[Dean tried very hard not to acknowledge that glimmer- not to look into those eyes at all, because that was freaking intimate and weird. It was a little difficult not to, though, considering Crowley was right up in his face, eyes (and lips) only a few inches from his own. He craned his neck back, and accomplished absolutely nothing in the gesture. This was not good. If he was going to make out with a dude- not that he ever would, but if he was going to, he could think of about a dozen people that would be higher on his Gay List than a former punk-ass crossroads demon.
He held up a finger.]
There's going to be absolutely no shagging. In fact, no touching of any kind that isn't absolutely necessary. I don't wanna feel you getting all handsy. Hard to resist, I know, but be a classy first date, would you?
[He cleared his throat, darted a tongue over his lips and tried to ignore how dry his mouth suddenly felt.]
Freakin' deserve dinner after this. I'm expecting lobster. The good kind, none of that shitty Red Lobster crap.
[Another beat and, okay, maybe at this point he was just stalling. Son of a bitch.]
Yes, yes, you've gone all shirking violet because you're scared if I touch you, you might like it. Don't worry doll, I'm not that kind of a first date.
[Crowley? Totally unimpressed by the hunter's resistance. In fact, he rather thought it was over-stated, yelled a bit too loud, like he had something to prove. The crossroads demon quite frankly simply couldn't have cared less. He curled fingers in Dean's shirt and looked like he was trying to hold back laughter as Dean went on about lobster, something glinting darkly in his hazel eyes.]
Alright, Winchester. I'll take you out for a lobster dinner. It's a deal.
[And on that no-doubt ominous note, Crowley leaned in and sealed their mouths together before Dean could try and sputter something inevitably graceless in response. Dean Winchester was the only person possessed of failed retorts so bad that half the time Crowley felt embarrassed just for having heard them.]
[It's a deal? Oh hell no- before he had a chance to protest, though, a mouth was pressed against his. By reflex, his eyes snapped shut and fingers came up to fist tightly in Crowley's stupid unexpected t-shirt.
Two separate instincts took over at once- obviously the urge to shove the other man away, which he suppressed after the tiniest forward-shove and compensated for by hauling the other body closer to his chest. The second urge was ingrained into him through years of developing skills in this area- the urge to kiss back.
Defending his honor did not make him gay. They were already kissing, right? Might as well not give Crowley something else to mock him about, bringing his bedroom skills into question.
After taking about three seconds to come to the conclusion, he launched his fuck-it attitude into practice, used his grip to spin Crowley around and slammed his back into the closet wall. Assaulted his mouth in a kiss that was almost more a display of dominance.]
[Really Dean, you walked right into that. Crowley had tossed the line out casually, but he hadn't expected the elder Winchester to bite. Sometimes he couldn't tell how much he liked the man, and how much he just enjoyed torturing him. In an admittedly non-dangerous sort of way that was peppered with unexpected assistance from time to time.
There was a slight push away, but then Dean seemed to get a handle on himself and dragged him in closer. Crowley was only too willing to oblige. Crowley was a good kisser, but when they started it was all sweet gentility, wordlessly mocking as if Dean needed to be handled with kid-gloves. That lasted for all of three seconds.
Dean's hands on his shirt reversing their positions, shoving him into the wall and then they were kissing hard. Crowley was kissing back, but it was determined, now, breathless and intent. The demon refusing to give as Dean turned it into something more than a kiss. A competition, really. And so he kissed back harder, gave as good as he got, teeth tugging at lips without crossing that threshold to where it hurt, slide of a tongue at the seal of his lips.
Crowley wanted to break him. Not permanently, not hollow Dean out inside, and leave him cold and brittle. But like this? The demon had seven minutes and a few hundred years of carnal knowledge, and he wanted to leave Dean Winchester with the irrevocable fact that he'd liked this.
This gesture at determining dominance was just a play; even if he lost, he was still going to win.]
[Call him crazy, but once you spend forty years in hell thanks to Let's Make a Deal, you're not really eager to repeat the experience. Especially not by some accidentally worded stupid demon deal over Rock Lobster. He's.... pretty sure Crowley was just messing with him, though, so he doesn't push the issue.
If he gets popped off by some loony in ten years, he's strolling through hell and knocking straight on Crowley's office door. Bastard. Stupid, helpful, annoyingly weird bastard.
That bastard was fighting back. Oh, it was so on. If this was a competition, Dean wasn't about to go down without a little fight, even if he was playing straight into Crowley's hand. Not literally. So not literally.
He bit back, just this side of painful, nudged his chin forward and met the touch of tongue with a responding press of his own- definitely not gentle, but not sloppy, either. A straightforward, commanding curl that tried to force the other into submission.
If Crowley was going to break his brain by making him like it, Dean would make the victory bittersweet with the knowledge that it was all he got, and it was so never happening again, no matter how awesome.
And after this, he was going to stab that pagan bitch straight through the damn heart with a fury.]
[Well, he was more under the impression that they'd been bargaining seven minutes of kisses for a lobster dinner date, but Dean always was late to the party. Maybe the demon was just messing with him. Maybe. It was possible.
Crowley's hands ended up somewhat-unobtrusively curled into Dean's shirt against the Hunter's sides. It wasn't as if there was a wall for him to put them against, so, there they went. He was breaking the rules in the least objectionable manner possible, here, Winchester.
There's a faint murmur at that just-sharp bite of teeth against his lip- what? demon- and his tongue slid against the man's as he tried to press Crowley's into submission. It didn't work of course, the demon's tongue curling against Dean's, starting to map out reactions, places to antagonize with drags of his tongue and
Yes, yes, all he gets. As if he's not going to be trying to find a way to change that state of affairs. But, for the moment, his attention if fully focused on that kiss, on the way their mouths fit together, and trying to make him moan.]
He held up a finger.]
There's going to be absolutely no shagging. In fact, no touching of any kind that isn't absolutely necessary. I don't wanna feel you getting all handsy. Hard to resist, I know, but be a classy first date, would you?
[He cleared his throat, darted a tongue over his lips and tried to ignore how dry his mouth suddenly felt.]
Freakin' deserve dinner after this. I'm expecting lobster. The good kind, none of that shitty Red Lobster crap.
[Another beat and, okay, maybe at this point he was just stalling. Son of a bitch.]
Okay. Uh. Should we- on three?
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[Crowley? Totally unimpressed by the hunter's resistance. In fact, he rather thought it was over-stated, yelled a bit too loud, like he had something to prove. The crossroads demon quite frankly simply couldn't have cared less. He curled fingers in Dean's shirt and looked like he was trying to hold back laughter as Dean went on about lobster, something glinting darkly in his hazel eyes.]
Alright, Winchester. I'll take you out for a lobster dinner. It's a deal.
[And on that no-doubt ominous note, Crowley leaned in and sealed their mouths together before Dean could try and sputter something inevitably graceless in response. Dean Winchester was the only person possessed of failed retorts so bad that half the time Crowley felt embarrassed just for having heard them.]
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Two separate instincts took over at once- obviously the urge to shove the other man away, which he suppressed after the tiniest forward-shove and compensated for by hauling the other body closer to his chest. The second urge was ingrained into him through years of developing skills in this area- the urge to kiss back.
Defending his honor did not make him gay. They were already kissing, right? Might as well not give Crowley something else to mock him about, bringing his bedroom skills into question.
After taking about three seconds to come to the conclusion, he launched his fuck-it attitude into practice, used his grip to spin Crowley around and slammed his back into the closet wall. Assaulted his mouth in a kiss that was almost more a display of dominance.]
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There was a slight push away, but then Dean seemed to get a handle on himself and dragged him in closer. Crowley was only too willing to oblige. Crowley was a good kisser, but when they started it was all sweet gentility, wordlessly mocking as if Dean needed to be handled with kid-gloves. That lasted for all of three seconds.
Dean's hands on his shirt reversing their positions, shoving him into the wall and then they were kissing hard. Crowley was kissing back, but it was determined, now, breathless and intent. The demon refusing to give as Dean turned it into something more than a kiss. A competition, really. And so he kissed back harder, gave as good as he got, teeth tugging at lips without crossing that threshold to where it hurt, slide of a tongue at the seal of his lips.
Crowley wanted to break him. Not permanently, not hollow Dean out inside, and leave him cold and brittle. But like this? The demon had seven minutes and a few hundred years of carnal knowledge, and he wanted to leave Dean Winchester with the irrevocable fact that he'd liked this.
This gesture at determining dominance was just a play; even if he lost, he was still going to win.]
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If he gets popped off by some loony in ten years, he's strolling through hell and knocking straight on Crowley's office door. Bastard. Stupid, helpful, annoyingly weird bastard.
That bastard was fighting back. Oh, it was so on. If this was a competition, Dean wasn't about to go down without a little fight, even if he was playing straight into Crowley's hand. Not literally. So not literally.
He bit back, just this side of painful, nudged his chin forward and met the touch of tongue with a responding press of his own- definitely not gentle, but not sloppy, either. A straightforward, commanding curl that tried to force the other into submission.
If Crowley was going to break his brain by making him like it, Dean would make the victory bittersweet with the knowledge that it was all he got, and it was so never happening again, no matter how awesome.
And after this, he was going to stab that pagan bitch straight through the damn heart with a fury.]
Reply
Crowley's hands ended up somewhat-unobtrusively curled into Dean's shirt against the Hunter's sides. It wasn't as if there was a wall for him to put them against, so, there they went. He was breaking the rules in the least objectionable manner possible, here, Winchester.
There's a faint murmur at that just-sharp bite of teeth against his lip- what? demon- and his tongue slid against the man's as he tried to press Crowley's into submission. It didn't work of course, the demon's tongue curling against Dean's, starting to map out reactions, places to antagonize with drags of his tongue and
Yes, yes, all he gets. As if he's not going to be trying to find a way to change that state of affairs. But, for the moment, his attention if fully focused on that kiss, on the way their mouths fit together, and trying to make him moan.]
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