This weakness was not supposed to please Crowley, it was supposed to infuriate him, to punish him for all of his mischief; funny how things like that backfired, wasn’t it? With Sam’s head resting between his legs, suckling away at his cock in the back of his brother’s precious Impala, he couldn’t really say he felt punished at all, for all of Sam’s touches were magnified in this human body, and every jolt of pleasure reverberated through his body in ways his demonic form could not. Sam looked up from his work and grinned that oafish grin of his before fumbling in his pocket for his lube and condom—humans needed those things, Crowley supposed—and he would have teased him, but the stretch of Sam’s slick fingers inside of him chased those thoughts away from his mind almost as quickly as he imagined them.
“Being human’s not so bad after all, is it?” Sam rasped as he scissored his fingers against Crowley’s insides, his other hand wrapped around his swollen cock, and Crowley couldn’t do more but nod in agreement. As Sam flipped him over and pressed his thick cock inside of him, his face flush against the leather upholstery, he thought for the briefest moment that he might be able to get used to it.
She’s impossibly tall for a girl, sturdy, legs for days and curves that would make a lesser man tremble; but Crowley’s not a lesser man, he’s not a man at all in fact, and every time he looks at her, all he can imagine is owning every inch of that body. She stretches out beneath him, pushing against him like she doesn’t want this, pouting with that bitchface of hers like this isn’t exactly what she likes, but Crowley knows differently because Samantha Winchester is dripping wet for him, clenching around his foot long cock, crying out in a voice that begs for more even if her words don’t say that exactly. Sam’s legs wrap around his hips, push up his back, drawing back for more with every thrust into her desperate little cunt, and Crowley gives it to her, drawing her impossibly long legs up around his shoulders and pulling her hips up just enough that every thrust puts him balls deep against his ass. He’d like to say that he’s got enough stamina to outlast her, but with a body like that rocking against him, Crowley’s out of the game far sooner than Sam is, despite all her arguments to the contrary. He stands back to watch as she pushes her fingers through his come to finish herself off, and sometimes, if she’s really enjoying herself, that’s enough to get Crowley worked up for another round.
Crowley can appreciate the size thing, because that’s what he sold his soul for after all; and maybe this is some twisted form of narcissism, but that wouldn’t shock either one of them; and, well, she’s not telling him no anymore. For a minute Crowley just stands back and watches her; she’s kneeling at the end of the bed, legs spread comfortably, but trembling as the thick pink toy vibrates inside of her; her back is arched over the foot of the bed, head resting on the mattress, eyes watching him deviously as her hands heft and smooth oil over those big, beautiful breasts. She toys with her nipples for a moment, moaning and rocking her hips a bit; and, okay, so Crowley can’t help himself, and he bends over to lick at them, to nip her flesh until it’s hard and red beneath his attention. The weight of his cock swings between them, even as hard as he is, and Sam sneaks her hand between them to stroke it and draw him closer, as ready for this as Crowley is. As Crowley lines himself up, Sam presses her tits together; it’s the first time Crowley’s ever been able to lose his cock between anyone’s tits, and damn it feels good.
Crowley’s very proud of his stuffed moose, so he calls it, but Sam’s not having as good a time, not with the feeling of Crowley’s plug keeping him all stopped up. Sure, it was fun last night, what with the ecstatic thrills sent to his brain every time Crowley thrust into him, promised to keep him all plugged up, and sure, Sam had groaned and come shamefully quickly and hard, but now things are starting to ache. He’s walking funny, and it’s easy to notice when Sam’s walking funny, considering he’s basically all legs. He groans, has to fight to keep his head on straight and not be sick. And worst of all, through it all, the stretching burn of the plug keeps sending signals of excitement to his dick, keeping him hard on and off all day long, until he’s just about ready to beg Crowley for release.
It’s much easier to send out a handsome twentysomething than a bald old man to make deals. Sam, now the obedient pet moose, goes out and gets them, branding the contracts with a touch of lip to lip, and then Crowley sucks them off, transferring words and incantations with the slip of his mouth over Sam’s endless inches of skin. Sam’s just the sort of boy toy Crowley likes best to entertain, and he does seem to be plenty entertained by this new venture; God knows Crowley sure is. Ever since the first time, when Crowley felt the telltale flush of Sam’s cock filling up with blood beneath his stout hips, Sam hasn’t dared utter a complaint. He does groan, and gasp, and beg, but never once does he complain.