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Unholy Devotion	By : FemmeBono Category: Supernatural > Het - Male/Female Views: 1748 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
Ed. note: Grainne is pronounced grown-ya.
Cht. 1
Crowley sat in a leather wing-backed chair, staring idly into the fire. His latest minion screw-up turned slowly on a spit over it, his screams quieted now that his vocal cords had burned beyond function. Crowley had once again found his kingdom in turmoil over who rightly controlled the helm of Hell. He sipped his scotch with a sigh and pondered who of all the dim prospects he could trust to help him rein in — so to speak— the hordes of the damned.
It was mere weeks since Dean Winchester had Risen, yet already the newly awakened demon knight had shown signs of not only wanting to howl at the moon, but to chase it and own it. There was already a following, and every day it seemed more and more of his unholy flock deflected to the Marked One.
A subtle sound to his left broke him from his reverie and Crowley half turned his head toward the sound. "Sir, it is time for your massage therapy session. Would you like me to dispose of the traitor?" questioned the demon who approached.
"No, take him down and get him trussed up for further questioning. He knows Squirrel 's whereabouts, even if he is proving difficult yet."
"Of course, sir," she replied, and then started to exit as quickly and quietly as she had come.
If there was one stalwart supporter of his regime, it was Grainne. The perfect servant, she never complained and was always there in the background waiting for orders. Crowley rose, setting his scotch on an end table and buttoned his suit jacket. Juliet the hellhound rose from his feet and shuffled off to sniff at the softly smoldering demon on the hearth.
"Grainne," Crowley called.
"Yes, my lord?" she stopped and turned in the doorway.
"You may do the honors."
"Of course, sir," she replied, then closed the door behind her on the way out.
He knew she would go down the long stone hall to the sporting room—for it was sport to demons, torture was—and there she would prep the area as he had shown her, before ordering the prisoner to be brought in for questioning. He knew she would take her time with the delicate process of extracting the information. And he knew this because he had taught her everything. Secure in his mind that at least one of his flock had some measure of competence, Crowley made his way to his boudoir where the voluptuous Adrina waited.
The girl waited by the massage table, long brown locks delicately tousled, a thick sweep of it brushing over smoky eyes of melted chocolate. Her robe was loosely belted, showing an ample display of cleavage. He allowed her to unbutton and slide the jacket from his shoulders before he loosened his tie and stepped out of his shoes.
"Darling," he said, "Daddy is tense today. Work the shoulders, pet."
"Of course," she purred as she helped him divest his clothes. Crowley climbed up on the table as she held the sheet back for him, then he sighed heavily as she draped the sheet over the small of his back and began to stroke and knead at the tense spots.
"Ohhhh yes," he hissed. "That's the spot." Adrina began asking him about his day, murmuring comforting words as he let his cares slip loosely from his tongue. And as she played her hands over the demon king's body, she payed even more rapt attention to what he said.
- 1
- 2
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