shame to devil." Still smiling, he placed his glass down and took her drink, his fingers brushing hers as he did. Grainne swallowed. "Do you not enjoy the pleasures of the flesh as well as your other black-eyed cohorts?"
Grainne's forehead wrinkled. "I, er…do, on occasion partake in some things. Vices aplenty," she said confusedly. Where was this going, she thought uneasily. "I have drink, as you see. I had a fair share of pizza since I was topside for the first time in ages…"
A deep low chuckle issued from her king and Grainne pursed her mouth and glanced at the crackling fire. Crowley reached forward, tracing a wave of her hair that dipped to the curve of her shoulder. "And sex?" he asked meaningfully.
"I…" Grainne swallowed, then tried again. "To be sure, your Highness, it is not a vice of mine."
Crowley's brow furrowed this time. Thoroughly nonplussed, he pressed, "lust is a vice most of us prefer to any other…tastes, if you will."
"I've not in my many years learnt to enjoy the experience, my lord, to be frank." Grainne was now thoroughly discomfited at the turn of the conversation, the closeness of her lord, the warmth of the fire and the drink in her belly. Her lips had been dangerously loosened and it was at the same time all too comfortable here and at once, not at all comfortable. "Sir, I-"
"How is it," he urged, "that you have not acquired a taste for something so pleasurable to so many?"
"Sir, we come from nearly the same time in history you and I, and the same place. Sex was always pleasurable pursuit for men, but not so for women by any means. Once dead, it was always a means of torture when I was on the rack and could hardly find that enjoy-"
"I see," he cut in once again. "My have you missed scores of opportunities, my darling." He shook his head almost imperceptibly and reached for her fingers. "I think I shall have to teach you what pleasure it can be for your sex as well," he said, his voice a velvet whisper. Those lips brushed her fingers and he pulled gently until she rose, unsure of her footing and completely unmoored by his attentions.
Crowley settled her into his lap, pulling the fingers he still clasped around him so that her hand brushed the back of his neck. He draped his other hand around her hip and pulled her closer. Her seat firmly up on his crotch, she felt the heat already and the butterflies stirred once again in her belly.
"Tell me, Grainne," Crowley said, his hazel eyes penetrating her darkened soul. "In all your years of life or afterlife, did anyone take their time with you? Seduce you properly?"
His fingers flexed on her hip while the other hand traced lazy drifts up and down her spine. Grainne shuddered.
"No, my lord," she replied, licking her lips as her gaze settled on his own. She found herself wanting to nip at him, just at the curve of his smile. "Sex was always a means to an end," she said, gesturing nervously, "erm…either to expedite a business deal or contract…or…"
"Hmmm," he purred. "I do believe in mixing business and pleasure just occasionally, but Grainne darling, one must make them enjoyable!" He smiled incredulously at her as the hand at her hip drifted up the curve of her waist and over the swell of her breast. She expected Crowley to begin groping and grabbing as men were wont to do, but instead his fingertips grazed softly upward, continuing their ascent to her jaw and cheek. He cupped her cheek and ever so slightly pulled until she lowered her mouth to scarcely a breath from his.
He flicked his gaze up, held hers. Then, just as gingerly, he brushed his lips across hers. Exquisite torture, she thought. What's he about? Before she had a chance to adjust, his tongue darted out and dabbed at her lips. She parted them on a breath and he captured her lower lip between his and nipped lightly. The hand at her cheek grazed lower again over the mound of her breast, squeezed lightly and traced its path back down her waist, to the hip again, flexing more strongly this time as her mouth opened more fully to his. His hips gave the vaguest buck under her and she tilted her head slightly to gain better access to his mouth. Her tongue darted in, tasting, savoring. Scotch was not so bad after all, mixed with the flavor of him.
She reclined slightly and barely noticed when her corset loosened on its own accord, spilling her breasts in an inviting avalanche of rose tipped snowy mounds. Crowley's hand returned to flick at the nipples which had hardened at their exposure. Her pants somehow now were simply gone and he nudged her legs slightly apart to glide his hand idly up and down the insides of her thighs. His tongue now darted and danced more insistently around hers and his other arm had come around to cradle her in her reclining state. She gasped, sighed, and nearly pushed against his chest for a reprieve when his hand suddenly clasped the apex of her thighs and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Grainne felt his smile into her mouth even as he started tracing lazy fingers in her curls, circling around the nub right at the top of her folds. "Ahhh," she groaned, her back arching reflexively. "Crowley!" At her mention of his name, he plunged two fingers into her and curled them. She bucked, gasping for air, as he clasped the back of her head and began his assault on her mouth again, this time in rhythm with his fingers. She bucked her hips repeatedly against his hand, writhing and stretching for some kind of release as a low pulling warmth began to spread in her belly. She felt his hardness beneath her straining against her bottom and knew that he was getting as much out of this as she, even when she lost her voice to a whimpering keening when his fingers curled up a final time and pulled deep inside of her. She came groaning his name, her eyes unfocused and mouth slacked. She went limp in his arms as she felt him buck hard one last time against her, fingers still inside her. He groaned softly as he eased his fingers out and she watched, her chest heaving as he slowly sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers.
He leaned down next, bit lightly at each nipple and then her lower lip and said, "now, my darling, do you see any redeeming value in the pleasures of the flesh?"
- 4
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- 6
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Unholy Devotion