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It isn’t who either of them want, but maybe this is something they both need. Something to take their minds off the true object of their hopeless affections, if only for a while.
Neither of them deserve Dean Winchester. Castiel least of all.
This is the thought circling around Castiel’s head like taunting seraphim as he allows Crowley to pull him forward by his coat’s lapels.
Hands clinging to hair and shoulders and hips, tearing and bruising. The rasp of a beard against his stubbled cheek. Motel sheets beneath warm skin and cold passion.
Castiel knows the ache of his guilt will only settle more deeply in his chest once this is over, but for once he isn’t concerned about his past or future failings.
They each close their eyes against the other as their mouths open in a shared moan and Castiel isn’t thinking of Dean anymore. His thoughts are blissfully vacant, cast out by blind lust and sensation.
But it’s like covering a gunshot wound with a bandaid.
When it’s over, Crowley leaves without a word. Castiel is both relieved and disappointed. Alone with his thoughts once again, the shame burns through him like nothing he’s ever known.