Crowley. Well, Crowley had a problem.
And his name was Dean Winchester.
Demons are not human. Hell, even when he was human, he wasn't. A drunk. An abuser. A killer. And all damn proud of it.
Then, Sam Winchester had gone and injected him with blood. And now, Crowley had to feel... things.
"Ew."
"What?"
Surprised, Crowley looked up only to find Dean staring directly at him, those green eyes surveying him with scrutiny. True, the demon's own gravelly voice had caught him off guard too. They'd just been drinking, like usual, when Crowley had looked up at Dean, and this warmth spread through his vessel's intestines and just...
"Ew."
"Yeah, I got that part," Dean growled before finishing off the rest of his shot. And fuck, Crowley wished the man would just stop looking at him like that. It's like the eldest Winchester was born with natural pouty lips.
"Crowley."
"Hmm?" The demon perked up, shooting his gaze up from Dean's lips and back to his eyes. Since when did the King of Hell ever feel anything warm... Well, anything that wasn't Hellfire, of course.
"You're staring again," Dean smirked, eyebrows raising as he flagged down the waitress with his raised glass, never once breaking eye contact with the entity beside him.
"And? You stare all the time."
"Yeah, but that's my thing. The "Sultry Stare". It's what I do. You? You don't stare. The King of Hell doesn't stare."
Crowley smiled. He loved hearing his name on Dean's lips, seeing that pretty mouth form the word "King" always sent... He wasn't exactly sure. But something. Something inside him went fluttery. And that something inside him had nothing to do with the demon, and everything to do with the purified blood of Sam freaking Winchester pumping through his vessel's veins.
"The King does what he wants, Squirrel. Don't forget who runs this show," Crowley returned, leaning back into his seat with his arms crossed. Dean quirked an eyebrow, and then turned his attention back to the now full glass resting on the table in front of him. Crowley tried not to watch as those lips wrapped around the rim of the glass, tried not to follow as Dean's adam's apple jumped in his throat, tried not to imagine what that tequila would make the human mutt's tongue taste like.
Yep, Crowley definitely had a problem.
"Woo, that one had a kick!"
Dean slammed the glass onto the table, top down, and grinned up at the demon with a smile that did that terrible thing to his insides again. And Crowley would rather be back on the rack. He would rather be stuck in Church listening to a priest drone. He would rather be stuck in a Devil's Trap with holy water dripping onto his face. He'd rather be handcuffed to a bed...
Actually, that one sounded kind of fun. And not for the first time since he became a stand-in for Dean's brother, did he wonder what sounds the Winchester made when he came undone.
Crowley had always had a thing for bad boys, that much was true. And Dean Winchester certainly topped that list. He'd killed more demons than the King himself. Had it just been lust, Crowley would have fucked the guy into the mattress a hundred times already. But this? This wasn't lust. His nether regions certainly got a bit more bloodflow around the mutt, sure; but other things happened too. Right down to the fucking butterflies, the King of Hell was fucked.
He was in love.
Ew.