OH MY GOSH I SUCK I WROTE THIS LIKE MONTHS AGO AND JUST FORGOT TO UPLOAD IT

Anyway here's the final chapter to Rival. Sorry it's so short and such a disappointing ending! This was never meant to be anything more than a short story, perhaps I'll write a full version someday when I finish other projects. Thanks everyone for reading.

Ah, also, warning this chapter contains explicit content!

Larke opened his eyes only to be immediately punched in the face. He supposed the men left behind had chosen to torture him before they all died. Damn it all, couldn't he have slept through it and gone in peace?

When he looked dejectedly back up at his assailant, however, he saw the fist was Crowley's.

"What." Larke said lamely, too perplexed to formulate a proper question.

"You're an idiot." Crowley said simply, torn between anguish and his usual smugness.

"Yes, so you've said a hundred times before." The navy-haired pilot deadpanned, "Tell me what happened."

"Clean yourself up first." the handsome ace replied and tossed a wet towel at him, giving Larke a strange sense of déjà vu. He reached into a nearby locker to pull out fresh lounge clothes for them both.

Tentatively Larke began stripping himself, wiping the cool sticky sweat from his body and face, the dried blood from his lips. "Where's Jay?"

"He got Lindt. I went to get you." Crow said somewhat seriously. It made Larke feel awkward.

"You should have been the hero and gone for the kill—it's more your style."

Crowley slammed the locker shut, "would you quit being an idiot for one second?"

Larke quietly contemplated the hole in the shoulder region of his jumpsuit, it was larger than he'd expected…

Of course Crowley would be mad. Not only had Larke crossed him by sneaking away early, but he had dealt a blow to the ace's perfect record by making him break his perfect schedule. Not to mention he had been inelegantly forced with the dirty work of going to Larke's rescue instead of taking down Lindt. He opened his mouth to tell the man he should have just left him to die, when Crow suddenly spoke.

"You really saved us, you know …"

Larke was dumbfounded. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I heard the recording on your transceiver…about the ambush and everything. Guess sometimes it pays to be a brash, impulsive idiot." Crow smirked at him, golden honey eyes blazing from behind an equally golden overhanging of layered hair. More spun gold spilled over his striking features as he bent to remove his boots, but the cruel smirk was still there.

The younger pilot felt embarrassed, which just irritated him inside. "It was all luck. It's not like I knew any of that ahead of time."

"Oh, naturally," the blonde agreed, stripping himself in a manner that Larke found oddly distracting, despite that he had not noticed Crow watching him the very same way moments before, "but it doesn't change that you saved us in the end. Even Jay was only able to get Lindt because your stupid ship died again while he was piloting it." He laughed ironically.

Larke sighed. "Fuck you, Crow."

The man laughed again, moving aside and settling himself behind him. Larke froze. Didn't Crowley realize how intimidating he was at such proximity, handsome and built, not to mention half naked, in comparison to his own unimpressively scrawny frame? Then again, it was probably his goal to intimidate him. The bastard.

"Do you really enjoy making me miserable this much?" he sighed, not even sure why every little thing made him so miserable.

"How rude, and here I am about to treat your careless injury," he teased, though his face contorted in a way that indicated he knew that it had not been careless at all—not that Larke could see. The healing balm stung at first, causing the injured pilot to wince slightly, but he said nothing. Quickly a cool, numbing relief began to wash over him.

"…though if you must know, it's because your reactions are so cute."

Larke had nothing to say to that, but the slight reddening of his ears was enough for Crow to grin inwardly and change the subject.

"Those energy guns are quite a kick aren't they?" he said, gently tracing the burn on Larke's shoulder. He moved to reveal a similar scar on his calf.

"So even the great Crowley takes a hit every now and then," Larke said, genuinely surprised.

"I'm human too, you know, even if I am remarkably more talented than you," he chuckled as he finished lacing his boots, and dashed to the doorway to avoid the angry boot hurled at him by Larke.

"But you saved me, so I guess you're not entirely incompetent… I suppose now I'll have to acknowledge you as my rival." a sly grin wound its way on his lips before he disappeared from the frame.

"Idiot! You're not my rival!" Larke howled after him, leaning out the doorway to glare down the hall at the cocky blonde. He would not let him have the last word this time. "You saved me too, so that makes us teammates."

Crow almost looked surprised, but the expression faded as soon as it had come, "Go get dressed, Kitten. Dinner's waiting."

Was it really already that late? Larke's stomach grumbled in affirmation. He sat himself back on the bench and properly dressed himself, amazed at the now barely noticeable pain in his shoulder even when he slid his suspenders over the burn.

Honestly what was he doing? His face felt hot. Why had Crowley gone back to save him and left the glory to Jay? He couldn't help recalling how upset he had sounded over the transmitter…And why, this whole time that they had been talking, had he wanted not only to hit Crow but also to hold him? It was exasperating.

Dinner on Crowley's ship was delicious, amazing, real food like he hadn't tasted in years, and yet he barely paid it any mind. His heart had raced, always angrily he thought, whenever Crowley teased him. But being almost…cared for…by him gave him the same sort of agitation ten times stronger.

"We won't reach ESF main headquarters until tomorrow. Sorry, little kitty, but you're stuck on my ship for the night." Crow did not sound sorry at all, "I'll show you to your room."

Larke just shrugged distractedly, following his old rival to the cabins.

"This is my room, you can take that one th—" Crowley began, but Larke impulsively pushed him through the door before he could designate a room for him. Using the better half of his might, he pushed the man down and slammed the door shut, climbing suddenly on top of him and giving the man an unanticipated, fevered kiss. It was all clear to Larke now. For all he swore he hated him, for all he had rejected him, he wanted Crowley. He wanted him bad.

Crowley did not even seem surprised, though surprised he was, as he tangled his fingers in Larke's short, uneven hair, panting hard against the mouth of his junior. In a sudden movement he had twisted their position so that his cute Larke was pinned beneath him.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he smiled darkly at his predator-turned-prey.

"Yes."

Their lips connected again, sucking, bruising, engulfing one another in hot fervid kisses. Clothing items seemed to vanish one by one. They explored each other wildly, Crowley kissing Larke sparingly along his neck and collarbones. It was such a gentle gesture, so out of character, it made Larke shiver.

"So cute," Crowley grinned cruelly against his neck, grazing his teeth over the tender, supple flesh. His hands roamed Larke's chest, teasing and pinching, calloused fingers raking along his delicate ribcage, Crowley thoroughly enjoying the writhes and squirms his touches elicited.

Larke's mind reeled amidst the passion. How was this all even happening? True, he had been the one to initiate, but he hadn't exactly thought it through up to this point.

"Crow…Crowley…" he breathed, still too distracted by the man's experienced touches to quite stop him.

"Mm?" the sultry blonde propped himself up on his elbows and smiled down at his pretty little captive pilot.

"Why, uh…" he felt stupid even asking, but now that he had Crowley's attention he had to know, "Why did you come back for me?" he pinked, averting his gaze; his question begged more than he'd have liked to imply.

Crowley had to laugh at Larke's total lack of timing, "Because. You're a hopeless idiot."

Larke scowled.

"You despise me. You fight with me. You're the only person who doesn't need me, yet you're the one person I want to." he answered seriously. Larke was pretty sure his heart somehow crawled into his throat, as he was momentarily unable to reply.

"I have wanted this for so long," he continued, pausing to lick Larke's quivering lips, "I have wanted you…"

His breath was hot, rolling past their brushing lips and lingering Larke's neck in a way that made his blood scream hot with desire. "Fuck me." he whined suddenly, pulling the blonde closer to him, "Hard. I'm telling you now that I need you."

Crowley did not need telling twice. He flipped Larke over on his stomach, positioning him top-down, bottom-up, and bending over him to plant consuming, hungering kisses down his bony spine. Larke continued to whimper, dizzy by the lips and teeth bruising his spine and, more prominently, the erection pressing hard into his upper thigh. He lowered himself to it, rubbing his tight entrance excitedly against Crowley, who groaned deeply, wantingly in response. So badly Larke wanted it even though somewhere in the saner part of his mind he knew he wasn't quite prepared. Just as he parted his lips to beg for it, a hot sigh escaping him, he was interrupted by finger, slicked in something slippery, prodding at him from behind.

He gasped with slight pain and surprising pleasure as it wormed its way inside him, stretching and wriggling.

"Fuck," Crowley hissed, extremely turned on by the way the younger man twitched and moaned to his touch. He slipped in another, scissoring both fingers to stretch him out, while simultaneously stroking him with his other hand.

"Put it in." Larke whimpered desperately, squirming eagerly against him.

"It's gonna hurt," Crowley whispered in warning as he removed his fingers, leaning in to nibble at Larke's ear. His dripping fingertips traced the skin just below the opening gently, teasingly.

"Do it you idiot!"The dark haired man agonized, feeling rather tortured beneath his ever-cruel rival, now somehow his lover.

"Damn, you're hot." Crowley groaned once more and surrendered himself to the boiling lust inside of him. If the little kitty begged for it then he would more than gladly deliver. He fastened his hands about Larke's bony slender hips, digging into the soft flesh with fingers already coated in slippery lube and precome. Getting deep into that tight hole was almost something of a chore, but there was no chore more pleasurable.

Larke balled the bedsheets up in fists topped with white knuckles, trembling as the tears and whimpers escaped him. It hurt in a way that nothing else had or could, but he didn't want it to stop. The tears fell freely, the spoils of a great mix of emotions and sensations.

"It hurts! It hurts!" he grit his teeth, burying his face in Crowley's pillow.

"Here, try it this way," Crow offered in a hot breath, reluctantly sliding out to reposition Larke now in his lap, "Sit on my dick."

Larke went somehow redder at the blonde's lewd, straightforward choice of words, glowering slightly at him as he settled himself in the man's lap, "You're crass."

"You're cute," Crowley quipped, pulling Larke closer and kissing him deeply. They resumed as heatedly as if they had never stopped. He leaned forward, lips uttering a seduction into the shy pilot's neck. "Move your hips with me…yeah, atta boy."

Larke felt self conscious now that he'd been given some control, and even more so now that Crowley had a perfect view of him. However once he got into it, he quickly lost himself to abandon. The more he moved, rode him, grinded against him, the less he could do to hide his fevered cheeks, and the loud, fervid moans that rolled off his swollen, glossy lips.

Crowley inhaled deeply, emitting guttural, sensual moans as he pushed Larke forcefully onto his back, hoisting his hips up with his legs practically over his head. He continued to thrust deep and hard, amazed at how Larke's seemingly delicate body was able to take so much without breaking.

"I love you, Larke," he panted, smiling in such a way that made the young man beneath him feel inexplicably weak.

He thought of all the special attention Crowley had always paid him. Had he all this time not been saying "I'm better than you" but rather, "look at me"? Was all the rivalry and competition simply his way of showing off, all the cruel teasing all just a ploy for Larke's attention? Suppose it had worked, for the young pilot realized that he'd really thought of nothing but Crowley for as long as he could remember —that his whole life now revolved around him. It brought more tears to his eyes.

"I love you." he said again, bending to kiss them away.

And in the midst of the confession they were still passionately grinding and squirming and moaning, bodies in a hot tangle, coated in a thin sheen of sweat. It was not long before Larke gave himself to release, followed shortly by Crow. The two lay there in the mess for a brief moment, huffing and panting before Crowley rose at last.

"I'll get a towel or something." He said sheepishly, turning with a poorly suppressed grin to admire his messed up little Larke.

The navy-haired male sat up slowly, pulling his knees to his chest and watching him go. He had a lot to contemplate, it seemed.

A small, fond smile turned up the corners of his lips once he was sure Crowley would not see it. He whispered to himself, "You idiot. I need you more than I'll ever let you know."