"You started without me."
Dean's head snapped up, brows raised. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What? No hug?" Crowley mock-pouted, not moving from where he was leaning by the motel room door. He withdrew one hand from behind his back, a bottle of whisky dangling from his fingers. "Brought something a touch more palatable." He said, nodding towards the beer bottle that was currently paused halfway to Dean's lips.
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. Getting to his feet and setting the beer bottle down, he moved over to inspect the whisky. Crowley watched his face: a carefully unconcerned mask hiding ever-present suspicion. "Why?"
"Because it's sad for a grown man to drink alone?" Crowley narrowed his eyes, "And before you say it, I was referring to you, not me."
Dean raised a brow, lips twitching into the tiniest hint of a smirk that he quickly hid with a glare. "You been watching me?"
"Why ever would I be watching you? You need to keep that raging ego in check."
Dean's brow raised higher as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "How'd you know I was drinking alone then?”
"Really? I've said it before and I'll say it again - it's a good job you have your looks." Crowley sighed and dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "Moose not home?"
“No, he's out."
"For the record, how much have you had this fine evening?" Crowley glanced curiously at Dean: Dean narrowed his eyes, presumably trying to figure out what kind of insult was intended there.
"Couple beers," he said, going back to sit on the edge of his bed. "Why? Were you hoping I was drunk already?"
Crowley followed him to the bed and sat next to him, uninvited. He crossed his legs neatly at the ankle, holding out the bottle. "Drunk, sober. Both have their advantages."
"You know I'm a cheap date," Dean said, taking the bottle. He opened it up, sniffed once, and took a long swig.
"Ah-" Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dalmore 25 year old single malt... Never mind. Pearls before swine." His eyes followed the path of the whisky. "I can assure you, squirrel, at least for this date, cheap you are not."
Dean held the bottle out in front of him, inspecting it with a critical eye. "Trying to buy my love with alcohol again, Crowley?"
"Darling. I'm offended.” No comment at ‘date’, then. Crowley inclined his head, curiously. “Can't I pay an old friend a social visit when we've just dodged another big ol' apocalypse bullet?" Taking the bottle from Dean's hand he frowned briefly and fluffed a handkerchief from his top pocket before wiping the neck and taking a deep swallow. He glanced sideways at Dean. "Don't pretend you don't miss this."
Dean watched Crowley wipe the neck and rolled his eyes. "What's there to miss?" He snatched the bottle back before it was offered, and took another long drink.
"Cameraderie? Sparkling debate? Smouldering sexual tension?"
Dean laughed. "Sexual tension? Don't know what show you're watchin'."
"Hmm." Whatever you say. "Let's see if we don't switch channels before the bottom of that bottle, hmm?"
"Only if it has more of a kick than I think it does," Dean said, taking another drink before offering the bottle back.
"Famous last words, pumpkin." Crowley murmured. This time, he didn't bother wiping the bottle before drinking, his lips lingering on the glass rim, tongue just touching. "So, where's our dear Samantha at, tonight?"
Dean snorted, then shrugged, leaning back on his elbows. "Dunno. He's a big boy. He can do what he wants."
"Oh. He didn't tell you? Do I detect a hint of bitterness?" Crowley cocked his head.
Dean gave a little huff, shrugging again, all overgrown-troublesome-teen attitude. "'Course not."
"Of course not," Crowley echoed, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "So, your plans for the evening were..?"
"Thought about going to a bar. Decided against it." Dean paused. "Guess I didn't have plans or I wouldn't be sitting here with you."
"Netflix and crying into your pillow?" Crowley glanced around the outdated room. It could have been anywhere: he barely remembered where it was he’d teleported to when he’d spotted Dean was alone. Magnolia gloss paint and a carpet you could get electric shocks from. He suppressed a shudder. "Well. I'm assuming you at least have access to a laptop in this flea-pit?"
"'Course I have a laptop. It's in my bag."
"Redtube and crying into your pillow then, I assume."
"Definitely crying into my pillow," Dean said, rolling his eyes.
Crowley knocked back a larger swig of the whisky. Passed it on. "This place is, quite frankly, depressing. I'm sure the local drinking establishments are hardly the epitome of chic either, but if you'd like some company I'd be willing to slum it. Unless..." His eyes strayed to Dean's throat as he swallowed.
Dean licked his lips as he pulled the bottle away, eyeing Crowley. He cocked a brow. "Unless?"
Crowley regarded him slyly from beneath his lashes. "Unless you'd rather just have a cosy night in. For old times’ sake."
Dean's bottom lip caught between his teeth briefly and he glanced away. "I am not cuddling with you."
"We cuddled in North Dakota? Did I black out for that part?" Crowley's grin was wicked. He held out the bottle, already a third empty, and shook it. Human Dean, still putting it away like a demon...
Dean rolled his eyes. "You tried," he accused, eyes coming back to Crowley, running over him.
"Well, what can I say? Cocktails make me sentimental. Whisky makes me..." He raised an eyebrow.
Dean's tongue flicked over his lips. "Makes you what?" His voice was lower than before.
"Focus." Crowley's gaze certainly confirmed his words, fixed on Dean's darting tongue, watching him swallow, bottom lip catching briefly between his lips.
"What're you focusing on now?"
"Rebuilding bridges." Crowley's voice: whisky-steeped as ever, his eyes alert and bright, searching Dean's face.
"Crowley..." Dean frowned a little. "It's never gonna be like it was."
Crowley exhaled a little sigh. "Naturally. You're human again. Not your fault, love; I won't hold it against you."
"I didn't want to be," Dean huffed out a humourless laugh at that. "Would've found you again if I hadn't been cured."
"Is that so?"
Dean shrugged, making light of it as he always did. "It was fun. Care free. 'Til you started putting pressure on."
"Can't be all play and no work forever, darling. Except, now..." His mouth tightened and he took another swig of whisky to cover, handing the bottle back to Dean. "Not much left downstairs thanks to dear Cas's ex-lodger."
"Well, I didn't want responsibility anymore. What was the point in being a demon if I couldn't have fun?"
"Didn't we have fun? Wasn't it the time of your life?" Crowley's palm smoothed the coverlet between them, traced it into ripples and smoothed it again. "You said you'd have found me again if you hadn't been cured... why not when you have?"
"You wanted to ruin it," Dean complained. He watched Crowley's hand, breath a little shaky. "I'm not a demon, Crowley. It couldn't be the same."
"How can you tell if you never give it a try? Oh, I know. Dean Winchester: tormented antihero and Righteous Man." Crowley raised his eyes dramatically to the ceiling, pursed his lips. "Forever the martyr, when all you really want is cheap beer, cheaper sex and trans fat. It's a true tragedy for the ages."
Dean let out a little huff. He took a drink, longer than the previous. "What do you want, Crowley?"
"You, back at my side? My cards are on the table. You have talents that are..." His voice slunk lower, "...hard to replace."
Leaning back, Dean watched Crowley, his expression sceptical. "Back at your side to do what?"
"Well, there's not much left of Hell to rebuild," Crowley licked his lips. "I think we're due a little down time. At least for a while. What do you say?"
A hand slowly reached out to grab Crowley's suit jacket, tugging on it gently. "Maybe just a little bit."
Oh. Oh, my. Crowley's smile spread slow and delighted. ‘Triumph’ didn’t even cover it. "I'm so pleased you see this my way." Low murmur. He leaned in, closer, lips parting.
Of course, Dean rolled his eyes again, but his lips twitched slightly. "You gonna keep bragging all night, or are you gonna do something a bit it?"
"You’re human now, don’t forget." At Dean's words, Crowley's smile sharpened. "Don't challenge me; you're really playing with fire now."
Dean smirked, raising his brows as he laid back on the mattress, legs spreading slightly. "I could just do this myself if you're not interested."
"Oh, I have missed you so." The delight in Crowley's voice at such a blatant invitation bordered on reverent. He snapped his fingers; the brash overhead lights exploded with a tinkle of glass, replaced by flickering candlelight. "Perhaps I'm not sure. Perhaps I need persuading. Perhaps you should remind me just what I'm missing." Crowley watched him intently, greedy gaze following every movement of his hands.
Dean’s surprised gasp when the lights shattered became a small laugh. "Romantic," he murmured. Then his tongue was running over his lips again, hand sliding down to rub himself through his jeans. Eyes remained locked on Crowley's as he slowly undid the button, tugged the fly down. He pulled his cock out, half hard in his hand as he stroked slowly.
Crowley raised his chin. Hands jammed in his pockets. "You know me, love. Just an old-fashioned boy. Candlelight, roses, ball gags..."
"You never liked ball gags with me. Too much for the dirty talk." Dean grinned. He stroked himself slowly, giving a little squeeze near the head. Crowley's eyes followed the movement of his hands. He licked his lips. Oh, how vividly he remembered. He silently offered an infernal blessing to single malt.
"Another one of your many talents, sweetheart. What you lack in poetry you make up for in colour. Plus," hands slid out of his pockets, one bracing on the bed as he turned further for a better view, one discreetly adjusting his fly. "It would be an absolute crime to put anything between those perfect lips that isn't my john-thomas."
Dean let out a huff of a breath, licking his lips. His hand stroked over his cock a little quicker, legs spreading slightly. "Were always fond of my lips. Some of their other talents as well.'
"Were? Am." A work of art, that mouth, shining spit-wet and flushed with arousal in the soft light. Watching was nice - dignified, like - but Crowley's palms itched to touch. It had been too long and now this was too simple, like falling from grace. He stood, strolling around to the head of the bed where he toed off his shoes and sat, back propped against the headboard, next to Dean. Enjoying the free show from a different vantage point.
Dean's eyes followed Crowley, head tipping up so that he could look at him through his lashes. "You still think about them wrapped around that monster cock?"
"Constantly." Crowley's voice was a satisfied purr. "Do you, pet?" His hips shifted, the bulge spoiling the line of his slacks too prominent to ignore now. "Would you like to play?"
Dean looked down between Crowley’s thighs and bit his lip, squeezing his cock. "Fuck," he breathed, "Fuck yeah..."
"That's my boy." Crowley's deft hands made quick work of belt, button, zip. Pushing his briefs down he wrapped one hand around his cock, giving it a few hard strokes. His head fell back, mouth open. "All yours."
Dean let out a soft moan, letting go of his own cock as he shifted around so that he was more on his stomach. He batted Crowley's hand away, wrapped his own fingers around the demon's cock. He gave a few strokes and then leaned in, sucking lightly at the head, groaning in pleasure.
"Mmm. Good boy." Crowley watched approvingly, those plump lips kissing at his tip, tongue going to town. He tugged his tie free, undid his top three buttons, settling more comfortably before his fingers began to comb through the buzzed hair at the back of Dean's head. "Tell me, princess - how long has it been since you've had a proper, thorough servicing? Was I your last, or have you been trawling those truck-stop bathrooms?"
The noise of pleasure Dean made when Crowley's fingers moved through his hair was just delicious. He had always liked that. Looking up, eyes wide, Dean took Crowley deeper before pulling off, stroking him instead. "Wouldn't matter if I was. Not many people are as thorough as you."
"Refreshes the parts other casual self-loathing hook-ups can't reach, hmmm?" Crowley's voice buzzed low, his eyes bright and amused. "Are you going to undress for me or do I have to unwrap you like candy?"
Dean declined to answer the first part, his eyes flashing annoyance. "Used to complain when I snapped my fingers and undressed. You like unwrapping me like candy. Don't deny it."
"Well... I do have a sweet tooth..." Crowley's fingers tightened in Dean's shirt, dragging him easily to his knees, crushing their mouths together. Those sweet lips opened just as easily to his tongue as he remembered; Crowley growled in appreciation, hands pushing Dean's flannel from his shoulders. Dean kissed back eagerly, moaning into Crowley's mouth. He helped get his shirt off, tossing it in the floor before breaking the kiss, biting and sucking at Crowley's neck.
"No lovebites above the collar, tiger. Don't want to ruin my virtuous reputation." The laughter in Crowley's voice was quite clear, dissolving into a groan and a thrust of his hips as Dean pointedly increased his efforts. "Dear sin, I've missed that mouth; you could suck a golf ball through a fire hose. Here. Off. Now." He tugged at the hem of Dean's t-shirt.
"You can heal them," Dean mumbled, stroking Crowley firmly. He pulled away and helped his shirt over his head. Hands reached out, fumbling to undo the buttons of Crowley’s shirt. "You're overdressed."
"You're quite correct." Crowley shrugged out of his jacket, pushing it carelessly to the floor, leaning in to steal kisses as Dean pushed his open shirt down over his shoulders. His hands tugged Dean's jeans and underwear none-too-gently down his thighs.
Dean huffed out a laugh, shifting awkwardly to get the remainder of his clothes off. "Perv," he teased, "Get your rocks off having me naked while you're still dressed, huh?"
"Mmm." Crowley ran possessive hands up the backs of Dean's thighs, drinking in the view. "We should absolutely do that."
Dean's breath shook at the touch, bottom lip catching between his teeth. "Yeah," he agreed before pressing forward to crush their lips together again. Crowley's hands tightened, encouraging Dean to straddle him, not breaking their kiss - deeper, wetter - and Dean swung his leg over Crowley's lap, hands slid up his chest, arse rubbing against his cock.
"You really have missed me." Crowley murmured it against Dean's kiss-swollen lips. One hand slid from cupping Dean's backside, around to wrap around his dick, pumping slowly. "And I've missed this cute little fellow."
Dean groaned softly, rocking his hips gently. "Just 'cause yours is a monster," he grumbled, fingers curling gently against Crowley's chest.
"Tell me all about how I've spoiled you for anyone else, lover." Crowley's hand continued to stroke, slow and measured and teasing. His dick slid, promising, in the cleft of Dean's arse.
Dean moaned, grinding against Crowley's cock. "Give you an ego boost?" He licked his lips. "Never had a cock like yours. Never had someone who knows how to use it like you do."
"My, my squirrel. We are in an obliging mood. I may have to take advantage of that." His lips ghosted against Dean's, tongue flicking out, teasing. Thumb circling the plump head of Dean's cock.
Dean's breath caught and he rolled his tongue over Crowley's, hips jerking. He gave a tiny shrug. "Know I ruined you too," he whispered.
"I deny everything." Crowley's voice buzzed low against his ear, sharp teeth grazing his earlobe, catching and tugging gently. Lips pressed light kisses to sensitive skin, down to his jaw, scratch of stubble beneath Crowley’s tongue. "I haven't thought about you once. I haven't watched you and waited to get you alone."
Dean's breath hitched and he rubbed more firmly against Crowley. "So you didn't come here tonight 'cause you knew I was alone? You're not here 'cause you want me, 'cause you missed this?"
"Nothing of the sort," Crowley breathed against his neck. His free hand pressed the hard hot length of his cock more firmly against Dean's arse, hips lifting. He stifled a groan. "Dean... I'm going to have you now. I trust that's alright by you..."
Dean let out a noise close to a whimper, fingers sliding into Crowley's hair and tugging gently. "Fuck," he breathed, "Yeah. Yeah, that's alright by me."
"Just need a firm hand, don't you, darling?" Crowley murmured leaning back into the touch, his eyes slipping rapturously closed. "On your back for me."
Dean groaned at that, rubbing his arse more firmly against Crowley's cock. He seemed reluctant to do as he was told this time. "Could ride you," he mumbled.
"Mmmm you could." Crowley's sweet smile showed sharp teeth. His hands moved to tighten on Dean's hips, holding him down hard. "But I'd really very much like your legs slung over my shoulders while I drill you like the M6 Bank Holiday roadworks."
Dean let out a slightly strangled noise, tugging harder on Crowley's hair. "You gotta hurry then," he grumbled, tucking his face into Crowley's neck. Hands lifted from Dean's hips. With a graceful gesture of one finger he was flung onto the bed with a winded grunt, bouncing on the mattress. Crowley raised an eyebrow. He pushed his trousers further down, lifting first one then the other knee to wriggle out of them.
Dean huffed out a breath of surprise.
"Don't do that," he grumbled, but was already spreading his legs, clearly more eager to get the show on the road than bothered by the use of powers.
"You told me to get a move on." Crowley mock-pouted. His eyes flashed, predatory, as he crawled between Dean's legs. "What would you have me do instead, hmm?" One finger trailed the length of Dean's calf.
Dean shivered, bottom lip catching between his teeth. "Could've just used your hands," he breathed, reaching out to grasp Crowley's cock, give a light tug. "Gonna fuck me or not?"
"Use my hands?" Crowley's image flickered, a blip in the atmosphere like a skipping frame of film, too quick to notice unless you were looking. When he returned, a split-second later, he was holding a little brown glass bottle in one hand. "Hmm." Crowley's hot gaze flicked between the bottle in his hand and Dean Winchester spread out before him like a picnic.
Dean’s eyes caught on the bottle and he raised a brow. "What's that?"
"I have it on good authority from a bokor pal of mine it’s, 'the best thrill your human'll ever have'." Crowley uncorked the neck and tipped the contents onto his fingers, sniffing it curiously. A strong scent of oranges and some undefinable herbs filled the room. Crowley leaned down, bracing on one hand.
Dean watched Crowley dubiously, brows raised high. He worried his lower lip and shifted a little. "That's weird," he complained.
"You're in bed with a demon, darling. You want vanilla sex?" His slicked fingers trailed between Dean's thighs, insinuated between his cheeks, spreading them firmly with thumb and middle finger, index finger pressing so very gently...
Dean groaned quietly, biting his lower lip. He furrowed his brow, fingers fisting in the sheets. "I-it feels weird, Crowley," he panted.
Crowley tilted his head, sucking on his lower lip, face full of concentration. He dragged his finger out, slipped it easily back in. "Good weird or bad weird? Wait, don't spoiler me." Withdrawing his hand completely he wrapped it around his cock, slicking himself with a satisfied murmur.
Dean made a noise of protest when Crowley pulled his finger out and he spread his legs further. "I thought whisky made you focus," he grumbled, "Come on. Stop fuckin' around."
"You talk too much." Crowley bent over him, resting a little more weight than was probably polite as he shut him up with a possessive kiss. The oil was good stuff - or else he was just unbearably horny, either was a possibility with Dean Winchester open wide and squirming beneath him - it tingled, hot and cold, begging for friction. Reaching down between his legs Crowley lined up, exquisitely hard, rubbed the tip of his cock in quick, wet circles around Dean's tight little hole.
Dean gasped out, hands gripping Crowley's arms, fingers digging in. He kissed back with obvious desperation, moaning into it. "Th-that all the prep I'm getting?"
"Shhhh... I'll go slowly..." His hands guided and steadied. Shallow pressure, circling, until just the head of him slipped in, withdrew, pressed in again. "You can take it, champ."
Dean whimpered softly, nails digging into Crowley's skin. "Fuck," he panted, head thrown back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Shit. It's too big."
"Should I stop?" A fingertip rubbed alongside the blunt tip of Crowley's cock, circled and replaced it, pressing in easy and deep. Is this more or less fun than when he was a demon? Different, certainly. Less... fight. Crowley smirked, worked another finger into tight heat, the irresistible body beneath him all taut straining muscle, faint sheen of sweat on his flushed chest.
Dean whined when Crowley replaced his cock with a finger. Well. He was certainly giving mixed signals. "Just...quick." He rocked back, panting.
Crowley laughed softly. Pressed his fingers deeper, faster, his cock jerking, wet, at the sight of the great Dean Winchester moaning and grinding his peachy little arse down onto a demon's fingers. "Ask nicely."
Dean groaned at the demand. He opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. "Please hurry," he whispered.
Crowley rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "C minus for creativity but A plus for sincerity, petal." Dragging the head of his cock between Dean's arse-cheeks again he hissed in a breath at the sweet yielding give of him. Pressed harder, sliding smoothly inside. Dean’s moan was music, nails dragging down Crowley's arms. His legs hooked around Crowley’s waist, heels on the small of his back pulling him in deeper. "You haven't done this since Beulah, have you?" Crowley's voice was rougher, hot as smoke. "Look at you, begging for it." His hips circled, setting a lazy rhythm, arms cradling the legs wrapped around his waist.
Dean rolled his hips back against Crowley's, hands sliding up to grip his shoulders tight. "God...Shit...Just fuck me," he moaned. So damn good... More than just the feel of him... Crowley bit down on a blissful groan at those broken words. Hooking his arms beneath Dean's knees he hoisted Dean’s legs over his shoulders, changing his angle, deep, deep, faster, pulling out and slamming forward, hips smacking the backs of Dean's thighs. "Fuck!" Dean threw his head back, nails digging hard into Crowley's biceps. He couldn't do much in that position except let out loud moans, gripping Crowley wherever he could: he was always so intoxicating when he just let himself give in. And now - no Mark, no black eyes - Crowley's breath came fast and desperate, pounding those beautiful sounds from the unresisting body beneath him. "Oh god. Yes." Dean writhed beneath him, cock leaking against his belly. "More. Fuck...don't stop." His back arched, nails digging hard into Crowley's arms, legs hooked behind his neck, pulling him down closer.
"Is that... hitting the spot..." Crowley couldn't help the way his voice was wavering, rough and panting. That delicious pressure building, inevitable, and it's not a competition, but; "Touch yourself for me. I want to feel it when you come."
"Yes! Oh god, yes..." Dean let go with one hand, reaching down to stroke himself quickly. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he stared up at Crowley. "Close," he panted, "So close." Crowley's hands tightened on Dean's thighs, holding him firmly in place, his hips pressed flush against Dean's arse, deep as he could go. Heart hammering in time with the pulse around his cock, Crowley rocked his hips, just barely, mouth dry. The moment he saw Dean's eyelashes flutter, his mouth opening around a delirious moan, the clench of him around Crowley's length, he pulled back, slammed in again, again, again, hard and fast and uncompromising. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! God damn!" Dean spilled over his fist, head thrown back in ecstasy. His free hand fell to the bed, fingers fisting in the sheets and tugging. "Jesus fucking Christ, Crowley! Yes!"
Oh, just like old times. The sight of him, arching up from the cheap mattress, Crowley's name on his lips. Crowley groaned, rough and guttural. A last brutal snap of his hips and the muscles in his belly tightened, locking them together, all raw sensation. His cock throbbed, shooting into fluttering heat, intense enough to make even a demon a little dizzy. "Fuck..." Dean's moan was broken as he slowly released his own cock, panting heavily. He reached up, fingers fisting in Crowley's hair, and pulled him down into a rough kiss.
He tasted so sweet. Sweeter than cheap beer and expensive whisky should have allowed. Crowley bit gently at Dean's full lower lip, shivering as he responded in kind. As Crowley softened, still inside him,
Dean moaned into the kiss, fingers pushing slowly through Crowley's hair. After a few minutes he pulled back, still panting softly. "Fuck..."
Easing out, Crowley wrinkled his nose with the effort of being careful. His own legs were shuddering more than he'd like and when he finally dropped Dean's legs down onto the sheets Dean flopped as boneless as if he'd just run a marathon. Crowley's mouth quirked into a smile at that, as he mustered the last amount of elegance he could manage to lie down a little too close to Dean on the narrow bed. "'No sexual tension' my delightful arse."
Dean snorted at that, not moving from where he was. He seemed too exhausted to budge. "Shuddup," he mumbled, though his lips twitched into a tiny smile.
Turning his head, Crowley watched him. Silhouetted in profile against the tacky palm-frond wallpaper. A once-familiar sight, that. Crowley let out a sigh, the relief of orgasm leaving him heavy. He let one arm fall, out straight between them. The backs of his fingers casually brushed Dean's thigh. Dean shivered at that, turning his head to look at Crowley. Eyes ran over his body slowly, tongue sliding over his lips. His fingers twitched near Crowley's arm and skated lightly over it, just for a second. "We were a good team though, eh, squirrel?" Crowley murmured. He turned to stare up at the ceiling. Off-white with a creeping pattern like uncharted maps that looked like damp, but surely not in this climate. He let out another sigh, somewhere between contented and wistful.
Dean chuckled lightly. "Yeah," he agreed. He ran his hand over his stomach. "Remember the triplets? No one could've given it to 'em better."
Crowley grunted a surprised laugh. "How could I forget?" He looked back over at Dean. Stupid to feel this... like this… when you've just had your willy up a bloke’s bum while he screamed your name. Crowley raised his left hand tentatively, hovering over their prone bodies, a wordless invitation. Dean grinned a little and raised his own fist, bumping it against Crowley's, and Crowley’s innards did a strange little flip.
"Good times." Dean rolled onto his stomach, a little closer to Crowley now, cheek pressed to the pillow so he was looking at him. "What's your favourite thing we did?"
"Not the karaoke. Or the atomic buffalo wings." Crowley's grin had accidentally edged into 'genuine' territory.
"You loved my karaoke." Dean nudged him.
Crowley steadfastly avoided looking, but he knew what he'd see if he did: those stupid green eyes fixed on him, that stupid easy smile, those stupid, stupid freckles. "You know... It doesn't have to be past tense. We could get the band back together."
Dean gave a soft sigh. "How's that supposed to work, Crowley? You gonna give up Hell and be a hunter?"
A loud, derogatory snort escaped Crowley on reflex. "Hardly. I need a Lysol bath just from visiting this dump." His gaze flickered, caught Dean's eye without really meaning to. Well, shit. "You can come away with me. Just for a little while. Just for some fun?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "So prissy." He swallowed. "Crowley... I can't just... stop hunting."
"Not even a sabbatical?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. It was pointless, of course. Doomed Winchester family business aside, outside of actually having squirrel in his employ again, being spotted fraternising with a Winchester would just about put the last nail in the coffin of Crowley’s teetering reputation. Even so. "Well. So be it, Juliet."
"Why are you calling me your dog's-" Dean frowned. "Oh. No, dude. Fuck that. I'm Romeo. You're Juliet. You're the one on the balcony."
"But I named my puppy after you and everything." Crowley pulled a mock-innocent face.
Dean rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Oh, shut up." He fell silent.
Crowley’s fingers played with the throw of the bed. Quilted poly-something, offensively scratchy against his skin. That half-gone bottle of anti-freeze was likely the most valuable thing in the room. Not counting the probable arsenal of offensive weapons squirrel had stashed away somewhere… "So..." Crowley cleared his throat. The candles were still flickering. They were still conspicuously naked, lying side by side on a queen size bed with the muted roar of next door's TV leaking through the thin walls. It wasn't cold, but the hairs on the backs of Crowley's arms were starting to prickle… And yet… somehow he really didn't want to leave. Or even get dressed. "Anything planned for the rest of your evening?"
Dean gave a little laugh, fingers brushing ever so gently over Crowley's arm, like he hoped it wouldn't be noticed. "You think I made plans since the last time you asked?"
Crowley gave him a sideways glance. His skin prickled like static where Dean’s fingertips had touched. "You want to watch America's Most Wanted and eat Doritos til your wife gets home?"
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. Despite that he nodded. "Yeah, why not?" He started to push up and then huffed, lying back down. "Use your mojo."
"Mojo," Crowley grumbled. He clicked his fingers, both of them instantly clean, but still unclothed. He stretched, luxuriously, arms above his head. "This is good, honest witchcraft, love. Did you see where my underwear went?"
"Touchy." Dean grinned, nudging Crowley lightly. "Who needs underwear?"
Crowley's smirk was back. He shuffled surreptitiously closer to Dean, bare hips touching. The television blinked on with a wave of Crowley’s hand. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he said.