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Ages and ages and ages ago, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sweptawaybayou asked for something with Dean and Agent Seeley Booth. And i was all 'yes!'. And then it languished, and i didn't finish it for freaking ages and ages. 'Cause i'm lame like that. But now it's done!! And i give full credit to this challenge:
banner byhermette
Have a work-in progress you want done?
Come on over and get it done in a week!
Now i shall put another WIP in queue! Wheeeeee! Bones and Show premiered on the same day, same year - which i did not know! - and so we'll say this is...season one-ish. No spoilers of any sort.
Beta by the lovelydarkhavens, and she suggested the title, as well. From a song of the same name by the Xian band Petra. Probably not what they intended.
*snerk*
Interstate 70 cut across Kansas in what was as close to a straight line as possible. West to east – or east to west, whatever – it ran for miles and miles through nothing. Featureless fields, little groves of trees around white-sided houses, clusters of gas-food-motel that quickly faded in the star-washed darkness.
It was boring as hell, and Seeley had caught himself time and again driving the rented Taurus over a hundred miles an hour in an effort just to get it over with. He'd be home right now if things hadn't gone sour in Denver. If the attorney for the agent-killing bastard hadn't managed to pull a rabbit out of his hat and the God-damned motherfucking assholes who'd arrested the agent-killing bastard hadn't fucked procedure all to hell and gone in their zeal to capture said agent-killing bastard.
Instead here he was, driving across fucking Kansas in the middle of fucking August because he'd had to change his flight home three times and then got bumped and bumped again on oversold flights because, hey! It was almost Labor Day weekend and apparently everybody and their mother were flying somewhere and Seeley had had enough of airports and plastic chairs and overpriced food and hard, fluorescent lights that made his eyes tear up and his head throb.
At least driving he could pound the steering wheel in time to whatever cock-rock was on the radio and scream out a little frustration without being tackled by airport security. All he had to do was make it to the Bureau offices in Kansas City, Missouri, and he could get a flight home on one of their jets. Some kind of personnel relocation thing and they had a seat open for him.
Seeley checked his watch, pushed his left foot flat against the floorboard and stretched his legs, hard. The speedometer crept up above one hundred and he relaxed, letting it dip back down. It was almost two a.m. and he needed....
God, he needed a break. He needed to just stop. He's spent the last six days wound so tight his shoulders felt like they'd turned to granite. He'd almost punched one of the asshole Denver detectives for having a smart mouth and he had punched some anonymous idiot in a bar his last night in town, not two hours before he'd signed the car out and got the fuck out of Dodge. His knuckles still stung, scuffed red and a little swollen. His skin felt too tight, too hot. He had the windows down to help him stay awake and the hot, Kansas air was gritty on his tongue – thick with summer humidity and the faint, far promise of a thunderstorm. A gas station sign glowed on the horizon, white and red, and Seeley took the exit at Hays and spun into the parking lot in a haze of dust and pollen. Walked past aisles of Little Debbie's and Lays and went into the bathroom.
After, he stood over the sink and ran chlorine-sharp water over his wrists, splashed it up into his face and pushed it back through his hair. Drops spattered down onto the blue-grey material of his t-shirt and he leaned on the chipped porcelain and stared into the mirror. He kind of looked like a serial killer, or maybe a terrorist. He was both of those, really, except he'd done his killing with government approval and gotten a medal instead of a hangman's noose. Medal and a fucked up knee – fucked up head. His eyes were smudged dark and his skin was too pale for summer. He wanted to punch the mirror but he didn't. He wanted to fight someone – some thing. Or fuck. Anything to make his brain stop working – to make the buzzing itch that seemed to be just under his skin go the fuck away.
He bought coffee and power bars and Good'n'Plenty and stood in the parking lot for a long minute, listening to the wheezy rasp of cicadas – the buzz of the gas station lights. When he got back into the car, he turned left instead of right out of the parking lot and drove into the town.
The main streets were lit by amber-bright streetlights and he turned and turned again, away from the main drag and off into quiet neighborhoods where the houses were uniformly dark, the lawns clipped close and crisping from the long summer. Here a collection of daisy pinwheels spun lazily; there a knot of lawn chairs huddled around a wading pool, beach ball and Styrofoam noodles floating on the surface of the water. It was eerie, to drive through the silent streets – to look at the houses that seemed made of nothing but cardboard and dreams. Seeley imagined himself propped in the crotch of one of the sky-brushing cottonwoods, butt of his sniper's rifle snugged against his shoulder and some balding redneck in his sights.
Just as productive to shoot here as anywhere else, because none of the kills he'd made in his not-a-serial-killer-by-default life seemed to have ever really done anything. The torture and bombings and kidnappings and depravities had gone on and on, and his single shot to the head, to the heart, had only been a burst of static in the blaring klaxon of hate. Useless and pointless, but he'd go to Hell for it, just the same.
His foot slipped off the gas pedal when he saw the up-thrust spire of the church. On autopilot, he lifted his foot back up and turned the wheel, watching as the pale-colored building grew closer and closer. He pulled to a stop in front of it and then sat there for a long moment, staring at the arched lines of the windows – the broad steps that led up to the tall doors. Sweat on his lip, the salty taste of it on his tongue. And then he was turning the car off and opening the door. Walking across the sidewalk and up the stairs, the bulk of the building looming over him, windows like sightless eyes reflecting the white light of the street light, colorless and empty.
The doors were set back under an arch, deep in shadow, and Seeley let his fingers brush the grip of his weapon, tucked into the waist of his jeans. Not a standard carry, but he didn't think a shoulder holster would go down well in a church. Even if it was probably deserted, even if every Kansas citizen who walked through its doors carried all week.
The door swung open at his touch, not locked and not even latched, and he felt a little prickle of excitement go over his skin. Could be careless staff – could be a vandal. Could be SOP for a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere, but he moved cautiously all the same, slipping sideways through the door and moving away from the light, not letting himself be caught silhouetted, not letting his sneakers squeak on the buffed stone floor. It was warmer inside the church – the slight breeze outside totally missing, the air heavy with the sweet-musk tang of incense and the honey-lemon of wood polish.
Light fell in through the stained glass, dim glows of blue and green, red and yellow smoldering across the narthex. A stronger, golden glow came from the nave itself, cast by the vigil candles that were lit inside. Seeley moved slowly forward, slipping silently into the nave and moving sideways behind the pews, staying in the shadows. Near the altar, in a lantern-lit niche, was the tabernacle, and someone was there, doing...something. Seeley watched as he crept forward, his eyes adjusting to the light, and after a moment he saw more clearly. The tabernacle was open, white silk interior glowing in the lamplight, and the person was reaching in – was lifting out a fistful of communion wafers.
"What. The fuck," Seeley said, abandoning all pretense of stealth, and the person – guy – jerked around in startlement, dropping wafers like confetti.
"Shit. Uh... It's not...what it looks like?" the guy said, fiddling with a little carved wooden box. A canvas bag was slumped on the floor next to the archway into the niche, flap rucked back.
"You're stealing communion wafers in the middle of the night from a church."
"Right. Yeah." The guy lifted one hand and rubbed it over his head – scratched for a moment at the back of his neck, flustered and showing it. "Okay, so, it is what it looks like. But – uh – I have a good reason?"
"Sure you do." The guy wasn't a teenager but he didn't seem all that old, either. Not as old as Seeley felt on a good day, that was for sure.
"Course I do! Look." The guy crouched for a moment, scooping dropped wafers into a messy pile and shoving them into the box – shoving the box into the bag. "I just took a few, okay? There's plenty left, and I didn't take anything else so how about we call it even and we'll both just go our merry, separate ways. Okay? Okay." The guy grinned – did a little smirky, winky thing and looped the strap of the bag over his shoulder. He stood back up but somehow, the strap and bag were tangled and the entire bag upended, spilling its contents in a clattering heap on the floor. "Oh, shit!"
"I think maybe –" Seeley said, and then he was drawing his weapon and bringing it up, dead-center on the guy's chest, hands steady. Because besides the box and a couple of flasks, a flashlight and a canister of salt, for fuck's sake, a gun had also spilled out onto the floor. A big, silver gun. "Just back up. Hands over your head and back the fuck up, right now."
"Okay, sure, yeah, let's just...talk about this –" The guy backed up slowly, hands going up. Bag still swaying from his shoulder and Seeley followed him step for step, driving him toward the altar. When Seeley's foot kicked one of the flasks he glanced down, fast, and found the guy's weapon. With the tip of his sneaker he pushed it aside, sending it sliding into the shadowed depths of the tabernacle alcove.
"Just keep going. Let that bag drop."
"Dude, I –"
"Drop. It."
"Christ. Okay – letting it drop, okay? Take it easy." The guy slowly lowered his left arm until the bag slipped free of his t-shirted shoulder and slid down – off. The both moved four more steps – five – and then Seeley was kicking the bag behind himself, gaze still fixed on the guy. He was as tall as Seeley, or so it seemed – hard to tell with the boots he was wearing. Just as broad across the shoulders, forearms and biceps smoothly muscled. Not someone to treat lightly.
"I want you to turn around and get on your knees, hands on your head."
"Oh, man, really? 'Cause I really gotta get a move on –"
"Hey! Hey, hey hey!" Seeley lifted his gun a fraction, letting the candlelight gleam off its polished barrel. "I have the gun – you are gonna do what you're told. Got it?"
The kid sighed, biting his lower lip. And then he turned around and knelt down, oddly graceful. His jeans were worn, one of the back pockets fraying away from the denim underneath. A strip of skin showed between the lifted hem of his dark grey t-shirt and the leather of the belt he wore. Smooth skin, gleaming softly with sweat, and Seeley felt the cling of his own shirt sticking to him in the thick air.
"Just take it easy," the kid said, and Seeley advanced in cautious steps. Fished his handcuffs out of their case at his belt and snapped one cuff around the kid's right wrist. "Fuck," the kid muttered. And then he was twisting, jerking forward with his cuffed wrist, yanking Seeley off balance and dragging him down, over his shoulder. Seeley's worn sneakers slipped on the polished floor and he was down, his gun clattering away under a pew and the kid's knee in his ribs.
They rolled, punching and grabbing, the open cuff pinging off floor and pew and Seeley's ribs until Seeley knocked the kid right into the base of a pew, hard shock through the both of them and the kid's green eyes going wide for a moment and then squinting in pain.
"Ow, fuck!" The kid lashed out with a well-aimed punch and Seeley reeled back, jaw tingling, rush of hot-cold going over him, little black sparks dancing in the air. He shook his head hard, shaking it off, and lunged forward, grabbing the kid who was halfway to his knees and yanking him back down.
A couple of hard rabbit-punches to the kid's ribs and then the oiled gleam of his gun was right there and a moment later he had it in his hand. Had the barrel right up against the kid's temple and the kid went still, muscles rock-hard with tension under Seeley's belly.
"Let's try this again," Seeley panted, and the kid rolled his eyes.
They ended up where they'd started – Seeley on his feet, hip cocked up on the back of a pew and the kid on his knees right in front of the kneeling rail, only this time with his hands cuffed behind his back. He'd gotten a split lip in the fight and he licked at the blood and winced – shifted on his knees. The vigil candles lent the air a soft glow, and the kid was striped in shadow and shine, sweat gleaming subtly on his skin.
"Okay, Officer Krupke, you got me," the kid said, and Seeley huffed out a breathless laugh, rubbing at his jaw.
"It's Special Agent Krupke, FBI. And there's no way you're gonna dance your way outta this."
"FBI?" The kid licked his lip again, shoulders flexing. His t-shirt was torn at the neck, and Seeley let his gaze linger for a moment on the strong, curved line of muscle that showed there, sweeping down toward his sternum. The kid shifted more, his knees sliding a little wider on the floor. "Okay, so...no dancing. But...." The kid's voice dropped a whole octave, taking on a husky edge, and Seeley's gaze snapped back to his face. "Gotta be something I can do, G-man."
There was absolutely no mistaking the intent in that wide, green gaze and Seeley felt a hot little throb of arousal in his groin. Watched the kid's tongue edge out again, tasting the slow well of blood on his bruise-swollen lower lip. The kid tucked his chin a little – let his lashes fan down and then up again, looking up at Seeley and letting the corner of his mouth turn up in a knowing, lascivious smirk.
"Jesus fuck," Seeley muttered, and then crossed himself on pure reflex. "Look, kid –"
"Dan. Call me Dan. And I'm just sayin'...Special Agent...." The kid – Dan – rolled his shoulders, pushing his chest out and canting his hips. "There's more than one way this can go."
Seeley pushed away from the pew and stalked the five or so steps up to Dan, his gun still out – pointed down and off to one side but clearly in play. Dan's gaze didn't waver off Seeley's face once. He just lifted his chin and looked through his lashes, his mouth wet and a little open, chest hitching under a sudden, long breath.
"What makes you think I'm that kind of agent, Dan?"
Dan grinned a little wider – swayed forward so that he was inches from Seeley's jean-clad thigh. Seeley could feel the heat of him, like a cat curling close, and he shivered. "'Cause I'm that kinda guy, Special Agent. 'Cause I can just about fucking taste you right now and you know...you really wanna let me. Just...." Dan leaned in closer, his nose – mouth – almost touching Seeley's groin. Almost – not quite – and he tilted his head so he could look up. Breathed out, hot and humid, sinking through the denim and into Seeley's skin..
"Let me...." Dan murmured, and Seeley stared down at him for an agonized handful of heartbeats.
"Christ."
"Think he's watching?" Dan turned his head – pushed his cheek into Seeley's thigh and rubbed, the edge of his chin dragging over Seeley's rapidly hardening cock. His lips shaped themselves over the line of it and he breathed out again and it was like fire. Like a flame.
Distantly, Seeley heard the sharp click of the barrel of his gun colliding with the kneeling rail. He rubbed the back of his thumb over the high jut of Dan's cheekbone, the gun sight mussing a line through Dan's dark, close-clipped hair and Dan shuddered visibly.
"You like that, Dan? Jesus, you like that...." Seeley carefully – gently – dragged the tip of the barrel across Dan's temple – down the hollow of his cheek to his jaw and Dan made a soft, needy little sound down in his throat.
"Love that." Dan's voice had gone low, breathy, and Seeley's hips twitched forward, his arousal like a pulse of liquid heat through his belly and balls. "C'mon, man, let me...." Dan's mouth was suddenly on the button of Seeley's jeans, but the material was too stiff for him to undo it, and Seeley reached up, clumsy with his left hand, and popped it free. Dan nuzzled his hand aside and found the tab of the zipper with his lips – his teeth. He tugged, and the zip slid down, clicking.
"Oh, man – seriously? You're – fuck –"
Dan grinned up at him – swayed backward a little, tugging the zipper lower and suddenly it was down all the way, denim furling aside as Dan pushed in with nose and chin, breathing in long, hard, hot breathes over the stretched cotton of Seeley's briefs.
"Seriously, Special Agent," Dan murmured, and Seeley had to curl his fingers over Dan's skull – had to slide his fingers through the not-quite-long-enough strands of hair, wanting to dig in and pull.... Instead, he eased Dan back a fraction and pushed at his jeans – the elastic of his briefs – shoving them down and away. Freeing his cock to the sultry air and Dan leaned back, shoulders working, his gaze fixed on Seeley.
"Not cut. I like that."
"Anything you don't like?" Seeley asked, and his voice was thick in his throat.
Dan grinned, wicked as the Devil. "Not really. Now you just...lemme...." Dan leaned in, rubbing. Smooth push of his cheek and then the faintest scrub of stubble as he moved his head back and forth, and Seeley groaned softly. Found himself grinding the grip of his gun into Dan's skull and put his hand – the gun – over the kneeling rail. Put his other hand on Dan's head instead, fingers rubbing through the plush of Dan's hair, thumb following the line of his plump lower lip. Pushing, catching – slipping inside, and Dan's tongue curled around him, sucking.
"Yeah, yeah...." Seeley's hips lifted, impatient, and Dan chuckled around Seeley's thumb – lifted up onto his knees just a little and then the tip of Seeley's cock was in Dan's mouth, slick and wet. Seeley pushed against Dan's tongue – let his thumb slip free and shuddered hard when the tip of Dan's tongue writhed across the slit of his cock – pushed between head and foreskin, lapping. He wanted to spread his legs wide and just pump into that heat.
Dan sucked hard as he pushed down, looking straight up at Seeley, his gaze challenging – blown and a little dazed and Seeley cupped Dan's cheek in his palm and just...gave in. He started to move; braced against the kneeling rail and rolled his hips – pulled back and shoved forward and Dan. Just...took it. Made these noises, these amazing, choked little noises as Seeley pumped in and in.
"Jesus...Christ...." Seeley let his thumb ride the flexing point of Dan's jaw – watched through half-shut eyes the ripple of Dan's throat as he sucked and swallowed, feeling it around the tip of his cock. Dan pulled back and panted through his noise, his tongue moving, cheeks hollowing. Then he was leaning in, steady push, until his nose and chin were pressed against Seeley's body and Seeley shuddered helplessly, the visual and the physical together like a one-two punch. He could feel his balls pulling up, tight and swollen, orgasm like a curling wave down his spine.
So fucking close, and his hips followed helplessly as Dan pulled back again. "Fuck...fuck –" He let his gun drop, unthinking – got both hands on Dan's head, fingers buried in the sweat-damp hair, palms riding the ridges of his cheekbones.
"Gonna fuck your mouth, just...fuck, take it, just...."
Dan's eyes, wide and wet, lifted to Seeley's face and Dan made a sort of choked moan, swaying. His eyes fluttering shut and his jaw working, tongue twisting along Seeley's shaft and Seeley just moved; fucked in and out, slower and then faster, watching with a sort of breathless fascination how his cock slipped over and over the wet, flushed curve of Dan's mouth. Dan's own hips were flexing, back and forth, his shoulders working, and Seeley could see, in flashes, the thick line of Dan's hard cock under his jeans.
"Look at you, just...loving it, fuck, you're hard...hard from my cock, Jesus...Jesus...." Orgasm like a electric shock, goose bumps and sudden sweat all down Seeley's back, spine bowing as he curled down over Dan, panting out short, sharp little groans. His cock shoved hard into Dan's mouth, suffocating him, belly and balls spasming as he shot.
And Dan swallowed around him, frantic, shallow little puffs of air against Seeley's groin, little whine escaping with the last of his air. Seeley hung there, gasping – leaned back slowly, moaning a little as Dan sucked harder, making his cock pump a final, weak thread of come. Dan's face was flushed, sweat at his temples as Seeley let his hands fall away. The kneeling rail was cool under his palms and Seeley's hips jerked forward and then back a last time as Dan pulled off slow, sucking and licking and giving the sensitive head a last, rough caress before letting go.
"God," Seeley muttered, lifting a hand to wipe at his face, sweat slick across his forehead.
"No, just me," Dan said, his voice whiskey-rough. And then Dan lunged up, one fist coming up in a solid hit, sending Seeley pitching backward over the rail. Dan's fists in his shirt stopped him – spun him – and Seeley found himself half bent over the kneeling rail, rattle of steel on wrought iron as the cuffs where threaded through and clicked into place around his wrists.
"Hey – hey, fuck, let me go!" Seeley jerked at the cuffs but hell, he knew it was impossible. He was caught. "You know how much trouble you're gonna be in if you don't let me go?"
"Nope. How much trouble will I be in, Special Agent?" Seeley heard the jingle of a belt buckle and then the soft hiss of a zipper – jerked sharply at the sudden, brand-hot push of Dan's cock between his legs. "C'mon, Special Agent. You got yours, now you gonna let me get mine? You know you wanna...." Dan's voice in his ear, low and coaxing and so fucking raw, Dan's hand on Seeley's hip, digging in, and Seeley all but growled, trying to shake him off. Dan laughed, low and dirty. He kicked at Seeley's foot, shoving his legs together, dirty work boots pinning Seeley's sneakers in place.
Dan's cock pushed forward, rubbing over sweat-slick skin – pushing into Seeley's balls. "Yeah, just like that...sweet...." Dan's tongue licked a path up Seeley's throat and his teeth nipped at Seeley's earlobe. His other hand curled around to catch Seeley's softening cock and press it against his belly, rubbing and tugging. All the while moving, pushing, pulling. Hips working and his cock pumping, sweat and heat and the thick, salt-iron musk of sex.
"Jesus, in fucking church...." Seeley squeezed his thighs tighter together and arched back when the head of Dan's cock caught at his hole, pushing and then sliding past. "You're crazy...." Dan laughed again, breath catching.
"It's been said." He panted, hips moving faster, jingle of his belt buckle and the soft slap of flesh on flesh. Seeley whined as his cock was squeezed – rubbed – oversensitive and almost painful but Christ, he didn't want Dan to let go. Dan's hand slipped off Seeley's hips and pushed up under his shirt, blunt nails raking over Seeley's belly and chest – catching a nipple and Seeley yelped, grinding back.
"He likes that, oh yeah," Dan said, fingers tugging clumsily – erratically – as his breathing shortened to sharp pants and his thrusts suddenly sped up, four, five, six, hard and fast and then Dan was rocking, his whole body jerking as his cock throbbed between Seeley's legs, soaking him with slick, wet heat. "Yeah, yeah...." Dan's rigid body relaxed slowly, his hips moving in little, jerky arcs for another few moments, and then he was just leaning there, hands on the rail and his body bowed over Seeley's, blast-furnace heat and the faint whiff of some cologne; clean sweat and musk.
"Not bad for a suit," Dan said, and pushed himself back – upright. Seeley could hear him fumbling with jeans and belt and the jingling of metal on metal snapped him out of his post-orgasmic haze. Where in fuck was his gun? He saw the glint of steel and lunged, but Dan was there first, scooping it up and backing away, little grin on his face. "Nuh uh, buddy. Last thing I need is a bullet wound."
"You're gonna get your ass kicked –" Seeley started, and then stopped at the sudden boom of the front door being violently opened into the wall.
"Dean, what in hell are you doing?"
"Dean?"
"Jeez, Sam –"
"Who in the hell is that?" 'Sam' shouted, and Seeley twisted around, seeing another damn kid striding down the aisle of the church, jeans and sweat-marked t-shirt and longish, dark hair stringing damply around his face.
"Nobody, he's just –"
"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the eff-bee-fucking-eye and if you two don't let me go right the fuck now –!"
"Holy crap. FBI? Did you have sex with him? You had sex with him!" Sam said, and Seeley became suddenly – acutely – aware of the fact that he was bent over, ass to the breeze, with Dan – no, Dean's – come drying between his thighs. He straightened as far as he could, hands slipping on the rail.
"Breathe, Sammy. It was consensual."
"I don't care if he begged for it!"
"I didn't beg for it – " Seeley snapped, and Dean leaned in and gave him a sharp slap on the ass.
"Course you didn't, baby."
"I will kill you."
Sam reached over and yanked Seeley's gun out of Dean's hand – dropped the magazine out and sent it skating away up the polished stone of the aisle. He popped the chambered round out into his hand and sent the gun away at an angle, up under the pews somewhere. He shoved the bullet distractedly into his pocket and sent a look of such utter fury at Dean that Seeley ducked in case he got caught in the overspill.
"Dean. Did you get the wafers?"
"Course I did –"
"Then give him the keys," Sam said, his voice sounding like he was grinding his teeth to powder, "and let's get the hell out of here."
Dean rolled his eyes, still smirking. "Yeah, yeah, fine."
Sam sent Seeley the same furious glare, and Seeley wanted to shield his eyes. Sam swooped past him and snatched up the canvas bag Dean had been holding, shoving the spilled contents inside as Dean finished doing up his belt. "Jesus you are a fucking idiot," Sam said, pushing past Dean and stalking away, long legs eating up the floor and his hands clenched into fists. Dean stared after him.
"Aw, Sammy, c'mon!" Dean called, but Sam didn't break stride, and a moment later Seeley could hear the heavy church door slamming shut.
"Well, fuck. Looks like I'm sleeping on the couch tonight," Dean muttered, and Seeley uttered a bark of startled laughter.
"You just got laid, you asshole, fuck you. Gimme the damn keys!"
Dean turned around and grinned down at Seeley – crouched down, the keys dangling from his fingers. "Yeah, you just got the thrill of a fucking lifetime, G-man. Now – you want these?"
"I swear I will kill you."
"Bad boy. Be nice." Dean moved, snake-strike fast. Got the fingers of his left hand tangled in Seeley's hair and then his mouth was sealed over Seeley's mouth, teeth and tongue, bitter-salt flavor of Seeley's own come pushing inside. Seeley fought the kiss – fought Dean's hold – for the space of a couple heartbeats and then he was leaning into it, giving back as good as he got, nipping and licking and groaning a little as Dean pulled away. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean murmured. He shoved the keys into Seeley's hand. "You be good, G-man."
Dean stood up and jogged away, pausing only to snatch up his gun and then he was gone. A few moments later, while Seeley was still staring after him, he heard the low rumble of a powerful engine, revving and then dying away, Sam and Dean were gone into the stifling Kansas summer.
It took Seeley two minutes to get himself out of his cuffs – four to find the basement bathroom and do a half-hearted clean up. It took him about ten miles to realize that he didn't feel like killing anyone anymore. He ducked his head a little and caught a whiff of sex off himself – sex and Dean's scent, faint and mellow. Grinning, he flipped on the radio, cranking up the volume and pushing down on the gas. Thrill of a fucking lifetime.
Shoot to thrill, play to kill
I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will
'Cause I shoot to thrill, and I'm ready to kill
I can't get enough, I can't get the thrill
I shoot to thrill, play to kill
Yeah, pull the trigger....
AC/DC - Shoot to Thrill
Bidding still open at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
qldfloodauction! :)
sweptawaybayou asked for something with Dean and Agent Seeley Booth. And i was all 'yes!'. And then it languished, and i didn't finish it for freaking ages and ages. 'Cause i'm lame like that. But now it's done!! And i give full credit to this challenge:banner by
hermetteHave a work-in progress you want done?
Come on over and get it done in a week!
Now i shall put another WIP in queue! Wheeeeee! Bones and Show premiered on the same day, same year - which i did not know! - and so we'll say this is...season one-ish. No spoilers of any sort.
Beta by the lovely
darkhavens, and she suggested the title, as well. From a song of the same name by the Xian band Petra. Probably not what they intended.*snerk*
Interstate 70 cut across Kansas in what was as close to a straight line as possible. West to east – or east to west, whatever – it ran for miles and miles through nothing. Featureless fields, little groves of trees around white-sided houses, clusters of gas-food-motel that quickly faded in the star-washed darkness.
It was boring as hell, and Seeley had caught himself time and again driving the rented Taurus over a hundred miles an hour in an effort just to get it over with. He'd be home right now if things hadn't gone sour in Denver. If the attorney for the agent-killing bastard hadn't managed to pull a rabbit out of his hat and the God-damned motherfucking assholes who'd arrested the agent-killing bastard hadn't fucked procedure all to hell and gone in their zeal to capture said agent-killing bastard.
Instead here he was, driving across fucking Kansas in the middle of fucking August because he'd had to change his flight home three times and then got bumped and bumped again on oversold flights because, hey! It was almost Labor Day weekend and apparently everybody and their mother were flying somewhere and Seeley had had enough of airports and plastic chairs and overpriced food and hard, fluorescent lights that made his eyes tear up and his head throb.
At least driving he could pound the steering wheel in time to whatever cock-rock was on the radio and scream out a little frustration without being tackled by airport security. All he had to do was make it to the Bureau offices in Kansas City, Missouri, and he could get a flight home on one of their jets. Some kind of personnel relocation thing and they had a seat open for him.
Seeley checked his watch, pushed his left foot flat against the floorboard and stretched his legs, hard. The speedometer crept up above one hundred and he relaxed, letting it dip back down. It was almost two a.m. and he needed....
God, he needed a break. He needed to just stop. He's spent the last six days wound so tight his shoulders felt like they'd turned to granite. He'd almost punched one of the asshole Denver detectives for having a smart mouth and he had punched some anonymous idiot in a bar his last night in town, not two hours before he'd signed the car out and got the fuck out of Dodge. His knuckles still stung, scuffed red and a little swollen. His skin felt too tight, too hot. He had the windows down to help him stay awake and the hot, Kansas air was gritty on his tongue – thick with summer humidity and the faint, far promise of a thunderstorm. A gas station sign glowed on the horizon, white and red, and Seeley took the exit at Hays and spun into the parking lot in a haze of dust and pollen. Walked past aisles of Little Debbie's and Lays and went into the bathroom.
After, he stood over the sink and ran chlorine-sharp water over his wrists, splashed it up into his face and pushed it back through his hair. Drops spattered down onto the blue-grey material of his t-shirt and he leaned on the chipped porcelain and stared into the mirror. He kind of looked like a serial killer, or maybe a terrorist. He was both of those, really, except he'd done his killing with government approval and gotten a medal instead of a hangman's noose. Medal and a fucked up knee – fucked up head. His eyes were smudged dark and his skin was too pale for summer. He wanted to punch the mirror but he didn't. He wanted to fight someone – some thing. Or fuck. Anything to make his brain stop working – to make the buzzing itch that seemed to be just under his skin go the fuck away.
He bought coffee and power bars and Good'n'Plenty and stood in the parking lot for a long minute, listening to the wheezy rasp of cicadas – the buzz of the gas station lights. When he got back into the car, he turned left instead of right out of the parking lot and drove into the town.
The main streets were lit by amber-bright streetlights and he turned and turned again, away from the main drag and off into quiet neighborhoods where the houses were uniformly dark, the lawns clipped close and crisping from the long summer. Here a collection of daisy pinwheels spun lazily; there a knot of lawn chairs huddled around a wading pool, beach ball and Styrofoam noodles floating on the surface of the water. It was eerie, to drive through the silent streets – to look at the houses that seemed made of nothing but cardboard and dreams. Seeley imagined himself propped in the crotch of one of the sky-brushing cottonwoods, butt of his sniper's rifle snugged against his shoulder and some balding redneck in his sights.
Just as productive to shoot here as anywhere else, because none of the kills he'd made in his not-a-serial-killer-by-default life seemed to have ever really done anything. The torture and bombings and kidnappings and depravities had gone on and on, and his single shot to the head, to the heart, had only been a burst of static in the blaring klaxon of hate. Useless and pointless, but he'd go to Hell for it, just the same.
His foot slipped off the gas pedal when he saw the up-thrust spire of the church. On autopilot, he lifted his foot back up and turned the wheel, watching as the pale-colored building grew closer and closer. He pulled to a stop in front of it and then sat there for a long moment, staring at the arched lines of the windows – the broad steps that led up to the tall doors. Sweat on his lip, the salty taste of it on his tongue. And then he was turning the car off and opening the door. Walking across the sidewalk and up the stairs, the bulk of the building looming over him, windows like sightless eyes reflecting the white light of the street light, colorless and empty.
The doors were set back under an arch, deep in shadow, and Seeley let his fingers brush the grip of his weapon, tucked into the waist of his jeans. Not a standard carry, but he didn't think a shoulder holster would go down well in a church. Even if it was probably deserted, even if every Kansas citizen who walked through its doors carried all week.
The door swung open at his touch, not locked and not even latched, and he felt a little prickle of excitement go over his skin. Could be careless staff – could be a vandal. Could be SOP for a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere, but he moved cautiously all the same, slipping sideways through the door and moving away from the light, not letting himself be caught silhouetted, not letting his sneakers squeak on the buffed stone floor. It was warmer inside the church – the slight breeze outside totally missing, the air heavy with the sweet-musk tang of incense and the honey-lemon of wood polish.
Light fell in through the stained glass, dim glows of blue and green, red and yellow smoldering across the narthex. A stronger, golden glow came from the nave itself, cast by the vigil candles that were lit inside. Seeley moved slowly forward, slipping silently into the nave and moving sideways behind the pews, staying in the shadows. Near the altar, in a lantern-lit niche, was the tabernacle, and someone was there, doing...something. Seeley watched as he crept forward, his eyes adjusting to the light, and after a moment he saw more clearly. The tabernacle was open, white silk interior glowing in the lamplight, and the person was reaching in – was lifting out a fistful of communion wafers.
"What. The fuck," Seeley said, abandoning all pretense of stealth, and the person – guy – jerked around in startlement, dropping wafers like confetti.
"Shit. Uh... It's not...what it looks like?" the guy said, fiddling with a little carved wooden box. A canvas bag was slumped on the floor next to the archway into the niche, flap rucked back.
"You're stealing communion wafers in the middle of the night from a church."
"Right. Yeah." The guy lifted one hand and rubbed it over his head – scratched for a moment at the back of his neck, flustered and showing it. "Okay, so, it is what it looks like. But – uh – I have a good reason?"
"Sure you do." The guy wasn't a teenager but he didn't seem all that old, either. Not as old as Seeley felt on a good day, that was for sure.
"Course I do! Look." The guy crouched for a moment, scooping dropped wafers into a messy pile and shoving them into the box – shoving the box into the bag. "I just took a few, okay? There's plenty left, and I didn't take anything else so how about we call it even and we'll both just go our merry, separate ways. Okay? Okay." The guy grinned – did a little smirky, winky thing and looped the strap of the bag over his shoulder. He stood back up but somehow, the strap and bag were tangled and the entire bag upended, spilling its contents in a clattering heap on the floor. "Oh, shit!"
"I think maybe –" Seeley said, and then he was drawing his weapon and bringing it up, dead-center on the guy's chest, hands steady. Because besides the box and a couple of flasks, a flashlight and a canister of salt, for fuck's sake, a gun had also spilled out onto the floor. A big, silver gun. "Just back up. Hands over your head and back the fuck up, right now."
"Okay, sure, yeah, let's just...talk about this –" The guy backed up slowly, hands going up. Bag still swaying from his shoulder and Seeley followed him step for step, driving him toward the altar. When Seeley's foot kicked one of the flasks he glanced down, fast, and found the guy's weapon. With the tip of his sneaker he pushed it aside, sending it sliding into the shadowed depths of the tabernacle alcove.
"Just keep going. Let that bag drop."
"Dude, I –"
"Drop. It."
"Christ. Okay – letting it drop, okay? Take it easy." The guy slowly lowered his left arm until the bag slipped free of his t-shirted shoulder and slid down – off. The both moved four more steps – five – and then Seeley was kicking the bag behind himself, gaze still fixed on the guy. He was as tall as Seeley, or so it seemed – hard to tell with the boots he was wearing. Just as broad across the shoulders, forearms and biceps smoothly muscled. Not someone to treat lightly.
"I want you to turn around and get on your knees, hands on your head."
"Oh, man, really? 'Cause I really gotta get a move on –"
"Hey! Hey, hey hey!" Seeley lifted his gun a fraction, letting the candlelight gleam off its polished barrel. "I have the gun – you are gonna do what you're told. Got it?"
The kid sighed, biting his lower lip. And then he turned around and knelt down, oddly graceful. His jeans were worn, one of the back pockets fraying away from the denim underneath. A strip of skin showed between the lifted hem of his dark grey t-shirt and the leather of the belt he wore. Smooth skin, gleaming softly with sweat, and Seeley felt the cling of his own shirt sticking to him in the thick air.
"Just take it easy," the kid said, and Seeley advanced in cautious steps. Fished his handcuffs out of their case at his belt and snapped one cuff around the kid's right wrist. "Fuck," the kid muttered. And then he was twisting, jerking forward with his cuffed wrist, yanking Seeley off balance and dragging him down, over his shoulder. Seeley's worn sneakers slipped on the polished floor and he was down, his gun clattering away under a pew and the kid's knee in his ribs.
They rolled, punching and grabbing, the open cuff pinging off floor and pew and Seeley's ribs until Seeley knocked the kid right into the base of a pew, hard shock through the both of them and the kid's green eyes going wide for a moment and then squinting in pain.
"Ow, fuck!" The kid lashed out with a well-aimed punch and Seeley reeled back, jaw tingling, rush of hot-cold going over him, little black sparks dancing in the air. He shook his head hard, shaking it off, and lunged forward, grabbing the kid who was halfway to his knees and yanking him back down.
A couple of hard rabbit-punches to the kid's ribs and then the oiled gleam of his gun was right there and a moment later he had it in his hand. Had the barrel right up against the kid's temple and the kid went still, muscles rock-hard with tension under Seeley's belly.
"Let's try this again," Seeley panted, and the kid rolled his eyes.
They ended up where they'd started – Seeley on his feet, hip cocked up on the back of a pew and the kid on his knees right in front of the kneeling rail, only this time with his hands cuffed behind his back. He'd gotten a split lip in the fight and he licked at the blood and winced – shifted on his knees. The vigil candles lent the air a soft glow, and the kid was striped in shadow and shine, sweat gleaming subtly on his skin.
"Okay, Officer Krupke, you got me," the kid said, and Seeley huffed out a breathless laugh, rubbing at his jaw.
"It's Special Agent Krupke, FBI. And there's no way you're gonna dance your way outta this."
"FBI?" The kid licked his lip again, shoulders flexing. His t-shirt was torn at the neck, and Seeley let his gaze linger for a moment on the strong, curved line of muscle that showed there, sweeping down toward his sternum. The kid shifted more, his knees sliding a little wider on the floor. "Okay, so...no dancing. But...." The kid's voice dropped a whole octave, taking on a husky edge, and Seeley's gaze snapped back to his face. "Gotta be something I can do, G-man."
There was absolutely no mistaking the intent in that wide, green gaze and Seeley felt a hot little throb of arousal in his groin. Watched the kid's tongue edge out again, tasting the slow well of blood on his bruise-swollen lower lip. The kid tucked his chin a little – let his lashes fan down and then up again, looking up at Seeley and letting the corner of his mouth turn up in a knowing, lascivious smirk.
"Jesus fuck," Seeley muttered, and then crossed himself on pure reflex. "Look, kid –"
"Dan. Call me Dan. And I'm just sayin'...Special Agent...." The kid – Dan – rolled his shoulders, pushing his chest out and canting his hips. "There's more than one way this can go."
Seeley pushed away from the pew and stalked the five or so steps up to Dan, his gun still out – pointed down and off to one side but clearly in play. Dan's gaze didn't waver off Seeley's face once. He just lifted his chin and looked through his lashes, his mouth wet and a little open, chest hitching under a sudden, long breath.
"What makes you think I'm that kind of agent, Dan?"
Dan grinned a little wider – swayed forward so that he was inches from Seeley's jean-clad thigh. Seeley could feel the heat of him, like a cat curling close, and he shivered. "'Cause I'm that kinda guy, Special Agent. 'Cause I can just about fucking taste you right now and you know...you really wanna let me. Just...." Dan leaned in closer, his nose – mouth – almost touching Seeley's groin. Almost – not quite – and he tilted his head so he could look up. Breathed out, hot and humid, sinking through the denim and into Seeley's skin..
"Let me...." Dan murmured, and Seeley stared down at him for an agonized handful of heartbeats.
"Christ."
"Think he's watching?" Dan turned his head – pushed his cheek into Seeley's thigh and rubbed, the edge of his chin dragging over Seeley's rapidly hardening cock. His lips shaped themselves over the line of it and he breathed out again and it was like fire. Like a flame.
Distantly, Seeley heard the sharp click of the barrel of his gun colliding with the kneeling rail. He rubbed the back of his thumb over the high jut of Dan's cheekbone, the gun sight mussing a line through Dan's dark, close-clipped hair and Dan shuddered visibly.
"You like that, Dan? Jesus, you like that...." Seeley carefully – gently – dragged the tip of the barrel across Dan's temple – down the hollow of his cheek to his jaw and Dan made a soft, needy little sound down in his throat.
"Love that." Dan's voice had gone low, breathy, and Seeley's hips twitched forward, his arousal like a pulse of liquid heat through his belly and balls. "C'mon, man, let me...." Dan's mouth was suddenly on the button of Seeley's jeans, but the material was too stiff for him to undo it, and Seeley reached up, clumsy with his left hand, and popped it free. Dan nuzzled his hand aside and found the tab of the zipper with his lips – his teeth. He tugged, and the zip slid down, clicking.
"Oh, man – seriously? You're – fuck –"
Dan grinned up at him – swayed backward a little, tugging the zipper lower and suddenly it was down all the way, denim furling aside as Dan pushed in with nose and chin, breathing in long, hard, hot breathes over the stretched cotton of Seeley's briefs.
"Seriously, Special Agent," Dan murmured, and Seeley had to curl his fingers over Dan's skull – had to slide his fingers through the not-quite-long-enough strands of hair, wanting to dig in and pull.... Instead, he eased Dan back a fraction and pushed at his jeans – the elastic of his briefs – shoving them down and away. Freeing his cock to the sultry air and Dan leaned back, shoulders working, his gaze fixed on Seeley.
"Not cut. I like that."
"Anything you don't like?" Seeley asked, and his voice was thick in his throat.
Dan grinned, wicked as the Devil. "Not really. Now you just...lemme...." Dan leaned in, rubbing. Smooth push of his cheek and then the faintest scrub of stubble as he moved his head back and forth, and Seeley groaned softly. Found himself grinding the grip of his gun into Dan's skull and put his hand – the gun – over the kneeling rail. Put his other hand on Dan's head instead, fingers rubbing through the plush of Dan's hair, thumb following the line of his plump lower lip. Pushing, catching – slipping inside, and Dan's tongue curled around him, sucking.
"Yeah, yeah...." Seeley's hips lifted, impatient, and Dan chuckled around Seeley's thumb – lifted up onto his knees just a little and then the tip of Seeley's cock was in Dan's mouth, slick and wet. Seeley pushed against Dan's tongue – let his thumb slip free and shuddered hard when the tip of Dan's tongue writhed across the slit of his cock – pushed between head and foreskin, lapping. He wanted to spread his legs wide and just pump into that heat.
Dan sucked hard as he pushed down, looking straight up at Seeley, his gaze challenging – blown and a little dazed and Seeley cupped Dan's cheek in his palm and just...gave in. He started to move; braced against the kneeling rail and rolled his hips – pulled back and shoved forward and Dan. Just...took it. Made these noises, these amazing, choked little noises as Seeley pumped in and in.
"Jesus...Christ...." Seeley let his thumb ride the flexing point of Dan's jaw – watched through half-shut eyes the ripple of Dan's throat as he sucked and swallowed, feeling it around the tip of his cock. Dan pulled back and panted through his noise, his tongue moving, cheeks hollowing. Then he was leaning in, steady push, until his nose and chin were pressed against Seeley's body and Seeley shuddered helplessly, the visual and the physical together like a one-two punch. He could feel his balls pulling up, tight and swollen, orgasm like a curling wave down his spine.
So fucking close, and his hips followed helplessly as Dan pulled back again. "Fuck...fuck –" He let his gun drop, unthinking – got both hands on Dan's head, fingers buried in the sweat-damp hair, palms riding the ridges of his cheekbones.
"Gonna fuck your mouth, just...fuck, take it, just...."
Dan's eyes, wide and wet, lifted to Seeley's face and Dan made a sort of choked moan, swaying. His eyes fluttering shut and his jaw working, tongue twisting along Seeley's shaft and Seeley just moved; fucked in and out, slower and then faster, watching with a sort of breathless fascination how his cock slipped over and over the wet, flushed curve of Dan's mouth. Dan's own hips were flexing, back and forth, his shoulders working, and Seeley could see, in flashes, the thick line of Dan's hard cock under his jeans.
"Look at you, just...loving it, fuck, you're hard...hard from my cock, Jesus...Jesus...." Orgasm like a electric shock, goose bumps and sudden sweat all down Seeley's back, spine bowing as he curled down over Dan, panting out short, sharp little groans. His cock shoved hard into Dan's mouth, suffocating him, belly and balls spasming as he shot.
And Dan swallowed around him, frantic, shallow little puffs of air against Seeley's groin, little whine escaping with the last of his air. Seeley hung there, gasping – leaned back slowly, moaning a little as Dan sucked harder, making his cock pump a final, weak thread of come. Dan's face was flushed, sweat at his temples as Seeley let his hands fall away. The kneeling rail was cool under his palms and Seeley's hips jerked forward and then back a last time as Dan pulled off slow, sucking and licking and giving the sensitive head a last, rough caress before letting go.
"God," Seeley muttered, lifting a hand to wipe at his face, sweat slick across his forehead.
"No, just me," Dan said, his voice whiskey-rough. And then Dan lunged up, one fist coming up in a solid hit, sending Seeley pitching backward over the rail. Dan's fists in his shirt stopped him – spun him – and Seeley found himself half bent over the kneeling rail, rattle of steel on wrought iron as the cuffs where threaded through and clicked into place around his wrists.
"Hey – hey, fuck, let me go!" Seeley jerked at the cuffs but hell, he knew it was impossible. He was caught. "You know how much trouble you're gonna be in if you don't let me go?"
"Nope. How much trouble will I be in, Special Agent?" Seeley heard the jingle of a belt buckle and then the soft hiss of a zipper – jerked sharply at the sudden, brand-hot push of Dan's cock between his legs. "C'mon, Special Agent. You got yours, now you gonna let me get mine? You know you wanna...." Dan's voice in his ear, low and coaxing and so fucking raw, Dan's hand on Seeley's hip, digging in, and Seeley all but growled, trying to shake him off. Dan laughed, low and dirty. He kicked at Seeley's foot, shoving his legs together, dirty work boots pinning Seeley's sneakers in place.
Dan's cock pushed forward, rubbing over sweat-slick skin – pushing into Seeley's balls. "Yeah, just like that...sweet...." Dan's tongue licked a path up Seeley's throat and his teeth nipped at Seeley's earlobe. His other hand curled around to catch Seeley's softening cock and press it against his belly, rubbing and tugging. All the while moving, pushing, pulling. Hips working and his cock pumping, sweat and heat and the thick, salt-iron musk of sex.
"Jesus, in fucking church...." Seeley squeezed his thighs tighter together and arched back when the head of Dan's cock caught at his hole, pushing and then sliding past. "You're crazy...." Dan laughed again, breath catching.
"It's been said." He panted, hips moving faster, jingle of his belt buckle and the soft slap of flesh on flesh. Seeley whined as his cock was squeezed – rubbed – oversensitive and almost painful but Christ, he didn't want Dan to let go. Dan's hand slipped off Seeley's hips and pushed up under his shirt, blunt nails raking over Seeley's belly and chest – catching a nipple and Seeley yelped, grinding back.
"He likes that, oh yeah," Dan said, fingers tugging clumsily – erratically – as his breathing shortened to sharp pants and his thrusts suddenly sped up, four, five, six, hard and fast and then Dan was rocking, his whole body jerking as his cock throbbed between Seeley's legs, soaking him with slick, wet heat. "Yeah, yeah...." Dan's rigid body relaxed slowly, his hips moving in little, jerky arcs for another few moments, and then he was just leaning there, hands on the rail and his body bowed over Seeley's, blast-furnace heat and the faint whiff of some cologne; clean sweat and musk.
"Not bad for a suit," Dan said, and pushed himself back – upright. Seeley could hear him fumbling with jeans and belt and the jingling of metal on metal snapped him out of his post-orgasmic haze. Where in fuck was his gun? He saw the glint of steel and lunged, but Dan was there first, scooping it up and backing away, little grin on his face. "Nuh uh, buddy. Last thing I need is a bullet wound."
"You're gonna get your ass kicked –" Seeley started, and then stopped at the sudden boom of the front door being violently opened into the wall.
"Dean, what in hell are you doing?"
"Dean?"
"Jeez, Sam –"
"Who in the hell is that?" 'Sam' shouted, and Seeley twisted around, seeing another damn kid striding down the aisle of the church, jeans and sweat-marked t-shirt and longish, dark hair stringing damply around his face.
"Nobody, he's just –"
"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the eff-bee-fucking-eye and if you two don't let me go right the fuck now –!"
"Holy crap. FBI? Did you have sex with him? You had sex with him!" Sam said, and Seeley became suddenly – acutely – aware of the fact that he was bent over, ass to the breeze, with Dan – no, Dean's – come drying between his thighs. He straightened as far as he could, hands slipping on the rail.
"Breathe, Sammy. It was consensual."
"I don't care if he begged for it!"
"I didn't beg for it – " Seeley snapped, and Dean leaned in and gave him a sharp slap on the ass.
"Course you didn't, baby."
"I will kill you."
Sam reached over and yanked Seeley's gun out of Dean's hand – dropped the magazine out and sent it skating away up the polished stone of the aisle. He popped the chambered round out into his hand and sent the gun away at an angle, up under the pews somewhere. He shoved the bullet distractedly into his pocket and sent a look of such utter fury at Dean that Seeley ducked in case he got caught in the overspill.
"Dean. Did you get the wafers?"
"Course I did –"
"Then give him the keys," Sam said, his voice sounding like he was grinding his teeth to powder, "and let's get the hell out of here."
Dean rolled his eyes, still smirking. "Yeah, yeah, fine."
Sam sent Seeley the same furious glare, and Seeley wanted to shield his eyes. Sam swooped past him and snatched up the canvas bag Dean had been holding, shoving the spilled contents inside as Dean finished doing up his belt. "Jesus you are a fucking idiot," Sam said, pushing past Dean and stalking away, long legs eating up the floor and his hands clenched into fists. Dean stared after him.
"Aw, Sammy, c'mon!" Dean called, but Sam didn't break stride, and a moment later Seeley could hear the heavy church door slamming shut.
"Well, fuck. Looks like I'm sleeping on the couch tonight," Dean muttered, and Seeley uttered a bark of startled laughter.
"You just got laid, you asshole, fuck you. Gimme the damn keys!"
Dean turned around and grinned down at Seeley – crouched down, the keys dangling from his fingers. "Yeah, you just got the thrill of a fucking lifetime, G-man. Now – you want these?"
"I swear I will kill you."
"Bad boy. Be nice." Dean moved, snake-strike fast. Got the fingers of his left hand tangled in Seeley's hair and then his mouth was sealed over Seeley's mouth, teeth and tongue, bitter-salt flavor of Seeley's own come pushing inside. Seeley fought the kiss – fought Dean's hold – for the space of a couple heartbeats and then he was leaning into it, giving back as good as he got, nipping and licking and groaning a little as Dean pulled away. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean murmured. He shoved the keys into Seeley's hand. "You be good, G-man."
Dean stood up and jogged away, pausing only to snatch up his gun and then he was gone. A few moments later, while Seeley was still staring after him, he heard the low rumble of a powerful engine, revving and then dying away, Sam and Dean were gone into the stifling Kansas summer.
It took Seeley two minutes to get himself out of his cuffs – four to find the basement bathroom and do a half-hearted clean up. It took him about ten miles to realize that he didn't feel like killing anyone anymore. He ducked his head a little and caught a whiff of sex off himself – sex and Dean's scent, faint and mellow. Grinning, he flipped on the radio, cranking up the volume and pushing down on the gas. Thrill of a fucking lifetime.
Shoot to thrill, play to kill
I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will
'Cause I shoot to thrill, and I'm ready to kill
I can't get enough, I can't get the thrill
I shoot to thrill, play to kill
Yeah, pull the trigger....
AC/DC - Shoot to Thrill
Bidding still open at
qldfloodauction! :)Tags:
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:)
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I cannot get enough of this story!!! It's just too freaking perfect. Truly.
*dies*
I could quote the entire thing back to you, but bay~bee .. you caught it all. Dark!Booth and Jensen and Jared being all jealous and god, god, it was lovely. Insane. Gorgeous.
And so very MINE.
Thank you!!
*luffs*
*hard*
*forevah*
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*luffs like crazy*
*twirls you*
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Over and above the porny goodness herein, this bit: "He shoved the bullet distractedly into his pocket and sent a look of such utter fury at Dean that Seeley ducked in case he got caught in the overspill." made me giggle out loud. Pissy Sam is skeery!
♥
My thought processes when I opened this file for beta:
1) Seeley?
2) Wait. A church?
3) Ah, someone is stealing from the church. Hello, Supernatural crossover!
4) YAY PORN!
:D
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*smooch*
Thank you thank you!
I luff your thought process. I *should* write more about sex in a church. And Seeley. And damnation. But teh angst is more Snow's style....
*hint hint Snow*
:)
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:)
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Man I wanna see Seely Freakin the F*ck out the next day when he realizes god saw him have gay sex in a church!
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Thank you!
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But now I'm at home, and can I just say... it was definitely worth the wait :D Awesome fic, awesome pairing, awesome everything :D Loved it :D
Thank you so much for writing and sharing it :D
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Bones is a fun show, with a great cast. I like the earlier couple seasons best, but it's still going strong.
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Thank you!
:)
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Yes - more Dean/Booth!
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Pissed off!Sam is the most fun to write evar.
Thanks!
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*twirls*
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And porn aside, I loved this bit and will put the whole damn thing here because it was brilliant!
The main streets were lit by amber-bright streetlights and he turned and turned again, away from the main drag and off into quiet neighborhoods where the houses were uniformly dark, the lawns clipped close and crisping from the long summer. Here a collection of daisy pinwheels spun lazily; there a knot of lawn chairs huddled around a wading pool, beach ball and Styrofoam noodles floating on the surface of the water. It was eerie, to drive through the silent streets – to look at the houses that seemed made of nothing but cardboard and dreams. Seeley imagined himself propped in the crotch of one of the sky-brushing cottonwoods, butt of his sniper's rifle snugged against his shoulder and some balding redneck in his sights.
Holy shit, I feel that place, know that place and get in the smallest way, how Booth must feel. See how you did that there? That's why I *love* you!
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Thank you so much, bb. So much. I love Booth struggling with what he's done, seeing himself in the context of a sniper in America, what it would mean, what it would feel like. How it felt in those countries he killed in.
Poor boy.
*pets him*
And yay! You! :)
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Oh, Dean, that you are, and I have missed the kinda guy you are so very much!
Seriously, however you slice it, I loved this- and truly ROfL'd when Sam walked in- I was just waiting for that, and wasn't disappointed!
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Yay, thank you!
I rather adore pissed!off!Sammy doing the i'm-not-shouting voice and stomping around. And Dean, of course, just being all gleefully unrepentant and smirky.
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ON the other hand... Guh!
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Well, probably he wouldn't but.....this is my little twist on Booth, and sometimes he just needs a little...thrill.
Thanks again!
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