No Event | BYOA
Being here long enough one learns the ins and outs of how this weird, fucked up place works. The people it brings in and the people it takes away just as keenly, as if they were never here in the first place. Just like hearing about Sam being in this place yet he'd never run into him. Ran into all sorts of people in a large place like this, and
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And hey, he takes offense to being called a moron, thanks. His eyes widen when this man, Crowley, apparently, claims he's a demon and the one thing he's learned about demons is that they lie -- unless the truth is so much more worth it.
"Son of a bitch," he mutteres out and swiftly brings out a knife -- Ruby's knife he had on him when he was pulled here but that, coupled with his shotgun, were the only things. "Yeah well standing here jaw-jacking to me is also kind of bad for your survival," Dean says as he makes to stab the demon with the knife.
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Crowley gives Dean a look as if he's slow on the uptake when he goes for the knife. They've done this before, afterall, not that this Dean knows that. There's that flicker, shift from one place to another and he's out of the path of the blade, instead catching Dean's hand in his fingers. Crowley's smiling, no real strength in his hands, doesn't want to hurt him. Truthfully, he likes this part, where Dean is still all anger and demons are bad people. His smile is bright and as sharp as the knife between them -- no, this isn't bad for his health, actually.
"You know, Winchester, if you're into the rough stuff, all you have to do is say 'please'." The demon's eyes are bright and amused, and he lifts an eyebrow as if he actually thinks the hunter might take him up on his invitation.
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"Sorry, not into the whole torture thing. Been there, done that, not my cup of tea."
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His bright hazels looking up into Dean's pretty greens, curiously remapping the dynamic they'd had. He found Dean fascinating. It always felt like there was a darkness he tried to hide under classic rock and dive bars, and he was drawn in by the dichotomy. Crowley had always played his interest close to his chest, but here there wasn't the incentive to play nice there had been before.
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He couldn't, however, push down the little shiver at the slide of the demons finger down his chest and after a moment he shoved the man's hand away and edged out from between him and the wall. "Whatever you're after, you're not getting it. This place ain't the Hilton. There's no way out."
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"Don't be absurd, of course there's a way out. I know you're slow, darling, but I'd think even you could find the exit sign."
The flippancy of his gaze faltered a little, however, because the fact was that while he could use his ability to reappear for parlor tricks like dodging Dean's knife, he hadn't been able to get back. His lips thin and he frowned, his hazel eyes looking at the hunter, trying to gauge the exact nature of his predicament here. He's faltering just a little, even as he tries to hide the fact that he's painfully new and simply doesn't get it, yet.
"How long have you been here, Winchester?"
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He really dislikes having to explain this place to people, really he does, especially to a demon of all people. "After that I've never been able to get to the exit again. Every time I get close I wake up somewhere else or the door I go through leads me to another part of the hotel."
This time he looks a little uncomfortable at the question, but mumbles out a quiet, "I dunno, couple months at least. Six maybe? It's hard to tell time here. None of the clocks work, at least not the way clocks are supposed to."
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"Yes, well, long distances aren't quite the barrier to me they are to you. If I can get outside, I might be able to at least figure out where we are." But Crowley's still frowning, because the way Dean talks about being unable to find the exit after that makes it sound like a rather unpleasant sort of hotel. Not the Hilton, indeed. He's wondering just what sort of room service this place offers, hmm?
And then Dean tells him how long he's been here and his lips thin. No, this really isn't sounding good at all. He breathes a sigh, straightens his suit in a calming gesture as he tries to figure this out. How to get out, where to go from here, what to do?
"So, what's the game here, then? You don't trap people in a hotel in the middle of the ocean without a theme. Ghosts, the eternal torture of bad elevator music?" He's aware he's back to relying on Dean, but there's really no help for it.
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"The game? If I knew what the game was I'd be playing it to get the hell outta here. There is no game, that I know of. I've never even met the people that run this joint. Hell, I've never seen any staff, for that matter and for a hotel this fuckin' huge there should be thousands running around but there's not. There's just other people stuck here just like us."
At the mention of a 'theme' he clears his throat and his face reddens some. "Oh there's ghosts and shit like that here, depending on what floor you're on. That's right, some of the other floors, the whole floors, have different 'themes' as you call it. Though the main one is, uh, sex."
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"Is it one of the upscale places, with the sex toy vending machines?" He's mostly teasing; given how nice the place looks, he's half expecting dildos on the pillows along with chocolate mints as part of the turn-down service. He tucks his amusement down for a moment, though his lips are still quirked into a smile. And, yeah, he looks Dean over again.
"I imagine it's not too picky about whether or not you're in the mood, hmm?"
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He raises a brow and then shrugs a little. "Doesn't seem like it. They have.. ways of making you.. cooperate." For lack of a better word because he was no going to mention there were drugs that made people want to fuck. Not in front of a frigging crossroads demon, jesus. That's like handing a lamb to a lion.
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Crowley repeats that and his hazels widen for a flash. Because, no, he hadn't quite realized just how big this place is. Supernatural means of transportation usually translates into a very good spatial awareness of where ever he happens to be, but there's something about this place that makes it hard to figure out.
He eyes Dean at the stilted way he explains and he rolls his eyes. "You know, I might be a demon, but rape and forced consent don't do it for all of us." Which is decidedly good for you, Winchester.
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He gives the demon a tight smile. "Really? That's always been my experience."
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"It's far more enjoyable with someone willing, darling." And he smiles at Dean, leans in, that weight of meaning and intention as fingers just brush against the edge of his jaw. Because he does want to touch him, wants to taste him and see what his dick feels like on his tongue.
He wants to peel away the layers of pretense and see if he's as beautiful underneath it all as Crowley thinks he is. He always has, but there's never been space to admit it in the dynamic they'd had in his world.
If Dean was bright, he might have realized it was part of why he watched over him. But, he supposed they all had better things to worry about.
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Green eyes widen a fraction, then darken just a little and his gaze flicks over the demon as he licks his lips unconsciously, the touch to his skin makes an involuntary shudder rush through him. And sick as it might be he can't help but wonder what it'd be like. What the pull demons had was about, what it is that makes people want to give in. It's exhilarating to think about, something he's never done before, at least not on Earth. There'd been a few demons in hell, that he'd fucked and torn apart just because he could, then put them back together again and sent them on their way.
But he's not that person anymore, he keeps telling himself. He's not like that here, on Earth. He's as good a person as he'd been before. He tries not to lean into the touch as he replies. "I'll keep that in mind."
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But he doesn't. Instead his hazel eyes are just a little sharper, and he's lingering close, leaning in so that his breath whispers against Dean's skin, wants to see what sort of reactions he can pull if he pushes just a little. "Most demons just don't get it, darling." His thumbs stroke through fabric and his eyes are intense, tinged with tightly reined in desire.
"Someone else would force you. I mean, I could hold you down, right here, pin you to the wall, strip you naked with a snap of my fingers, give you the best blowjob of your little human life and see if you'd break."
He lets that hang for only half a moment, just that fractional moment for doubt and worry, for Dean to likely tense, as if he thinks he might mean it. When he speaks, there's a sultry hint of something that tries to swipe that away.
"But that ruins the point, don't you think?" A conspiratorial flutter of eyelashes, and Crowley wets his lips as he lets his cheek brush Dean's jaw. "I want them to want it. I want to watch you move under every fucking touch, I want to see your hips jerk and your fingers curl, I want to make you moan, taste your pleasure on my tongue, darling." His voice a whisper against his jaw, that low look in his eyes.
"I think the missed the whole pleasure part, hmm? It's always more fun when you can come back for more." And he taps a finger to Dean's chin, stepping away, and he's all neatly settled back into place with his perfect fucking suit as he smiles at Dean as if he hadn't been talking about anything risque at all.
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