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Blowing Smoke

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2003

Crowley has quite a name for himself. Thus, he is sent to the States to make some noise and leave with someone in his place— to go under cover for a Future Operation. Which one, he doesn’t know yet, but orders are orders. He meets Fergus McLeod, Lilith’s right hand. They work closely with one another, but nobody actually ever sees him. He gives Fergus his name and tells him to keep it, along with everything he’s taught him, and leaves the country in 2005.

2005

Dean Winchester is 26, and in New Orleans on a case. A. J. Crowley, going by ‘Anthony’, is ordered to check in on Dean Winchester before skipping continent, but who says he can’t have a hell of a night doing it?

NOW

Dean’s pretty hammered, but it isn’t all bad. He needs it after the weeks he’s endured here. Doesn’t know what he expected, though— life’s a gore, and then you die.

The dark-haired hunter, smoking a pleasant something or other in the chair before him, saved his life when this particularly nasty witch managed to strike Dean at the moment before he killed her. He’d seen him around, but had a job to do. Lucky him, they’d both found the bitch.

His name is Anthony. Just… Anthony, and damn, he’s pretty. Knows it, too, the way he keeps looking at him, casually undressing him with glinting eyes. Anthony isn’t weak, and he was quick on his feet. Dean couldn’t help but wonder…

“So, gorgeous,” Dean’s pulse rages through his body. “Gonna look at me all night?”

Anthony blows out smoke, covering them both as he moves through it. He kneels between Dean’s legs, firmly runs his long hands up his thighs. His face appears and pauses close enough that their breathing mixes.

“Yesss.”

Dean closes the distance, crashing like bodies hitting dirt, DOA. He feels around Anthony to the back of his head, and grips his hair. It makes him moan. Dean moans in return, he likes the power. His other hand meets Anthony’s belt when he climbs on top, knees bracing his hips. It’s smooth work, for a drunk man, but Anthony’s betting that Dean is smoothest when under pressure.

Their mouths are hot, dipping in and out of each other, and Anthony is eager to show him what he’s got.. he can do oh so much with his tongue. He’s busy biting Dean’s lip when stars shoot under his amber eyes, from a firm hand stroking his cock. He loves being here, willingly held captive, no thoughts of mercy. It is the best place to be. Besides, you can always tell volumes about a person by what they do with a little power. And whatever it is, Anthony can take it. He surrenders… deliciously.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“Is that what you want?” Dean’s voice, low in his ear.

“Love, all I want right now is to suck your impressive cock…” he answers heavily. Dean is rubbing the slit on Anthony's dripping head, and Anthony begins kissing and nipping at Dean’s neck until he starts sucking bruises on it.

Dean’s mind swims with the attention he’s getting, and, high on it, starts undoing his belt. He grabs Anthony’s hair again and forces him down on his knees. Their eyes meet for only a moment, one expression smug and one loving it.

Now it’s really time to show off, Anthony thinks. He licks hungrily from the base of Dean’s dick to his tip. Then he takes Dean wholly, slowly, into his mouth, and gets to work.

Everything starts slipping away from Dean— the evil witch, his worries about Sammy, whatever his dad was yelling at him for last. He had no idea how much weighed on him lately, and relished being able to dislodge it. He’s used sex as an escape before, but, this time proved to be particularly effective. Dean definitely had to keep this man’s number.

Anthony has to be careful here, and choose his next move wisely. He knows Dean craves power, but needs him to prove he has it. So he moans, gutturally, around Dean’s dick while his eyes challenge him.

The nuclear fusion below Dean’s stomach threatens to hit critical. He vocalizes this, then takes Anthony up by the neck and slams him over the table.

He growls, “My turn,” hands running over the other’s body and ass, possessing him. Dean spits on his hand and works open Anthony’s hole, who gasps and moans with it. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The sounds coming out of Anthony are deliciously unholy, and when Dean starts slamming into him, they’re accented by drawn out hisses. For a few moments, he loses the control he has over his rounded pupil disguise, and has to work to keep up his smooth, human skin instead of his comfortable scale patterns.

Alas, Dean doesn’t notice. He’s gripping Anthony by the top of his head and his hip while almost brutally fucking him.

“You love what I’m giving you,” he states. “You deserve it, I know you do.” He’s getting higher.

“Yessssss!”

“You’re a goddamn killer, a liar, and you get what you fucking deserve.” Dean’s losing it in his own way, not that Anthony is doing anything but taking subliminal notes, along with the ride. “You’re no better than a fucking demon, and deserve to die!”

Dean cums inside him then. Anthony feels several things, but mostly gratification, and Dean’s heavy breath on his back.

When Dean takes himself out, he steadies with the table’s help while Anthony basks. Dean kisses him quickly on the back and goes to clean himself up. He comes back, and Anthony is clean and dressed himself, leaning on the table like he wasn’t just fucked into oblivion.

Anthony smirks, “‘No better than a demon’, eh?” He laughs it off easily, lighting his smoke back up.

Oh. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Don’t know where, well… You know how huntin' is.”

A chuckle. “Cathartic, isn’t it.”

“Hah, yeah.” Dean looks him over. “Yeah.”

“Well, I gotta take off. Things to do.” Anthony stands to gather his things.

“You’re leaving now? Jesus, must be a crisis.”

The dark haired man stops, then straightens up as he turns and saunters over to Dean. He leans in close, and caresses Dean’s cheek. This really will be a favor to him.

“Everyone leaves, Dean. Eventually.”

Before Dean can respond, Anthony kisses him like time didn’t exist— at least for an hour. It allowed him to sit Dean down, and saunter off afterwards into the teeming dark. Reports needed to be written, after all.

Dean sat in his chair, dazed and slightly confused. But soon, color entered the sky. The night was hazy. After he found the witch, he’d killed her, that was certain. Then… he thought he was with somebody, but… damn, he must’ve gotten wasted and passed out, and whoever it was dipped early. Just as well. Everyone leaves.

His father hadn’t returned his call since two days before, which wasn’t unusual. He opened his phone to find a voicemail. Something isn’t right, though. Stomach turning in his heart, Dean hit Play.

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