Fics: 'A Very Short Fairy Tale' and 'Obligatory Pie Fic' (SPN: Dean/Crowley)
Titles: ‘A Very Short Fairy Tale’ and ‘Obligatory Pie Fic’
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Crowley
Warnings: Written in twenty minutes.
Disclaimer: Until Supernatural offers me a script writing job, this is done neither out of ownership nor for profit.
Rating: PG13.
Word Count: 245 and 614, respectively.
Spoilers: Nothing major, but there is a reference to a series six event.
Notes: I wrote the first one for sarkywoman; it decided it was lonely, so I added a second one and thought, meh, might as well post them and share the Dean/Crowley love.
A Very Short Fairytale
Once upon a time there was a boy called Dean, who was the best hunter of nasty supernatural things in all the land. One day, a Tuesday just before tea time, he was in the middle of killing a big old werewolf with very large teeth when he met a demon called Crowley. He knew the man who appeared was Crowley, because he told him his name. Crowley liked to speak with an English accent, and that meant he also had good manners.
Now Dean had heard of Crowley, that he was the scariest King of Hell there was, and he managed to rule it without getting locked in a cage. Dean felt he ought to kill Crowley, because Crowley was a demon and therefore bad.
Dean had a problem, though, because Crowley was actually rather nice to him and when it transpired that the werewolf had a girlfriend, and she wasn’t very happy, he helped Dean to kill her before she could rip his throat out.
Dean appreciated things like that.
Crowley, however, was rather good at solving problems. He made a suggestion to Dean, who agreed that it was a very clever solution.
Instead of trying to murder each other, they went to Dean’s motel room and had lots of sex.
In the morning, they woke up and had some more. They were both very happy with this state of affairs, and decided to continue. So they did, with much frequency.
The end.
*
Obligatory Pie Fic
There is a knocking on the motel door, and when Dean looks through the window he sees Crowley standing there, a box in one hand. He goes to let him in, gun still held loosely.
“Good morning, love,” the demon greets as he opens the door, and Dean grunts a reply as he stands aside to let Crowley enter.
He is barely inside the room before Dean catches the edge of a sweet, warm smell: “Is that pie?” he asks, unconsciously reaching out for it before he catches himself.
“It is indeed,” comes the reply. Crowley puts the box down on the table before removing his coat and folding it over a chair.
Dean approaches, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why did you bring me pie at ten thirty on a Wednesday morning?”
“Maybe I was walking past the shop and thought of you, darling,” Crowley answers, watching Dean with a slight smirk on his face.
Dean looks, if possible, even more doubtful. He catches the lip of the box with a knife and draws it slightly upwards, peering inside from as safe a distance as possible. When the only contents appear to be legitimately pie shaped, he flips the lid open.
The smell is released even more strongly, and Dean breathes in deeply, a momentary look of happiness lowering his eyes to half mast.
He still doesn’t take the pie, though, only glowering at it balefully and looking like he is about to poke it with the knife to see what evil comes out.
He transfers the glare to Crowley, who huffs and rolls his eyes at Dean’s lack of trust.
“It’s not poisoned,” he says.
“Which is exactly what you would say if it was poisoned,” Dean counters.
“Two points, love. Firstly: poisoned apples? How déclassé. I’d like to think that you would at least have the faith that I’d use something a little more original. Secondly, drugging you into a coma or death is likely to severely impinge my likelihood of getting laid today, and that is not in my best interests at all.”
“Who says you’re getting laid today anyway?” Dean mutters, coming dangerously close to sulking as his eyes flicker between pastry and demon.
“Come on now, love,” Crowley says soothingly as he steps into the hunter’s personal space, “what say you set down those weapons and put your hands to better use, yeah?”
Dean stares at him for a second before finally sliding the gun and knife on to the table beside the pie box.
“Good boy,” Crowley murmurs, and smirks at the warning look Dean levels at him before resting his hand on Dean’s hip in unspoken apology.
Dean tastes like coffee, and this close he smells like oil, which means he’s probably been outside tuning up the Impala already today. His eyes slip closed as he meets Crowley, and he nips at the demon’s lower lip in counterpoint to the sweetness Crowley always finds in Dean’s mouth.
Crowley’s other hand finds itself at the dip of Dean’s back, that little spot that is so responsive if he drags his thumb just so, and he can feel the reaction it inspires even through layers of clothing.
Dean pushes himself closer, and Crowley has just the time to flick the box lid closed again before he finds himself driving Dean towards the bed.
Later, they sit on the bed and cut slices of pie. Dean slips a thumb into his mouth, for once innocent of the sight he is making, as he catches a bit of runny apple that has dripped onto him.
Crowley places a hand on Dean’s knee and chases after the taste.
It’s a good morning.