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The first time Crowley had laid eyes on Bobby singer, he’d realized exactly what the man was. The fact the man didn’t quite have a soul to sell hadn’t stopped him from ‘buying it’ anyway. Having an advantage over the Winchesters was worth using his own power to locate Death.
The edge of power radiating off the human was delicious to Crowley’s incubus senses; he could feel the hunger and need welling up in the back of his head, so he cast the spell as quickly as possible, getting Bobby the information, and left.
It had been a long time since he’d been able to satisfy his needs. Lucifer had him on the run for months; he hadn’t had a solid fuck since he’d met the Winchesters, and at this point he was getting desperate. The hunger was starting to take over, and the first place to come to mind was Singer’s Salvage Yard. With the power that being half-angel gave him, Singer could survive a night with him and satisfy his lusts – fueling his batteries so to speak, and with his energy and the protections on his property, Lucifer wouldn’t be able to find him.
He knocks quietly, already breathing hard. When Singer answers, he takes a look at Crowley and nearly slams the door in his face.
“Please?” The desperation is nearly overwhelming, it’s painful and Crowley cannot afford to be rejected by his only hope.
“What?” Bobby grinds out, clearly annoyed. “Come to return my soul?”
“I need something.”
“Yeah? Good for you.”
“I’ll modify your deal.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll give you your legs back. Permanently.”
“For what?”
“I’m… a night in your bed.”
Bobby raises his eyebrows. It’s clear he wants to deny Crowley outright, but the offer of his legs is tempting.
“You’re what, then? Not a demon. Incubus?”
Crowley nods.
“Much as I’d like my legs back, I ain’t gonna survive getting fucked by you, so no.”
“You’re inhuman enough to live through it. You’re enough of an angel that it drives me crazy, you’re enough of an angel to survive my climax.”
“I’m a what?”
“Not entirely. I’d guess your mommy dearest had an affair with one of Earth’s finest guardians. You’re a Nephilim.”
Bobby’s thinking now, and he says, though there’s doubt all over his face:
“Not lying to me, are you?” He asks suspiciously.
“Robert Singer, I swear on my bones you’ll survive sex with me.”
“Pretty serious oath there.” Bobby scratches his beard thoughtfully. “On condition of you giving me my legs back for good, you have a deal.”
Crowley, relieved, stumbles through the door. It takes him a moment to gather the focus to heal the damage to Bobby’s spine that had rendered his legs useless. Bobby stands cautiously, and when his legs support his weight, he grins at Crowley, a pleased smile on his face.
“Thanks,” he says, and means it. He shifts uncomfortably, testing his legs, and asks. “So, is it gonna hurt?”
Crowley laughs at the ridiculousness of the question.
“Mr Singer. I am an incubus. Not only will it not hurt, it’ll be the best sex you’ve ever had.”
Bobby glares, and then sighs. “Guess we should get it over with then.”
Crowley bites out “Sooner would be better, yes.”
He approaches Bobby, standing just within his comfort zone, kissing the part-man part-angel, dipping his tongue between open lips and letting the venom in his saliva slip into Bobby’s mouth. He feels the difference immediately. He can feel the erratic pulses of Bobby’s aura, and hands have reached around, cupping Crowley’s ass and his kiss is not passionately being returned.
Suddenly, the kiss is broken.
“What the hell is that?”
“My saliva. Intensifies libido and attraction, reduces inhibition, and apparently arouses your power.” Seeing Bobby’s look, he simplifies. “Magic roofies.”
Bobby rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know what incubus saliva is, idjit. I meant…” He hesitates. “I feel stronger. I feel like I’m glowing.”
“Well, you are. At least to me. Humans probably couldn’t see your Grace.”
“Grace?”
“Well you are a nephilim. What did you think your power was?”
Bobby’s at a loss.
“It’s mortal-tainted grace, but it is grace all the same. What the pope has but a hell of a lot more.” Crowley laughs. “Saint Singer.”
“Shut up,” Bobby growls, and kisses him hard, hands moving to find purchase in Crowley’s suit, dragging the incubus to him and pressing their bodies together.
Crowley snaps and their clothing is gone, and suddenly there are no barriers between them; their stomachs and erections rub together as their kiss turns into a fight for dominance.
Another quick snap, reckless uses of Crowley’s drained power, but he’s so close he can almost taste it, Bobby’s cock in his mouth and ass, a delightful indulgence with the additional angelic power… He pulls Bobby down on top of him, hand reaching down to palm his lover’s cock, stroking it and encouraging it to full hardness. It’s not the biggest or longest cock he’s ever had, but it’s one of the thickest – he can practically imagine it stretching his ass soon, filling him up to bursting. He moans at the thought, and spreads his legs. Bobby’s casting eyes around, hesitant.
“What.” Crowley demands.
“Lube.”
“Don’t need it. I’m an incubus. One of the bonuses is natural lubrication.”
“Bet that’s hard to explain to the humans.”
Crowley shrugs. “Not really. ‘I was so needy, so wanton. I came prepared.’ Usually convinces them, and by that point they’re too turned on to go back, and it’s not like they lived to tell about it.”
“Thought you said I’d survive.” Bobby doesn’t sound too concerned, too busy fingering Crowley’s hole, stretching him easily. Crowley hadn’t been kidding about the natural advantages of an incubus. He’s fascinated by the warm secretion Crowley’s glands are producing. It’s thick and tingles pleasantly on his fingers – he can’t imagine how good it’ll feel on his cock.
“You’ll be fine, humans wouldn’t. Now fuck me dammit, I’m fine!”
Bobby takes him at his word.
—————
Crowley’s face is relaxed into a smug smile that literally radiates charm and sex appeal. Bobby is speechless; lying on Crowley’s stomach with his head pressed into Crowley’s chest, a relatively minor priority compared to the waves of aftershocks currently flooding his nervous system. Finally, a few minutes later:
“I can see why that kills people. And sex is always like that with you?”
Bobby doesn’t need to be looking at Crowley’s face to know how smug the incubus is.
“It has to be, or I can’t feed on it.”
“How often do you have to feed?”
Crowley laughs, deeply and softly, honestly amused. “Why? You volunteering?”
Bobby’s voice is muffled in Crowley’s chest. “I haven’t had sex even close to that good since my wife died. I could deal with a helluvalot of your attitude for sex like that.”
“Well, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement. To keep me running on full, probably once a week? Buuuuut…” Crowley drawls. “I’m running a bit low now – haven’t been able to feed for a few months – on the run from Lucifer, you know. So, if you think you can handle sex a few times a week…”
“Guess we’ll find out how much Grace I got.”