neutral_omens | (no subject)

"Stop it, John," the demon scowled, annoyed at having his reactions and weaknesses so blatantly called out, and at being treated like a wounded animal. Especially when John had no idea what really happened in Hell. He didn't know about the expert mind games. He wasn't aware that it hadn't been an experience of sheer physical torture, but that every gesture could end unpredictably in a kick or a caress; that the kindnesses were almost worse because they were genuine, even if their ultimate goal was only to cause more pain. "I'm not Chicago."

And he knew very well that this man could hurt him - had hurt him before. But he also understood that John didn't intend to, which made up a great deal of the difference. It was all very confusing, and he was getting mixed messages from both of them. Lust, compassion, regret, hope, worry, desire, fear, insecurity, uncertainty, love, and want were so tightly bound together, he couldn't tell what was coming from whom.

Refusing to submit to the fear, which he was pretty sure was his, Crowley strode decisively into John's personal space. "Shying away like this?" he asked, voice low and reckless. "I'm 'shying away' from fuck. all."

John just smiled slightly. Sometimes a little jab in the pride could accomplish what no amount of sensitivity or forbearance would (not that he was any kind of expert in either of those things.) It was true, he didn't know the specifics, and didn't want to. But he knew the signs of trauma when he saw them, and had more than a passing acquaintance with bravado, and the grey eyes Crowley was wearing right now gave more away than he probably realized.

The cruelest--and ironically, probably unintentional--aspect of the whole thing was that Lucifer's abuses had effectively cut Crowley off from the one thing in which he might have taken solace as he healed. It was high time he got it back.

"Good," he said, deliberately raising one hand and cupping it carefully around the back of Crowley's neck, urging him gently closer and ducking in a bit until their foreheads nearly touched. "I think we're a little past bullshitting each other, don't you?"

He cast a sidelong glance at Kit, his own eyes conveying the somewhat muddled, but powerful mix of his feelings at that moment: he hadn't forgotten her, or what they had just been doing, but he needed to make things right for his mate. And was just now coming to realize how far he was willing to go to accomplish that. Maybe because of Kit, even--the desire she'd roused in him big enough to spill over and include someone else.

And, he realized, that he would really, really like her to help. But that wasn't a choice he could foist on her. She'd have to make up her own mind.

Firmly putting aside his doubts and further attempts at analysis, he tilted his head slightly and completed the gesture, doing for the second time what he'd never expected or planned to do once; letting the careful, tender, tentative kiss convey that he, too, was a little afraid--that being scared, and letting it show, wasn't always such a terrible thing. Especially when you didn't have to do it alone.

Well, Kit hadn't known quite what to expect, but she was fairly sure that that intensity in John's eyes, followed by the sight of him kissing another man, wouldn't have been her first guess, Glenlivet or no. She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself, but if she was reading John's glance right -- and it had been a while, admittedly, but that had always been one of his more blatant expressions -- he wasn't looking for her to leave. Quite the contrary, in fact. And, strange as it seemed, witnessing their kiss felt much less intimate than the baring of emotions that had preceded it.

Her breath came shorter with the unanticipated reminder of just why she and John had ended up here in his bedroom in the first place, though it wasn't quite enough to erase the distress on his mate's face when he'd entered. She wasn't sure what John was up to, pulling a stunt like this, and couldn't help but wonder what Crowley was thinking about this particular turn in events.

Crowley's reaction could be summarized as two-fifths 'what the fuck?' and three-fifths seizing a lifeline and snogging the living daylights out of it. John wasn't Aziraphale, of course, but he was familiar, comfortable, practically vibrating with sensuality at that precise moment, and apparently willing to kiss an antsy demon in front of his girlfriend, so 'why the hell not?' won out by a narrow margin.

It wasn't quite the sort of comfort he'd had in mind post-nightmare, but he'd take what he could get. The question was, could he get both of them? Female was sort of a scary new territory, but Crowley was feeling adventurous and cocky (so to speak). Demons never got afraid; they got seductive.

Taking a short step back from the twin scents of scotch and smoke, Crowley's grey eyes sought John's blue ones, inquisitive. He grinned slightly when he found what he was looking for there. Leaning suggestively back into John's space and bringing an arm around the man's waist, he looked directly at Kit with a sultry expression he'd perfected over the millennia. It was the kind of piercing reptilian look that reached into the hindbrain of mammals and flipped their ...dangerexcitementadrenalinfight... sex switch.

Gotcha.

John had no idea where this crazy idea had come from or what the hell he was doing, but it felt right, and it had got Crowley to come out of his shell, and at the moment that was good enough for him. Now there was just one more possible obstacle to deal with.

He didn't consider himself a master of seduction, but he knew Kit, and one thing he knew about Kit was that he's never seen her back down from a dare. Resting his head against Crowley's, he turned a steady, burning gaze on her--a look that was openly inviting, and at the same time suggested rather impertinently that he didn't think she had the guts.

He'd been telling himself he couldn't go back to the old routine, trying to shelter her from the stranger, shadier side of his life. If they were going to have any kind of a relationship--even a friendship--he was going to have to let her see it all, and, if she found it in herself, to be part of it. Hell of a way to start, he thought bemusedly...

God above.

There they were, the two of them, dark hair on blond, with twin glints in half-lidded eyes. Gone from vulnerable to hacked off to staring at her like... like that, in a matter of minutes. Right pair of bastards, they were. And John had the nerve to look at her like she'd be too bloody scared to accept any invitation he could dole out.

Kit's heart was beating a feral rhythm, and her hand was knotted rather tightly in the duvet at her side as she watched them, but John had one thing right; she wouldn't be the first to back down. So she stood -- slowly, deliberately, to hide any hesitancy -- and approached him, gripping the tie that still hung loosely about his neck. Pulling him close, she grinned, returning every ounce of his cocky challenge. "Still an oul' pervert, aren't you, Constantine?" she whispered, and she was near enough that her lips nearly brushed his as she spoke. Near enough to smell the alcohol on his breath -- or maybe it was hers, it hardly seemed to matter...

And then there was some wicked edge to her grin; and, still holding John firmly in place by the tie, she turned her attention instead to Crowley, kissing him just as slowly and softly as John had, though with perhaps a very different flood of emotion.

Served him right, anyway, teasing her like that, she thought, and caught the collar of Crowley's white shirt, shifting to gain a proper angle.

Still got it, he thought for a moment, smirking against Kit's mouth, but then he was wasting time smirking when he should be enjoying a kiss from Miss Ireland. Crowley was looking forward to seeing John's expression, but he had some business to take care of first, and he licked lightly at Kit's ruby lips, his hand tightening on John's hip.

Vixen! John shuddered at the sight of them, these two people dearer to him than anyone, unexpectedly well-matched in size and coloring--like a pair of incredibly provocative bookends, he couldn't help thinking. His own lips tingled where Kit's had brushed them, a prickling of jealousy quickly subsumed by pure unadulterated lust. Not with anybody else would he even have contemplated sharing Kit; but in a sense, he and Crowley already had, and the prospect of bringing that convergence of memory into the realm of flesh and blood quickly overrode his possessive instincts.

Sliding one arm suddenly back up Kit's shirt in retaliation, and springing that damn clasp with a quick decisive motion, he put the other in the middle of Crowley's back and propelled them both firmly back toward the bed, making no effort to disentangle them first.

Following the shivers up her spine as John managed to undo her bra -- and honestly, it had taken him long enough to figure that one out -- Kit couldn't quite object as she was suddenly guided back, back until the bed was pressing into her legs and her knees buckled beneath her. She grasped desperately at Crowley, drawing closer to him than she'd ever really meant to; she'd rather been expecting John to put a stop to things once she'd proved she wasn't afraid. But John certainly wasn't helping, and Crowley didn't help much either, and soon Kit found herself on her back with the weight of Crowley's body over hers.

It certainly didn't feel as wrong as it should have, having John's mate on top of her. And his kiss was warm, with an exotic taste to go with dark, angled features: a flavor of excitement and life, places she'd never been, things she'd never done. She was almost remiss when he turned his attentions lower, his tongue snaking along the curve of her collarbone. But then she caught sight of John, drinking in the sight of them with an eager intensity, but with something more; something fragile and precious behind his expression that for one startlingly clear moment, Kit was sure she understood; but then she was touching his cheek, pulling him closer for a kiss, and whatever it was she'd discerned for herself was gone.

After a moment, she shifted, wriggling free from Crowley's attentions; not to pull away from either of them, but to let Crowley feel that same kiss. She guided John gently toward the other, remembering the inexplicable rightness of the moment their mouths had first met. Maybe she didn't know everything about John, and true, she didn't know what had happened to Crowley; but the one thing she was sure of was that John would want more urgently than anyone to make it right.

And he would, in the end, she thought, even if it was by no means other than what comfort he could offer his friend. Because Crowley tasted of far away places, but John... John tasted like home.

Laying atop Kit was awkward, but not unpleasant. She was soft, like... well, he wasn't thinking about that. What he was thinking was that these touches felt okay; they held no menace, no pain. Lips and tongues don't feel like needles and thread and he was trying to relax into it, pleasing her the only way he knew how. Then she was pushing him toward John and that was okay, too. He'd have felt odd taking her blouse off, but had no problem attacking the fly on John's trousers and pushing them off his hips. Crowley left his tie on, trailing fingers across the nasty scars on the man's chest, before licking a path down them, stopping only at the waistband of John's shorts. Now this was a good deal more familiar than lady bits, but he doubted Kit would just be interested in watching, and John was straight anyway. It made more sense to encourage them to be together, as that had been the direction they were heading in before he interrupted, and he could just fill in, as it were.

So, slightly faster and perhaps more flexibly than any human could, Crowley squirmed out of the way, pulling John on top of Kit instead. He could take her clothes off and the demon could handle his own and still be close enough for support work. Like licking two ears that were suddenly nearby.

Three always made for a bit of a scramble to sort things out--not that John had been in this situation in a long while, or with quite such significant persons. As usual, though, Crowley seemed to read his mind, and left off his downward progress before they got into territory John admittedly might have had trouble dealing with.

He willingly went along with the tradeoff and found himself staring down into familiar, fathomless green eyes...back to square one, as it were, only with an additional warm weight curled alongside, adding new and enticing possibilities.

"Hullo, luv," he whispered roughly, and kissed her properly (and perhaps just a bit territorially) while he finished the business of dispatching the blouse and bra.

The tongue in his ear was a bit of a distraction, but not a bad one; when the offending garments were off and flung carelessly across the room, he chuckled low in his throat and reached over to grab Crowley's hand, drawing it to one of Kit's full, perfect breasts. At the same time he bent his head to the other, teasing first with soft kisses on softer skin until he came to her nipple, flicked it gently with his tongue a few times to hear the little hitches in her breath, and then closed his lips around it delicately, glancing up at her face with the hope that he'd still get the same response as in the old days.

"Jesus, John," Kit breathed, arching against him; and shuddered, not caring in that moment who was with them or even what happened in the morning as long as it was John who was touching her now. She ran her fingers through John's hair, hooded eyes taking in his every action.

Crowley felt a little thrill at Kit's blasphemy. In general it tended not to phase him, but it was surprisingly erotic in this context. It's not like his last partner would have ever said anything like that in the bedroom or out. He moved his hand gently across her breast, echoing John's mouth as best he could with warm fingertips.

The demon wasn't entirely unfamiliar with breasts. He'd had them himself on several occasions. But he'd never really experimented; he hadn't had any reason to care. That might have to change next time if Kit's reactions were anything to go by.

Just for fun, he slid his other hand between them to toy with John's nipple. This was more familiar, but still strange. Strange was okay, though. There was touching and he was in control of it and it gave his friends pleasure and that was all he really wanted.

John caught his breath sharply, not expecting that, and shot Crowley a ferocious grin that managed to convey simultaneously Fuck, can you believe we're doing this? and Your turn's coming... Then he turned his attention to Kit's jeans, making short work of the snap and zipper, and getting up on his knees to peel her out of them without undue ceremony. He'd take it slow next time--if there was a next time, shit, better not to even contemplate later or consequences at a time like this--but he had to give himself a moment to appreciate the soft, full curves and milky white skin he hadn't seen laid bare before him in such a long time.

"God, you're beautiful," he said hoarsely. Nor was Crowley necessarily excluded from the statement; John had always been aware of, but never openly acknowledged, the physical perfection of the demon's corporation. But it was Kit making his heart pound wildly in his ears and driving what little sense remained out of his head. He caught her hand and tugged, inviting her to rise and meet him or haul him back down to her, as she preferred, and trusting Crowley to find whatever place in all this seemed best to him.

Kit caught John's hand, pulling herself up to him, the heat of him against her both familiar and alluring. "Wee bit late for your flattery, isn't it?" she murmured with the hint of a wry smile, and pressed her lips to his for an indolent kiss.

Her fingertips traced over his chest, mimicking the earlier patterns of Crowley's tongue. But unlike the other, she didn't hesitate when she'd reached John's waistband. She urged his shorts down as she kissed a path along his jaw, his light stubble rough against her swollen lips; and then, sparing only a glance at Crowley from the corner of her eye, she wrapped one hand around John's erection, stroking soft and slow, setting a deliberate pace.

Inhaling sharply, Crowley's grey eyes tracked the movement of Kit's hand. He enjoyed it vicariously, knowing exactly how that would feel on both sides.

Feeling distinctly over dressed, he quickly pulled off his half-buttoned shirt and trousers, revealing the full extent of his not inconsiderable arousal, most of which was due to the wicked, conspiratorial grin John had shot him earlier. He wondered vaguely when Kit would realize that for all intents and purposes, he was gay. With any luck, it wouldn't be quite yet, because Crowley moved to kneel behind her, his hands ghosting up and down her sides in counterpoint to her movements. Eventually, his left hand drifted upward, to gently caress her breast, as the other moved down to the soft thatch of hair between her thighs. It wasn't that he had any idea what he was doing, but he'd seen quite a lot of goings-on in six thousand years and it couldn't be that difficult. The fact that it gave him a good view of what she was doing to John was probably not significant.

"'s not--" John started to protest, but promptly lost the capacity for rational speech when Kit took hold of him like that...oh Christ, he'd almost forgotten how quickly and thoroughly her touch could unravel his control. He clutched her to him with a strangled sound, burying his face in her hair, for once grateful he wasn't so young (and hair-trigger sensitive) anymore.

Crowley cozying up behind Kit was almost a welcome distraction, though it also set off warning bells on a deep instinctive level. As much as he knew the demon was no rival for Kit's affection, to a part of him it didn't matter: another male coming in so close triggered a forceful Mine! response that he struggled with for moment, giving a low warning growl before he could quite stop himself.

Only for a moment, though, before the things he usually associated with Crowley reasserted themselves: the sense of familiarity, of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex, and of a steady presence watching his back. Safeguarding, not threatening. He slid his arms around both their shoulders and kissed each of them in turn, Kit first, hard and insistent, and then Crowley over her shoulder, repudiating any impression he might have given that his friend wasn't welcome.

At the rate things were going, though, too much foreplay was looking like an extraordinarily bad idea. The pliant heat of Kit's body against his was driving him to distraction; sweet, euphoric little waves of pleasure rippled up his belly at her sure touch and out to warm the rest of him, leaving every inch of his skin tingling. Shuddering, he dropped his hands to her hips and backside and urged her upward, begging silently to be taken in and--no room left here for self-deception--reclaimed.

Anticipation caught Kit's breath in her throat as she quite willingly obliged, lowering herself down into John's lap; and suddenly, the warmth that surrounded her was inside her as well, engulfing her in shuddering sweetness as he filled her slowly, inch by inch. She gasped against his skin, something between an endearment and a curse.

"John..."

One of her hands clenched tight on his shoulder, fingernails digging into skin as she strove to keep her balance while he found his rhythm. She reached the other around behind her until she'd found Crowley's hip; she was glad enough that he didn't seem to mind the current sequence of events, but it wouldn't be fair to lose sight of him. Not quite able to return the lush attentions he'd given her at this angle, she pulled him closer, until his body was flush with hers and his arousal pressed, thick and hot, against the small of her back. She held him there just firmly enough for his hardness to rub against her skin as she moved with John, letting him share in the pleasure of those subtle, shifting movements of slow thrusts.

Probably more aware of the undercurrents and sharply drawn lines in the room than either of the two humans, Crowley allowed himself to be pulled nearer, but didn't try for more. In the end, Kit was John's and John was Kit's and he was only privileged to be able to share a bit. It was more than he'd had in a long while and he was genuinely grateful.

Crowley had never taken a turn as an incubus, but one hears things around the water cooler, so to speak. Instinctively knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to touch John the way he wanted to or be more intimate with Kit than he had been

(undercurrents and sharply drawn lines)

the demon finessed the energies of the room a bit; not enough to really be noticeable, but to just enhance the pleasure of his companions. He would let that be his contribution as he wrapped his arms around both of them, kissing the back of Kit's neck and shoulder, and frotting against her sweat slicked skin, eyes half open to watch John's face.

There wasn't a whole lot to be seen on John's face at the moment--certainly nothing that resembled alertness or awareness of anything but hot and tight and slick and the sight and smell and feel of her, of Kit, his Kit, and if Crowley thought for one moment that John didn't know what it was like to fall from grace or to live in Hell then he was wrong, because this right here was Heaven and he had believed with all his heart that he would never, never find his way back again. If all his body's energy hadn't been focused so intently on the matter at hand, he'd have wept. As it was, the catch at the end of his ragged moan sounded very like a sob.

Even without Crowley's subtle influence, he wasn't going to hold out very long, but he tried, imposing some control on his body as it strained to thrust too hard, too fast. Didn't want to let her down again. Didn't want, truth be told, for this to end at all, ever. His mind and heart and body were for once in perfect accord, and the note they sang out in ecstatic harmony was Kit.