[ Blake doesn't move, even with Crowley putting contact into the mix. He only groans at the wisdom and prays for an embolism or something if this kind of thing is going to keep up. ]
Pretty sure— [ Ugh. ] Pretty sure that's not gonna happen... 'specially not right now, ow.
[ That being said, it's not just the Winchesters suffering from strange nonstop homoerotic angst, which is clear, but Blake's dealt with a lot worse and he's not about to buckle under this.
He mutters, even accompanies it with a gesture as he makes an attempt to sit back up a bit. ]
[ Crowley rubs Blake's calf for a moment, affectionate and maybe just a little more intimate than Blake might like, but he does it without thinking. ]
Of course.
[ He stands and pulls the cover off of the tray. It's rested gently on the floor and then Crowley grabs the cold bottle of water, handing it off with one hand as the other goes to Blake's shoulder to help him sit up. ]
Did you at least have a good time last night?
[ He can sense that a change in topic would be appreciated now and there's a gentle fondness that starts to slip into his voice. ]
[ He's had enough water that he feels like he's swimming. He's had enough alcohol that he feels like he's drowning. And whether he's swimming or drowning or whatever, he's also feeling particularly suffocated, too, though less by Crowley's presence than his own mind.
As he sits up on the bed — blissfully fully clothed by now — it's obvious he hasn't bothered with a shower or doing anything about his unruly mop of (overgrown, at this point) hair, either. Quite a sight, am I right?
He grunts. ]
No, no, that's— that's okay. Must've had too good a time, dancin' aside. Don't remember all that much. 'Cept wakin' up. Talkin' to you. Uhh... Shan.
[ Blake unscrews the cap of the water with one hand and presses his palm to his forehead with the other. ]
Really, that's— Fffff.
[ A vague gesture and now he's trying to add that water to his body, even if he must have put down a half-gallon when he'd stumbled back to his room. ]
[ It certainly is quite a sight. Crowley both loves and hates the dropping feeling in his chest when he really lets himself look at Blake, sweaty and hungover and still completely attractive to him in a way that he's still trying not to analyze too closely.
He's also trying not to read too much into the fact that as drunk as Blake had been, he remembers talking to Crowley.
Sitting on the edge of the bed again, his hands stays firmly on Blake's shoulder, supporting but loose if Blake wants to shrug it off. He watches Blake's face closely for signs that he approves of all of this, because for some reason Crowley just... wants Blake's approval right now. He wants to know that he's doing this right. ]
[ If nothing else, that fact that he's not shaking off Crowley's contact should be taken as... well, not approval, but not disapproval, either. For the moment, not entirely unconsciously, John's allowing that hand, and by association Crowley, to exist in his world.
How benevolent, am I right?
But make no mistake, he knows it's there, and he knows that hand's been moving. Ankle, calf, shoulder. He's almost surprised it hasn't escalated beyond that. ]
[ Crowley feels quite bold enough doing this. He doesn't want to push his luck and touching Blake at all makes him feel almost nervous.
Crowley knows all too well the sting of being forgotten and he's constantly afraid that Blake will disappear one day and come back without any memory of this. At least when he's angry, it means Blake feels something about him. A negative reaction is still better than no reaction at all.
He lets his thumb brush over Blake's skin once, just over the back of his collar. ]
[ See, this is where things traditionally go wrong. In the prison, Blake had pulled away and it had turned things between them bitter for at least a little while. Of course, it wasn't John, it was Crowley that was throwing the fit, but considering the lengths the guy seems to be going, it seems only right to not make that same mistake twice.
Instead of pulling away, instead of jerking from his too-intimate touch, Blake merely shoots they guy a warning look. Come on, man, you've got brakes, learn how to use them.
And then he's right back to staring off into space, opened bottle of water in one hand, cap in the other. ]
[ At that look, he lets his hand drop, severing contact. It feels cold and isolating, but he knows that he needs to get better at this whole listening thing. Blake is worth it, even if he's not likely to bother listening to anyone else. ]
I don't think I've ever seen you have more than one drink. It sounds like you were trying to keep up with someone who drinks a fair amount more than you usually do. You've got to know your limits.
[ Says the man who's looking for a fix much more powerful than alcohol. ]
What? [ It's kind of exasperated. ] C'mon, what is that? Don't—
[ Siiiiiiiigh. He is just too fucking tired and achy and grumpy to keep up appearances. In fact, he's feeling particularly like some cymbal-crashing monkey is cymbal-crashing on his head, and that also means he's feeling intensely candid. ]
Just shrug it off, Crowley. Don't take it personal.
[ Crowley lets himself look at Blake again. He schools his face, but he's not sure if he manages it in time. He makes a mental note not to let himself near Blake so soon after he's medicated himself. It's too much.
It doesn't escape his notice that Blake just stopped him from leaving or that he's actually making an effort to... Crowley doesn't know how to really process it. ]
[ Blake stares for another moment, then reaches out and grabs the remote control off the awkward TV stand that appeared at some point in his bedroom. It had been Dean's doing, and after they'd spent more than a few nights together marathoning movies, John guessed it wouldn't hurt to finally accept a television in his room.
He offers out the remote and nods his (aching) head in the direction of the TV. ] Find us somethin' to watch.
[ Which is to say, he's not being kicked out. Anyway, Blake's likely to fall asleep staring blankly at the television, so it doesn't really matter all that much, as long as he doesn't wake up as Crowley's little spoon. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action;
Pretty sure— [ Ugh. ] Pretty sure that's not gonna happen... 'specially not right now, ow.
[ That being said, it's not just the Winchesters suffering from strange nonstop homoerotic angst, which is clear, but Blake's dealt with a lot worse and he's not about to buckle under this.
He mutters, even accompanies it with a gesture as he makes an attempt to sit back up a bit. ]
Can I have that water? Please?
action;
Of course.
[ He stands and pulls the cover off of the tray. It's rested gently on the floor and then Crowley grabs the cold bottle of water, handing it off with one hand as the other goes to Blake's shoulder to help him sit up. ]
Did you at least have a good time last night?
[ He can sense that a change in topic would be appreciated now and there's a gentle fondness that starts to slip into his voice. ]
I have video if you can't remember.
action;
As he sits up on the bed — blissfully fully clothed by now — it's obvious he hasn't bothered with a shower or doing anything about his unruly mop of (overgrown, at this point) hair, either. Quite a sight, am I right?
He grunts. ]
No, no, that's— that's okay. Must've had too good a time, dancin' aside. Don't remember all that much. 'Cept wakin' up. Talkin' to you. Uhh... Shan.
[ Blake unscrews the cap of the water with one hand and presses his palm to his forehead with the other. ]
Really, that's— Fffff.
[ A vague gesture and now he's trying to add that water to his body, even if he must have put down a half-gallon when he'd stumbled back to his room. ]
action;
He's also trying not to read too much into the fact that as drunk as Blake had been, he remembers talking to Crowley.
Sitting on the edge of the bed again, his hands stays firmly on Blake's shoulder, supporting but loose if Blake wants to shrug it off. He watches Blake's face closely for signs that he approves of all of this, because for some reason Crowley just... wants Blake's approval right now. He wants to know that he's doing this right. ]
How's that?
action;
How benevolent, am I right?
But make no mistake, he knows it's there, and he knows that hand's been moving. Ankle, calf, shoulder. He's almost surprised it hasn't escalated beyond that. ]
Awful. [ A pause. ] But that's my fault.
[ And then... ] Thanks. For this.
action;
Crowley knows all too well the sting of being forgotten and he's constantly afraid that Blake will disappear one day and come back without any memory of this. At least when he's angry, it means Blake feels something about him. A negative reaction is still better than no reaction at all.
He lets his thumb brush over Blake's skin once, just over the back of his collar. ]
It's my pleasure, darling. Any time.
action;
Instead of pulling away, instead of jerking from his too-intimate touch, Blake merely shoots they guy a warning look. Come on, man, you've got brakes, learn how to use them.
And then he's right back to staring off into space, opened bottle of water in one hand, cap in the other. ]
Drank so much. [ He shakes his head. ] So much.
action;
I don't think I've ever seen you have more than one drink. It sounds like you were trying to keep up with someone who drinks a fair amount more than you usually do. You've got to know your limits.
[ Says the man who's looking for a fix much more powerful than alcohol. ]
action;
[ Despite the splitting headache, that makes Blake laugh. ]
Unbelievable.
[ It seems to Blake that if anyone knows something about his limits, it's going to be Blake himself. ]
Wasn't a competition. I was drinkin' to get drunk. To go over the limit.
action;
Sorry. I'm sorry.
[ The apology spills out without thinking and he hates himself for just how much he's shrinking back from an ordinary human right now. ]
Maybe I should go.
[ His eyes are on the door now, because it's easier than looking at Blake. ]
Take care of yourself, darling.
action;
[ Siiiiiiiigh. He is just too fucking tired and achy and grumpy to keep up appearances. In fact, he's feeling particularly like some cymbal-crashing monkey is cymbal-crashing on his head, and that also means he's feeling intensely candid. ]
Just shrug it off, Crowley. Don't take it personal.
action;
It doesn't escape his notice that Blake just stopped him from leaving or that he's actually making an effort to... Crowley doesn't know how to really process it. ]
Alright, I won't.
[ He lets himself smile just a little. ]
Is there anything else I can do to help?
action;
He offers out the remote and nods his (aching) head in the direction of the TV. ] Find us somethin' to watch.
[ Which is to say, he's not being kicked out. Anyway, Blake's likely to fall asleep staring blankly at the television, so it doesn't really matter all that much, as long as he doesn't wake up as Crowley's little spoon. ]