(no subject)

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Date: March 25, 2001
Setting: John's Bedroom
Status: Private- Crowley, John, Kit
Summary: Crowley has a nightmare




Hands.

Large and bloodied.

Gripping, tearing.

Claws.

Sharp and sinister.

Shredding, slicing.

Pain.

Crowley awoke in a cold sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, breathing heavily. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he tried to push the images - memories - out. He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.

With a groan, the demon rolled out of bed, throwing on his trousers and a white collared shirt, but not bothering to tuck it in or even button it all the way. Hair tousled, eyes uncovered, and feet bare, he padded through the bathroom toward the only person who could help right now. He pushed open the door.

"John?"

Comments

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

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.

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"'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.

[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

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.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

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.

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

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.