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‘Lu'au!' Dean blasted through the microphone, not paying any attention to the grumbling from others within earshot of him.
The party was in full swing, drinks were flowing, people were dancing to the Polynesian house band. Pockets of guests gathered around the various thatched Tiki bars, with slender tiki torches, dotted around the resort.
‘The Lion King, seriously?' Crowley moaned as he stirred his cocktail, nicknamed The Eruption, with his neon tiki swizzle stick. Hues of red and orange, whirled around the bell-glass, mimicking a volcano. A long straw, with a paper raspberry and a fresh wedge of orange on the lip of the glass, finished it off. Crowley looked out over the Ocean, taking a sip of his drink, ‘Ahhh, now this is more like it,' he mused.
‘Aaaare you achin,' Dean gyrated his hips, making his grass skirt swish. ‘Yup, yup, yup' He boomed in a lower tone. Dean looked over to Crowley, smirking, pointed straight at him, ‘Heeee's a big pig.' He quickly looked to the right and nodded his head as he sang, ‘Yup, yup,' in the same deep tone. 'You could be a big pig too.’ Dean thrusted his hips forward as he belted ‘Hoy!’ Dean unceremoniously dropped the mike, causing a thud to echo, and swaggered off the stage.
‘Is it your life's mission to murder every song you come into contact with?' Crowley questioned, as Dean approached the bar.
Dean looked at him with an expression of surprise, ‘What are you talking about?' He smirked ripping off the grass skirt. ‘I rocked that song,' he stated as he sat on the premium cream leather bar stool. ‘Oooo bouncy.'
‘Never would have put Disney in your repertoire.' Crowley stated as he took a sip of his cocktail.
‘It was Junior High, a cute girl wanted to see it,' Dean began to grin broadly, ‘And I wanted to see more of her.'
‘And they say romance is dead.' Crowley groaned.
‘Excuse me, sweetheart,' Dean called as the bartender finished serving someone.
The raven-haired, olive-skinned bartender made her way over to him. As she reached him she smiled, flashing her perfect pearly white teeth, ‘What can I get you?' she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes.
Dean smirked back, not failing to miss her impressive cleavage rising and falling as she took long breaths in and out. His smile got broader as he thought, ‘You...me...a bed!' Then looking back up at her piercing eyes Dean answered with a wink, ‘Whiskey… make it a double.'
Within minutes she had returned with a short glass tumbler, dark amber liquid rippled as she swayed her hips from side to side. She laid a napkin down on the counter before placing the glass on top. As she turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder, ‘Find me later?' She winked as she left.
‘Being a demon has its perks,' Crowley stated, the corner of his lip beginning to curl.
‘Crowley...look at me! Do you think I ever had trouble?' Dean answered, picking up the napkin and showing Crowley the phone number scribbled on it.
Crowley's smirk disappeared and he rolled his eyes, ‘And so modest,' he sneered, looking back out to the ocean. ‘Now this is what I meant by howling at the moon. No, Moose, No clapped out hunk of junk….' He paused expecting a response from Dean, after all, he was insulting Baby, but there was nothing so Crowley took a long sip of his cocktail before he continued, ‘No problems….unlike those hovels you gravitate towards.'
‘Shut up….and drink whatever...' Dean spat as he pointed his index finger up and down the glass, ‘...that is.'
Suddenly, an announcement rang out through the bar complex, ‘The Limbo contest will start in 5 minutes, can all participants make their way to the beach.'
Dean glanced over at Crowley a gigantic smile peeled over his face. Without warning, he yelled, ‘Limbo,' before racing off to the beach.
Crowley sighed, ‘I've lumbered myself with a moron.' Despite how he felt about Dean, Crowley turned his stool to watch the spectacle that was about to unfold.
Dean, with his shoulders back and his chin up, strode over to the beach, he surveyed the surroundings. The glistening white sand danced in the light of the tiki torches. Ahead of him, he saw two beautiful hula girls, complete with tight-fitting coconut bras and pale yellow grass skirts, holding a willow stick. Dean couldn't help but smirk, ‘Wonder if they would join me and the bartender later?' he thought; the fantasy already beginning to form in his mind.
Soon after Dean's arrival, a member of the hotel staff appeared with a small folder and a handheld stereo. Dean stood there, fidgeting and rolling his eyes, as the weedy excuse of a man began reading the dos and do not's of Limbo. He began to tap his foot as he saw loser after loser attempting to get under the pole, ‘Dumb-asses,' he thought to himself. Finally, Dean reached the front; he looked over to the hula girls, who were even more beautiful close-up.
‘Ladies,' Dean purred as he flashed both a grin, 'hang on to your pole,' he said with a cheeky wink, which caused both girls to coo and blush.
The bar sat level to Dean's shoulders, he rolled his eyes, ‘Please,' he thought. As he approached it, Dean widened his stance, softened his knees and began to arch his muscular back. As he passed under the bar, Dean couldn't resist pulsing his hips to the beat of the music.
Pretty quickly, participants were knocked out, some catching the bar with their hands, others losing balance. One guy fell, taking the bar with him and landing in a starfish position.
Soon the only one left standing was Dean; the only thing in his way was the bar, which was now at waist height. Dean, chest pushed out, walked up to the beam and threw his arms out to the side, exposing his sculpted biceps. As he edged forward, he sunk his knees lower, thrust his hips forward and tensed his toned ass. Just as before, Dean arched his back until it was low enough to pass the bar.
Dean began to shimmy his shoulders, with his arms quickly following suit, a big grin peeled on his face, as he slid under the bar.
‘Ladies,' Dean repeated as stood up, the pole quivered but stayed in play, ‘I'll see you both later….' As he went to leave, he stopped and half turned back, ‘Don't forget the coconuts,' he winked.
******************************************
‘Are you wearing that for a bet?' Crowley sneered as Dean sat down, wearing a black Hawaiian shirt with an oversized palm tree leaf pattern, a prize for taking part in the limbo competition.
Dean looked over to Crowley, then glanced down at his newly acquired shirt. ‘I pull it off,' Dean grinned, ‘then later...she can pull it off,' his grin widened as he winked over to the bartender.
Crowley let out a slow exhale before he said, ‘You know this foreplay is getting old.'
‘Ex-cuse me?' Dean snorted.
‘There's more to being a demon than wine, women and song Dean.' Crowley took a deep swallow of his scotch, his lips pulling back as the burn hit his throat, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. You have responsibilities.'
‘The deal was we howl at the moon, don't remember any talk of responsibilities.' Dean stated.
‘We're howling. We're drinking. We've been doing unspeakable, yet athletic, things to triplets...' Dean smirked as he remembered pouring bourbon onto various body parts and doing body shots. ‘…and now we have work to do.' Crowley said.
‘You want me to start hawking deals? I thought I made it pretty clear in Orlando. Never gunna happen.' Dean threw back a slug of beer, his attention wandering to the dance floor. ‘
Hello,' Crowley snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face. ‘Try to focus for a moment here,' he exhaled. ‘No, not deals, besides you're not much of a salesman.' Crowley snorted and took another sip of his whiskey I'm thinking something that plays to your other...' he slid his eyes over Dean, ‘talents.’
‘Go on,' Dean stated as his attention once again swayed towards the dance floor and the stunning blonde, in a short denim mini skirt and a tight white tee, dancing.
‘Since the timely demise of Abbadon, I've, almost, been restored to my rightful place as the King of Hell.'
‘Good means I can finally get some peace.' Dean said, ‘you nag more than Sam.' He muttered under his breath.
‘Not…quite,' Crowley purred.
‘Meaning?' Dean queried.
‘There are those who, for reasons not known to yours truly, follow that angry ginger to the point that they want to track us down and do some very naughty things with hot pokers.'
‘And that matters to me because?' Dean questioned.
‘Because they'll be hell-bent on making sure you can't continue your current activities.' Crowley answered. ‘Look, the Mark didn't make you into some two-bit demon, and as such, the usual rules don't necessarily apply.’ He looked over to see Dean trailing his eyes up and down the curves of the dancing blonde.
He stretched out his arm, grabbed Dean's jaw and moved it to face him, ‘just like Cain, we need to keep you sharp and what better way than picking some of them off?'
‘Let me get this straight, you want me to whore myself out as your prizefighter.' Dean took a swig from his beer, ‘Not a chance.'
‘Don't think of it as whoring, more like...maintenance,' Crowley paused. Dean looked over to Crowley then down at the wrist and unceremoniously pulled it off his jaw; Dean scowled at him once more before saying, ‘The only things I need are bullets, booze and frisky women.' as he got up from the bar stool and strutted over to the dancing girl.
He slinked up to her, almost touching. His hips began to gyrate in sync with hers to the beat of the music. Feeling a person behind her, she glanced over her left shoulder catching sight of Dean, before turning back, a sinful smile rose on her face. She took a small step back and felt the toned chest against her upper back. Her smile got broader as she felt a bulge press against the base of her spine.
Dean's knuckles slid down the contours of her lower ribs, waist, before forcefully pressing into her hips and pulling her even closer into his body. In response to this, she began to swirl down his body before slowly twisting back up; impressed by the increased swelling skimming her back. She wrapped her hand around Dean's neck, feeling the steady pulse through her fingertips. Dean craned his head into the nape of her neck and began kissing her; before spinning her around to face him.
As she leaned in to kiss him, she froze as a bellow rippled through the resort. ‘TRIXIE!'
Through the crowd appeared a tall, sandy-haired, muscle-bound, ex-linebacker type, who steamed his way towards Dean. He grabbed Trixie by the arm, pulling her away from Dean, ‘What the hell do you think you're doing with my girl?'
‘Your girl?' Dean queried glancing back over to Trixie, ‘You're way out of this guy's league,' he said, as he eyed the guy up and down, ‘he's...what? a four at best.' His lip began to curl, ‘whereas you and me baby? We're straight up tens.'
The guy lurched across, balling his left hand into a fist, taking direct aim at Dean's jaw, causing it to marginally snap to the side, as it made contact.
Dean quickly looked back to his attacker, flashing him a devilish smile, as he grabbed his opponent's shirt. Effortlessly, Dean lifted him off the ground and hurled him into a vacant Tiki bar and through the back shelf, knocking the guy out cold. The force smashed everything in its path to pieces, and remnants of the bottle's contents gushed down the back.
Dean grinned as he made his way back to Crowley; when he suddenly felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders from behind.
Dean was lifted off the ground and thrown backwards, groaning as his back collided into a tall table and chairs. He saw his two new assailants come closer to him, within seconds Dean was back up, the pain in his back had gone.
The taller of his two attackers charged into Dean, dropping his shoulder and hitting his lower chest. Dean steadied himself as he felt his ribs throb but that wasn't going to stop him from responding. He shoved the slimmer, scrawnier one out of the way and focused taller muscle-bound man.
‘You shouldn't have done that,' he stated, a smile beginning to form on his lips. Dean rushed over and hit him square in the jaw. The guy staggered, dazed and a deep fist-shaped, red mark started to form on his left cheek. Dean then struck the man's torso twice in quick succession, forcing him to shout out in pain.
As he regained his senses, he was able to jab Dean in the face. Dean winced as felt the blood trickle down his chin. But his lip didn't throb as it has countless other times; Dean slowly dragged his tongue over the split tasting the blood and smiled; causing his opponent to look at him in disbelief. This gave the skinnier guy enough time to get up, creep up behind Dean, spin him around and begin punching him in the torso. His initial success was short-lived as Dean started to block and dodge the punches, all the while devising a plan.
As the taller man attempted to tackle Dean to the ground, Dean grabbed the guy’s shirt, lifted him off the ground and hurled him into the vacant booth. The force smashed the table into pieces, knocking him unconscious. As Dean dodged a jab and right hook, he spotted his next window of opportunity; he seamlessly grabbed the scrawnier guy's arm and pulled it forward, simultaneously pivoting to the side and ending up slightly behind his target. Effortlessly, he hooked his right foot into the back of the knee and drove it forward; propelling him to the soft, sandy, ground.
Dean sat astride his chest, the additional weight made him grunt in pain as he squirmed to get Dean off him, but Dean wasn't going anywhere. Dean tucked his knees into the guy's waist, his arms trying to protect himself; but Dean relentlessly threw punch after punch, a low rumble began to emit from the crowd that had gathered around them. Blood splattered over Dean's face, the guy's head jerked from left to right as each blow made contact with his jaw, the wet thud of flesh on flesh echoing around him.
As he struck his victim Dean began to feel a sense of comfort almost euphoria, he could feel The Mark pulsate with each blow. Nothing and no one could stop him. The gurgled sounds from the guy's mouth got quieter and quieter, his arms dropped limply into the sand as Dean continued his barrage of punches. This would be it, the last thing this guy would ever see was Dean Winchester leaning over him with a murderous twinkle in his eye.
******************************************
‘Another establishment that's been Winchestered,' Crowley grumbled as he patted down the right shoulder of his dishevelled suit jacket, lounging on a pale bamboo and cream beach recliner, yet another glass of scotch in his hand. He had considered a road trip with Dean would have its ups and downs, but he thought he would be able to control him...eventually.
‘How hard could it be?' he thought, as he placed his tumbler onto the bamboo side table. ‘Moose manages to do it.'
It wasn't until he saw Dean mercilessly beat on some guy that Crowley realised his mistake. It wasn't the usual surly Dean Winchester by his side; it was Dean 2.0, the normal rules didn't apply, ‘Obviously, tethering a Knight of Hell would take some adjusting…' Crowley raised his right hand to his right temple and began to massage it, ‘Just not this much adjusting.' He exhaled.
As Crowley caught sight of Dean approaching he couldn't help roll his eyes ‘Couldn't keep away from me eh?… people will begin to talk,'.
‘You're becoming predictable.' Dean groaned as he sat on the chair beside, placing a bag on the ground and his beer in the drinks slot of the chair.
‘I think you're confusing me with your pet angel,'. Dean rolled his eyes but didn't respond. He hadn't considered what Cas was doing, he assumed his stolen Grace had killed him or he'd teamed up with Sam in his futile mission to find him. Crowley glanced over at Dean's shirt and noticed the blood splatter, ‘Busy evening...hate to see the state of the other guys,' he stated.
‘They deserved it.' Dean said coldly, ‘Besides,' he looked back at Crowley, ‘Didn't you want me to be less Winchester and more Knight of Hell,'
‘Not if you're going to cause that much of a scene,' Crowley paused and looked around the luxurious surroundings for what seemed like the last time, ‘I suppose we need to find pastures new, can't have Moose finding out about this in some tatty rag.'
‘Didn't think that through, did I? Dean said, a tone of remorse in his voice.
‘Obviously,' Crowley responded, ‘You've only just begun to embrace the new and, greatly, improved you...can't have Sam spoiling it.
‘Never knew you cared' Dean stated, he sat for a moment before realising he hadn't come empty-handed, ‘Here, I got you this,' Dean smirked, as he handed Crowley a bag with the gift shop logo plastered all over it.
Crowley opened the bag then closed it again, with a sideways glance and a raised eyebrow ‘Seriously?'
‘What? I thought it might lighten the mood, besides it's not every day a Winchester gives a gift to a Demon.'
Crowley opened the bag once more and pulled out a Hawaiian shirt with a repeated pattern of a sunset scene. The bold red was punctuated by flashes of orange and yellow; the shadows of the black palm trees breaking up the garish colours.
‘Waltzing around in a three-piece black suit might get noticed in a place like this,' Dean grinned as he saw Crowley's eyes narrow.
Crowley said nothing, instead looked over to his glass, picked it up and raised it to Dean, ‘Jerk.' He stated, a small smirk forming on the corner of his mouth.
‘Bitch.' Dean as he raised his beer bottle to meet Crowley's glass, a small smile beginning to dance on his lips.