Crowley hadn't been too worried about leaving Henry in his room that morning, after he'd left. After all, he could just leave the door cracked a little...It seemed a bit selfish, but he had a humongous headache of his own to deal with and it had been a completely different experience walking down to his room, experiencing his first ever hang-over. There was a bit of getting sick when he finally got there too, which he had been expecting, but afterwards the castle was kind of enough to leave him pills. There was even an extra set. For another night, just in case? No
( ... )
The first slam on the door sent a shock of pain through Henry's head and coursing down the rest of his body. To the overly sensitive man it seemed as though the room was trying to collapse around him, the noise was so loud. As a reaction he curled himself tightly into a ball in the blankets on the floor.
And then he heard a second, softer thump. Sort of like the very first one, the one where he'd fallen out of bed. Only not so...painful.
A head poked out of the blankets, wild brunette hair sticking out every which way, and a pair of squinting, bloodshot green eyes gazed vaguely toward the door. From his vantage point to the side of the bed he couldn't see Crowley, who was currently sprawled in the entryway. What in the world had that been? And why was the door hanging open like that?
Oh who cared? The light was making his eyes water and the pain was getting worse the longer he stayed out in the open. The blanket flew up over his head again and the cocooned man lay back down against the floor.
The castle's 'assistance' had been a complete surprise and, for a moment there, Crowley simply stayed where he had fallen on the floor. He picked himself up only after he was sure that there would be no more unexpected help on Paradisa's end. Brushing himself off a bit, the demon eyed the area next to Henry's bed. This was turning into an amusing trip.
"Get up, Henry. Rise and shine. Or, better yet, rise, take some medicine, shower, change, and -then- shine."
Crowley made his way closer to the lump of sheets as he spoke and at the last mention of 'shine', prodded said lump with his foot.
"I don't want to have to pry all of that off of you, but you should know by now that I will."
To illustrate his point, Crowley leaned over and grabbed at a bit of bedcover with one hand.
It took Henry a good while to get himself cleaned up, sideburns perfect and everything, and get the shaving cream washed off of his face. When he was done, though, he looked (in his own opinion, at least) about a million times better. The drugs Crowley had brought him had finally kicked in, too, and his head was starting to clear. Roaring pain receded to a dull ache and eventually faded away.
Hallelujah.
He splashed on a bit of aftershave (Old Spice, just like his father had always worn) and put some deodorant on, and then realized with a start that he didn't actually have any clothing to put on. Not in here, anyway. Brilliant planning here, Henry.Oh well. It wasn't like he had anything to hide, right? Crowley had just recently seen him in his boxers, after all, and the towel actually covered a little more than the boxers had. Still...now that he was completely sober, and not in pain or feeling the need to be sick, parading around with all of his scars and the numbers on his neck exposed wasn't feeling like such a great idea. He'd
( ... )
”Sorry? For what? I just asked why you never draw yourself.”
Looking up from the sketches, Crowley caught Henry working his way the last couple of feet to the wardrobe. Oh, that was right. He’d been in there too, and hadn’t seen a change of clothes. Come to think, there hadn’t really been any time for the man to grab any, with how Crowley had been teasing him, and then the bath. Ah well. “You could’ve just said something.” He stated, walking up behind Henry and reaching past him to open up the wardrobe’s main doors.
After looking over at everything hanging up once, and shuffling through a few of the drawers, Crowley grabbed a white t-shirt, a shirt to go over that, and a pair of pants and got out of the way to toss (the pants) and lay out (the shirts) the outfit on the bed.
“That would be angels, who have surprisingly little taste in good clothing. Demons are much more up to date on thes-…Well, alright, it’s just me. But the point is, hurry up and get dressed so we can eat.”
So that's what he'd been doing over at the desk....
Henry was about to reply, to stammer out some vague answer that probably wouldn't have been much of an answer at all, when instead Crowley came up behind him and reached past him to open the wardrobe. The action was so unexpected that it struck Henry momentarily speechless. He stood in place, stopping just short of gaping, while the demon rummaged through his clothes.
What the...did....
...did Crowley just put himself in charge of dressing me?
He did. And....
He cleaned too.
Huh.The outfit Crowley picked out was similar to what Henry normally wore (though he couldn't tell the color of the overshirt). While the other man was laying one of the shirts out Henry had the presence of mind (but just barely) to reach back and snag a clean pair of boxers from one of the drawers. Some kind of dark plaid. He blushed just slightly, remembering the demon's earlier comment about plaid, and gathered up the rest of the clothing that had been laid out with a nod of
( ... )
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And then he heard a second, softer thump. Sort of like the very first one, the one where he'd fallen out of bed. Only not so...painful.
A head poked out of the blankets, wild brunette hair sticking out every which way, and a pair of squinting, bloodshot green eyes gazed vaguely toward the door. From his vantage point to the side of the bed he couldn't see Crowley, who was currently sprawled in the entryway. What in the world had that been? And why was the door hanging open like that?
Oh who cared? The light was making his eyes water and the pain was getting worse the longer he stayed out in the open. The blanket flew up over his head again and the cocooned man lay back down against the floor.
Better.
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"Get up, Henry. Rise and shine. Or, better yet, rise, take some medicine, shower, change, and -then- shine."
Crowley made his way closer to the lump of sheets as he spoke and at the last mention of 'shine', prodded said lump with his foot.
"I don't want to have to pry all of that off of you, but you should know by now that I will."
To illustrate his point, Crowley leaned over and grabbed at a bit of bedcover with one hand.
"What's it going to be, Slave?"
Oh, yes. The week had only just begun.
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Oh...shitHe'd almost completely forgotten--the week started today, didn't it ( ... )
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Hallelujah.
He splashed on a bit of aftershave (Old Spice, just like his father had always worn) and put some deodorant on, and then realized with a start that he didn't actually have any clothing to put on. Not in here, anyway. Brilliant planning here, Henry.Oh well. It wasn't like he had anything to hide, right? Crowley had just recently seen him in his boxers, after all, and the towel actually covered a little more than the boxers had. Still...now that he was completely sober, and not in pain or feeling the need to be sick, parading around with all of his scars and the numbers on his neck exposed wasn't feeling like such a great idea. He'd ( ... )
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What had that been?
”Sorry? For what? I just asked why you never draw yourself.”
Looking up from the sketches, Crowley caught Henry working his way the last couple of feet to the wardrobe. Oh, that was right. He’d been in there too, and hadn’t seen a change of clothes. Come to think, there hadn’t really been any time for the man to grab any, with how Crowley had been teasing him, and then the bath. Ah well.
“You could’ve just said something.” He stated, walking up behind Henry and reaching past him to open up the wardrobe’s main doors.
After looking over at everything hanging up once, and shuffling through a few of the drawers, Crowley grabbed a white t-shirt, a shirt to go over that, and a pair of pants and got out of the way to toss (the pants) and lay out (the shirts) the outfit on the bed.
“That would be angels, who have surprisingly little taste in good clothing. Demons are much more up to date on thes-…Well, alright, it’s just me. But the point is, hurry up and get dressed so we can eat.”
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So that's what he'd been doing over at the desk....
Henry was about to reply, to stammer out some vague answer that probably wouldn't have been much of an answer at all, when instead Crowley came up behind him and reached past him to open the wardrobe. The action was so unexpected that it struck Henry momentarily speechless. He stood in place, stopping just short of gaping, while the demon rummaged through his clothes.
What the...did....
...did Crowley just put himself in charge of dressing me?
He did. And....
He cleaned too.
Huh.The outfit Crowley picked out was similar to what Henry normally wore (though he couldn't tell the color of the overshirt). While the other man was laying one of the shirts out Henry had the presence of mind (but just barely) to reach back and snag a clean pair of boxers from one of the drawers. Some kind of dark plaid. He blushed just slightly, remembering the demon's earlier comment about plaid, and gathered up the rest of the clothing that had been laid out with a nod of ( ... )
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