Author's Note: Hello again! This was my Day 3 offering to hekate1308 for the "All I Want for Christmas is Drowley" exchange. This one doesn't follow a prompt, and isn't even remotely holiday themed. Instead it is just…a completely random slice of life for these two. (In another world, this may have been a case fic. *shrugs*) Takes place sometime in S10 (or later).
Hope you enjoy!
"Sonuvabitch, that stings!" Dean yanks his hand back from the frothing, deflating mess that - up until a few moments ago - was the amanitus monster Crowley and him have been after for the last few days.
A monster that is fast turning into a puddle of goo spreading at their feet.
Crowley takes a hefty step back from the liquid remains, having no interest in getting it on his shoes.
(They're handmade Italian leather. Can you blame him?)
Secured safely away from the…gunk, Crowley takes a moment to observe Dean in all his glory as he makes disgusted noises and wipes his hand back and forth on his jeans, scowling. Crowley smirks at the scene Dean makes when he holds his hand out in front of him to examine it like it's caused him personal offense. "Want me to kiss it better?"
"Buzz off, Crowley."
"Aww, pudding. I do so love it when you play hard to get."
Dean ignores the comment, instead pulling a bandanna from the inside pocket of his jacket and wrapping it around his hand before edging between the cave wall and the puddle with care so that he can squat down beside the oozing remains.
"Freakin' Goombas, man. What's next? Bowser wandering through with Princess Peach tossed over his shoulder?"
"Hmm, doubtful. These things are solitary. But if you're interested in a round of roleplay later, I could be persuaded."
"Ew." Dean blinks twice in rapid succession. "That's a mental image I could've done without. Forever."
"Keep telling yourself that, darling." Crowley winks at him, and moves to the other side of the puddle, where the the lockbox he's after is squirreled away behind a small outcropping of toadstool covered rocks.
Dean just rolls his eyes. Crowley watches as Dean shakes out his shoulders and takes a deep breath before reaching into the puddle to grasp his knife from where it's sticking out of the fleshy lump in the middle. As soon as he has it in hand he jumps up and and away, a full body shudder rocking through him, muttering about needing Purell.
The action makes Crowley chuckle.
Dean scowls at him. "You still here?"
"Now now, is that anyway to treat your hunting partner?" Crowley grasps the handle of the box with one hand and rises, letting the weight of it dangle to his side as he does. Satisfied that he's gotten what he came for and can afford to waste a little time agitating Dean.
It really is one of his favorite indulgences.
Dean flicks some of the ooze from the blade of the knife back towards the ground, casting a hard glance in Crowley's direction. "We ain't partners, Crowley."
Crowley heaves out an exaggerated, put-upon sigh as he skirts the puddle. "Such a poor show of gratitude. It's a wonder I ever bother."
"Right." Dean gestures with the blade towards the box in Crowley's hand. "We both know you weren't doing this outta the kindness of your heart."
Crowley shrugs. "Hardly. But, in this instance our interests did align, and I was happy to assist." He makes his way back around and falls into step beside Dean as the hunter heads for the exit of the cave, and the waiting Impala outside.
"And for so little in return. I mean really, I'm practically giving it away."
Dean scoffs. "Oh yeah, you're a real saint."
When they've reached their destination, Crowley leans his hip against the car to indulge in another favorite activity.
Namely, watching Dean Winchester do anything at all.
Dean throws open the trunk and rattles around inside. He starts with cleaning off his hands, then moves onto the knife, wiping an old rag over it until the edges are no longer dripping before storing it away. He then begins taking stock of his clothes, groaning when he notices a hole has been eaten clean through his jacket where the creature had bled on it.
(Crowley files the sound away. For later.)
Dean yanks the jacket off his frame, balling it up and tossing it into the trunk "Don't you got somewhere to be. Hell, maybe?"
"Not at the moment. Hell's running like a fine oiled machine these days. Besides…" Crowley slides along the length of the car until he's just a few steps away from Dean. "I'm quite enjoying the show." He flicks his free hand out to push aside the end of Dean's open flannel so that he can graze his fingers over the exposed skin of Dean's abdomen where it's peeking out from behind the absolutely destroyed bottom of his shirt.
Crowley lets his hand linger for a few seconds, simply because he can. Reveling in how Dean doesn't immediately swat him away; he lets the warmth of Dean seep in and through him as he moves his fingers in in a light, almost tickling motion around the path set by the top of his jeans. He keeps his eyes focused on Dean's face, however. Enjoying the way that the hunter's annoyed countenance is taken over by a flush of red at the touch; the way his mouth drops open just a bit as his tongue slips out to lick his lower lip.
Crowley lowers the timber of his voice before he speaks again, pressing his advantage along with the tips of his fingers. "Best get you out of these clothes, love. Before any more of them are eaten away. What do you say we head back to that rattrap of a motel you're staying in. Do a more…thorough clean up?"
Crowley's focus is drawn down to Dean's throat as the hunter swallows. When he glances back up, he's pleased to note that the green of Dean's eyes has all but been overtaken by the black of his blown out pupils.
Dean's voice is thick and low when he speaks. "Somehow, I don't think getting clean is what you have in mind."
Crowley gives him a slow, heated smiled. "Why not take me up on the offer, and find out?"
Dean swallows again, and nods.
~End