Summary: Sam and Dean have finally found a way to rise a new kind of anger within you. To take your mind off it, you run yourself a bath, and Crowley enjoys distracting you.
With a sputter, hot water blasted out of the dull tap and you huffed as you began to strip yourself out of your bloody clothes. You'd had enough of the Winchesters and their patronising words for one evening. With your shirt and jeans on the floor, you shimmied out of your underwear and tossed your bra at your ankles, kicking the lump of cotton and blood into the corner before squirting an unnecessarily large amount of bubble bath into the tub. You knew you'd regret it later when a urine infection invaded your privacy, but your anger was loud enough in your ears that it drowned your logic in the near-boiling water that was amassing in the bath with too much ease. Normally you were content with Sam and Dean's over-protective behaviour; you'd practically adopted them as your brothers, after all. "It's no skin off my nose," is what you'd usually tell yourself.
But today... today was the straw that broke the camel's back.
You dipped your elbow in to check the temperature. The skin bloomed into a wonderfully dark pink when you pulled it back, the heat biting into every molecule. What could you say? Apparently, today you were a sucker for punishment. The roar of the running water came to a squeaky stop as you rotated the tap, the spiteful part of yourself turning it extra tightly just so one of the boys would struggle next time the tub was used. Of course, you knew it wouldn't work. But that wasn't the point.
It was supposed to be your average salt n' burn; a woman in white was causing mass hysteria in a tiny town somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Idaho. Suspicious, the lot of 'em, and naturally, things didn't flow as well as the water did as you dipped your feet in, the heat nipping at your cool skin like a thousand needles. It was no easy feat, saving the damsel in distress, fighting off a ghost, choking on the surprise appearance of a witch, and rescuing your unconscious brothers simultaneously. But you'd managed, and you were proud enough to say with only a few cuts and a beautifully large bruise wrapped round your neck like jewellery.
And a target on your head, issued by Sam and Dean Winchester and their parliament of two.
You winced as you sank deeper into the miniature ocean around you, a thick layer of bubbles surrounding you like servants would a king, and you scooped up a handful just to blow the pearly foam into the air.
"Hello, kitten,"
Your eyes didn't shift as you blew yet another lump of foam at the wall, the ball falling in a clumsy sort of arc before plummeting into the beige tiles no harder than a discarded feather would hit the pavement. In an attempt to acknowledge this new audience, you simply hummed in response.
"Squirrel and Moose have their knickers in a bunch. When I inquired as to why, they told me I should ask you."
"Did they now?" You replied. Of course they'd play the blame game.
Crowley could sense your quelled fury, and you could feel it bubbling at the back of your throat. You were a time bomb, and neither of you really knew when you were going to blow. The boys had finally wriggled their way under your skin. Crowley expelled a blow of air though his nostrils, and the steam that filled the room shifted like leaves in a summer breeze. For several moments there was silence before his black coat was shed, to be hung on the back of the bathroom door, followed by his suit jacket.
With steady breaths, you watched as he pulled up a nearby stool, and sat his self down as he placed his elbows on his thighs.
"Tell daddy all about it."
It wasn't a suggestion and you felt your face flush with a newfound redness at the dominating echo in his voice. But you were stubborn, and you simply turned your back on the demon king. It was hardly comfortable, having to cross your legs to adapt to the new position, and the edge of the bath dug into your spine. Crowley said nothing, only shifting closer to you, and the stool scraping against the linoleum floor in a way that, normally you wouldn't care about, only seemed to rile you up more now.
You clenched your jaw. Bit at the skin on the inside of your lip. Picked at your fingernails. Crowley placed gentle hands on the seething skin of your shoulders, and you overflowed.
"They are the most ungrateful, self-centred, obstinate assholes I've ever met! I save them and the girl, kill the witch, burn the bones, and what do I get? "Don't ever put yourself in danger like that again!" – I've been hunting for five years, pretty fuckin' sure I know how to handle a witch and a cranky old ghost, my God!" A splash of water leapt into the air as your fist collided with the surface. "And they ran in like a bull in a china shop, holding their dicks—sorry, angel blades—in the air with no care in the world. No wonder they then collided head first with the fuckin' wall. How they didn't die from that, I don't know!" You stopped only to take a breath. "And Dean cares more about that damn car than he does himself—first thing I got when they woke up was: "you got blood on the seat, damn that's gonna stain." Bitch please! And another—what on earth are you doing?"
The words you spilled came to a quick stop when you found yourself shivering. Not from the cold, but from the indescribable amenity that came from Crowley's fingers in your hair, scraping a thick coat of shampoo through your scalp and down to the tips of each strand. He stopped mid-massage, and you immediately began to miss the sensation.
"Is the king not allowed to wash his lover's hair when she's had a bad day?" He chimed with a teasing sort of glee, and you pressed your bottom lip between your teeth as he planted a kiss on the curve of your shoulder.
Crowley took your smile as a cue to continue, and your eyelids drooped and your head leaned back. His fingers were magic, working their way from your hairline to the nape of your neck with meticulous care. You loved having your hair played with, but never had you thought that something like this would make you tingle in all the right places. It wasn't long before a moan was pulled from your chords.
"Turn around, pet."
You didn't need to be told twice as you slowly shifted into your original position, keeping your eyes closed as a torrent of water rained over your head, the suds slipping into the soapy pool around you. The bubbles were quickly dissipating from the surface and your fingers were starting to prune, but the water was still warm against your aching limbs, and you started to realise just how much the fight had taken its toll on your body.
You were expecting another massage after the rinse, conditioner pressed between Crowley's fingers, but instead you were greeted by a sweet softness like rose petals, against your lips and you pushed into the kiss, fuelled by eagerness and a heat even hotter than the bathwater that sat between your thighs. You were prickled by his salt and pepper scruff as Crowley parted your mouth with his, his tongue darting to explore you as his hands pressed onto your shoulders to keep you in place as he deepened the kiss.
When you finally parted, you finally got a good look at your boyfriend since he'd arrived. He looked weary, like his day was just about as bad as yours had been, yet he'd gladly given up his problems to listen to yours, and you felt your chest tighten.
"Better?"
"Much." You reply. You were only half truthful. You were definitely going to have a sit down with Sam and Dean. But, for now, Crowley had lightened the load, and that was more than enough. "Wanna tell me about your day?"
"I've something else in mind." He smirked. His pupils were black holes, swallowing the murky green of his irises as he glanced from your lips to your naked chest to your eyes again.
You push yourself up to kiss him again, a quick peck just to keep him on his toes. "Let me finish up here. You can help me moisturise." You finished with a sly grin that Crowley reciprocated, watching as his leaned up to retrieve his jacket and coat. With his hand on the doorknob, he gave you another glance, licking his lips as you pulled your hair over your shoulder to reveal the expanse of your back.
"Don't be long." There was that echo of domination again. And you had every reason to comply. All the bubbles had disappeared anyway.
Came up with this idea and thought it was super cute. I've had some trouble motivating myself to write recently, but this came fairly easy to me. I think it helped that I had "Soap" by Melanie Martinez playing on repeat!