(no subject)
Title: The Twelve Days of Christmas
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On the ninth day of Christmas, an angel gave to me, a session of mastery...
Notes: The ninth part of our twelve part holiday ficlet. Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four, Part five, Part six, Part seven, Part eight.
Jerked awake when restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles and pulled him spread-eagle to the corner posts of his own bed, Crowley stared blearily at the radiant figure standing a few feet away.
"Wha…?"
"Silence, demon!"
A squint. "Michael?"
"Saint Michael the Archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Hosts, Defeater of Satan, Chief of the Powers, Prince of Angels, Warrior of God, and Defender of His People. And do not speak unless I give you permission to do so. This is your last warning."
Still half asleep, the little speech didn't register. "Warning…?" But that was as far as he got before he found a gag in his mouth.
"I did not give you permission to speak."
Crowley's sickly serpentine eyes went wide, gleaming in the dim light. He was afraid, certainly. He was no match for an angry archangel. But being nude, prone, and helpless like this, well... it was sort of exciting, too. His cock twitched visibly. Knowing he could miracle the restraints away, he wondered what would happen if he did.
"You're wondering what would happen if you removed the restraints," said Michael. Crowley stared at him, unable to do much more. "You can, if you wish. My sword has not tasted the blood of a demon for some years now…"
That answered that question.
"Now you will tell me what in Heaven's name you think you're doing."
"Mrpgh?"
Michael irritably waved the gag away.
"What on God's green earth makes you think you can sleep with half the Host?"
Crowley hesitated. The archangel began to draw his sword slowly. The sharp sound echoed. Contrarily, Crowley got harder. "Because they let me?" he tried. It wasn't the most helpful thing he could have said and he was punished by a stinging slap to the thighs with the sheathed sword.
"Lying filth! You coerced them somehow. What was it? False promises? Declarations of love?"
"My quick wit and debonair charm?" Crowley offered with a smug smirk. Danger should not be this arousing…
Michael didn't smile. His sword fell across the demon's nipples with a resounding smack. Pink and burning, they raised to little nubs, chafed by the hard, worn leather of the scabbard. Crowley groaned, trying to bring his arms in to protect his chest, but they were held fast. His wrists and shoulders were starting to burn.
"You will answer me with 'Yes, Michael' or 'No, Michael'. Do you understand?"
Crowley glared mutinously at him. The next blow was low on his abdomen, near the tip of his already glistening cock.
"Do you understand?" the angel repeated.
"Yes, Michael," Crowley spat, sarcastically.
"Did you tell Remiel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Crack.
"Did you tell Raguel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Snap.
"Did you tell Sariel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Thump.
"Did you tell Jeliel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Whack.
"Did you tell Jophiel you loved him?"
Crowley winced. "Yes, Michael."
Stroke.
"Say it again."
"Yes, Michael."
"So the tongue is not always forked. He can be… encouraged… to be truthful."
Crowley's torso was crossed with stinging red welts. Every nerve was on fire. Every joint ached. He was harder than he'd ever been in his long life.
"You do not deserve any of the attention you have been granted by any of the Heavenly Host."
"Yes, Michael. I mean, no, Michael."
"You are nothing special."
"No, Michael."
"Just a slutty little snake."
"Yes, Michael."
"Then you deserve no more of my time. I am convinced you deceived them and this is your just punishment." The angel turned to leave.
"No, Michael," came a faint voice from the bed.
Michael stopped, swiveled and in one fluid movement drew his sword so that the sharp edge lay across Crowley's throat. The demon's heart beat frantically in his chest: angelic steel cold against his burning skin.
"Did you say something, demon?" the archangel demanded.
"Touch me," Crowley whispered.
Michael's face went stony. "Give me one reason I shouldn't just kill you now."
"Please…"
The shining face drew nearer and Crowley had to squint against the light.
"Beg me," Michael snarled.
"Please. Touch me, please, Michael. Fuck, Michael, please!"
Michael's hand wrapped around Crowley's dick. With no further effort, the demon's taut body bucked and seized as he came spectacularly across his chest.
As the angel wiped his hand off on Crowley's sheets with a disgusted look, Crowley caught his breath and gasped, "Jesus Christ…"
Michael glared murderous daggers at him. "Don't even think about it."
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On the ninth day of Christmas, an angel gave to me, a session of mastery...
Notes: The ninth part of our twelve part holiday ficlet. Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four, Part five, Part six, Part seven, Part eight.
Jerked awake when restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles and pulled him spread-eagle to the corner posts of his own bed, Crowley stared blearily at the radiant figure standing a few feet away.
"Wha…?"
"Silence, demon!"
A squint. "Michael?"
"Saint Michael the Archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Hosts, Defeater of Satan, Chief of the Powers, Prince of Angels, Warrior of God, and Defender of His People. And do not speak unless I give you permission to do so. This is your last warning."
Still half asleep, the little speech didn't register. "Warning…?" But that was as far as he got before he found a gag in his mouth.
"I did not give you permission to speak."
Crowley's sickly serpentine eyes went wide, gleaming in the dim light. He was afraid, certainly. He was no match for an angry archangel. But being nude, prone, and helpless like this, well... it was sort of exciting, too. His cock twitched visibly. Knowing he could miracle the restraints away, he wondered what would happen if he did.
"You're wondering what would happen if you removed the restraints," said Michael. Crowley stared at him, unable to do much more. "You can, if you wish. My sword has not tasted the blood of a demon for some years now…"
That answered that question.
"Now you will tell me what in Heaven's name you think you're doing."
"Mrpgh?"
Michael irritably waved the gag away.
"What on God's green earth makes you think you can sleep with half the Host?"
Crowley hesitated. The archangel began to draw his sword slowly. The sharp sound echoed. Contrarily, Crowley got harder. "Because they let me?" he tried. It wasn't the most helpful thing he could have said and he was punished by a stinging slap to the thighs with the sheathed sword.
"Lying filth! You coerced them somehow. What was it? False promises? Declarations of love?"
"My quick wit and debonair charm?" Crowley offered with a smug smirk. Danger should not be this arousing…
Michael didn't smile. His sword fell across the demon's nipples with a resounding smack. Pink and burning, they raised to little nubs, chafed by the hard, worn leather of the scabbard. Crowley groaned, trying to bring his arms in to protect his chest, but they were held fast. His wrists and shoulders were starting to burn.
"You will answer me with 'Yes, Michael' or 'No, Michael'. Do you understand?"
Crowley glared mutinously at him. The next blow was low on his abdomen, near the tip of his already glistening cock.
"Do you understand?" the angel repeated.
"Yes, Michael," Crowley spat, sarcastically.
"Did you tell Remiel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Crack.
"Did you tell Raguel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Snap.
"Did you tell Sariel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Thump.
"Did you tell Jeliel you loved him?"
"No, Michael."
Whack.
"Did you tell Jophiel you loved him?"
Crowley winced. "Yes, Michael."
Stroke.
"Say it again."
"Yes, Michael."
"So the tongue is not always forked. He can be… encouraged… to be truthful."
Crowley's torso was crossed with stinging red welts. Every nerve was on fire. Every joint ached. He was harder than he'd ever been in his long life.
"You do not deserve any of the attention you have been granted by any of the Heavenly Host."
"Yes, Michael. I mean, no, Michael."
"You are nothing special."
"No, Michael."
"Just a slutty little snake."
"Yes, Michael."
"Then you deserve no more of my time. I am convinced you deceived them and this is your just punishment." The angel turned to leave.
"No, Michael," came a faint voice from the bed.
Michael stopped, swiveled and in one fluid movement drew his sword so that the sharp edge lay across Crowley's throat. The demon's heart beat frantically in his chest: angelic steel cold against his burning skin.
"Did you say something, demon?" the archangel demanded.
"Touch me," Crowley whispered.
Michael's face went stony. "Give me one reason I shouldn't just kill you now."
"Please…"
The shining face drew nearer and Crowley had to squint against the light.
"Beg me," Michael snarled.
"Please. Touch me, please, Michael. Fuck, Michael, please!"
Michael's hand wrapped around Crowley's dick. With no further effort, the demon's taut body bucked and seized as he came spectacularly across his chest.
As the angel wiped his hand off on Crowley's sheets with a disgusted look, Crowley caught his breath and gasped, "Jesus Christ…"
Michael glared murderous daggers at him. "Don't even think about it."