Why Hello Pretty Lady

[winchester_lost]

It was another shitty bar, in another shitty town. They were hunting down a particularly nasty Japanese spirit, of all fucking things, and after seeing a string of corpses that had been asphyxiated or with slit throats, and peeled skin, Dean thought he'd earned his intoxication and whatever pretty woman he happened to stumble home with.

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[winchester_lost]

Crowley was close enough to touch, close enOugh that expensive suit fabric whispered against his skin, pulling uneven catches in his breath from those almost-vulgar lips. His eyelashes fluttered as Crowley's tie came undone, and then a humb was dragging against his bottom lip, and Dean's mouth moved encouragingly to the pressure. May e something soul-deep, some mark Alastair had left on him from the Pit that remembered exactly what his mouth was for. Knew it wasn't for those snappy retorts he failed at so often. His lips faintly catching at the tip of Crowley's thumb, like his body wanted to and Dean hadn't quite managed to catch himself in time.

It lingered for hardly a breath before Dean jerked his head away, to the side, but there was still that proof that he clearly knew exactly what Crowley meant.

"Really? You gonna show me what I should be using it for?"

Antagonizing because he couldn't help himself, not when they were this close, not when he was so vulnerable. And just maybe he wanted him to. He didn't want to be in this position, but he didn't want anything else. Dean was caught in his own inability to accept the truth of his own desires. It was different here, different from Hell, from when he'd broken. It wasn't forced, it wasn't stripped down and bare and no way to hide or deny anything as Alastair sunk fingers into his soul.

But, there was far less between the Dean here and the creature he'd been in the Pit than he would admit.