Just This Side of Elegant (But Baby I Can Act) 1/2
Title ~ Just This Side of Elegant (But Baby I Can Act)
Rating ~ M
Pairing ~ Oliver Queen/Dean Winchester
Fandom ~ Smallville, Supernatural crossover
Summary ~ During a Hunt in Metropolis, Dean runs into one of the city's most notorious playboys.
Warnings ~ Unbeta'd and lots o' colorful language. :DDDDDD
Author Stuff ~ Um, so the second part of this will take a while to post. I'm really, really bad at writing porn. ._. Sorry.
Dean would love to see the look on Sam's face if he was here now.
It's not like the Winchester's were thrown into these kinds of situations often, but every now and again a Hunt would bring them somewhere where dirty flannel shirts and ripped jeans just weren't acceptable-weren't workable. Some place high society, where one glass of Champaign would house him, his Dad and dear O'l Sammy in one of their seedy hotels for months.
Well, if they were still together anyways…
But that's not the point. The Point is that Dean didn't dress up in an expensive tux for just any old Hunt, and as far as Sammy knew he couldn't figure out how to blend in with these kinds of people if his life depended on it.
Which is where the whole 'I wish I could see his face' thing came in, because if Sam's theory was correct, then every single billionaire in the room would be blind, stupid and deaf to not see Dean in the midst of their extravagant charity party as the poor, unsophisticated man he was.
But they didn't.
And that right there was the point. He just wished SamSammySam was there so he could rub it in. But of course, little brother was off playing college boy while Dean and Dad kept up with the family business: killing evil sons of bitches since 1978.
The Hunt was done already, which was a little disappointing. The party was being thrown in some big fancy museum in Metropolis, and a certain artifact was bringing back a long dead General from the Civil war (Confederate, yippee) who was attacking random people because, well, the Confederate's lost. Big time, if Dean remembered his History right. So, you know, he was pissed.
But he was taken care of. All of but five minutes in a cleaning closet with the old pistol causing all the problems and a bit of salt and burn later: no more ghost. But of course Dean had gotten himself stuck in some piss-poor attempt at a real conversation, and was hence held up from pulling off his stupid tie, jogging on down to the cheapest bar he could find, and getting completely shitfaced and possibly laid. (If he's coherent enough for the women/men after the boozes)
Well, that was his game plan anyways, and he was pretty damn sure he wanted to stick to it. He looked over in disinterest at the circle of deep pockets he'd been trapped with. They were talking about new designer suits out on the market, random tidbits of gossip and Dean had to stifle a yawn.
He was just about ready to say 'fuck it' and say the sleaziest thing he could think of about one of the chicks' boobs and walking out of there, but a hand (Large, strong, capable-could be a threat)landed on his shoulder, dragging him out of his childish thoughts and back to the here and now.
He just barely restrained himself from flinching, but instead casually looked over his shoulder as a blond-wearing a black suit and tie, surprise, surprise-smiled his way into the gossip circle. Usually this would be the part where he'd excuse himself and hightail it out the door, but the blond kept his hand firmly on Dean's shoulder, though kept it friendly, nonthreatening; almost casual.
His style wasn't far off his own: cocky grin, short hair (though the guys was more of the disheveled, play boy look then himself) broad shoulders and slim body. He couldn't really tell, but Dean was willing to bet he was pretty well toned underneath all those layers…
"Oliver," one of the older woman cooed. "It's so nice to see you. We haven't talked since the Virginia Banquet."
Oliver offered up a bashful smile before apologizing. "I hadn't realized it'd been so long. But business has been keeping me pretty occupied; haven't had much time for much recently, really."
They talked for a bit more, a few others joining in, catching Oliver up on the gossip Dean had already heard, and though just the thought of having to go through 'The vice President of Moxy Corp. is having an affair with the CEO's sectary' one more time had him nearly scratching his eyes out, Dean stayed where he was.
Oliver hadn't removed his hand yet, but had pointedly kept his gaze away from him. No one else around them seemed to think the whole hand on his shoulder thing was strange, and he was curious.
Plus, the guy was really hot. So… there was always that.
What felt like an eternity later-though really it couldn't have been more than ten minutes-and Oliver subtly pried himself and Dean away from the soul-sucking geezers with too deep of pockets. Every instinct in his body was telling him to shake off the hand (Still on his shoulder) as it led him through the crowd of well dressed party-goers.
"So what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" it was asked off handedly, but Dean wasn't sure how to take it. Did this Oliver guy know he wasn't invited to this little shindig?
"Excuse me?" he chose to take the safe route. Better to let the guy spew off whatever he was accusing him of so he didn't end up giving the guy more to be suspicious about.
"Well, usually I'm the only extremely attractive young stud at these kinds of events, but I'd say you're giving me a run for my money." Dean almost sighed in relief. He was getting hit on, not found out. His first instinct was still nagging at him (break the guys wrist and make a run for it) but Dean considered the situation for a moment.
He'd already finished the 'business' he came here to attend to, he was already planning on getting laid tonight, and Oliver was exactly as he previously commented: an extremely attractive young stud. So why not let tall, blond and handsome into his pants?
Dean looked over at Oliver, gave him his best smirk and all but fucked him with his eyes.
"That so?" He felt the blonds hand slowly move down from his shoulder before resting at the small of his back, still guiding them through the crowd-though they'd changed directions, heading for the exit.
"Mhmm, so much so that I have an invitation for you," Dean's smirk faltered, his brow furrowing. "You, me, my place, something stronger than champagne and some marathon fucking?"
If Dead had been drinking at that moment, some poor rich sap would have probably gotten an early shower. It's not like Dean was conservative, like, at all, and Dean was a pretty straight forward guy with this kind of stuff when he could get away with it. But that was just it, he was usually throwing the F-bomb around, not the other party.
It was strange and had his insides flip-flopping, his face heat up in what he was sure was a blush. An honest to God blush. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd colored like virgin, yet this horny playboy apparently knew what he was doing.
And the blond knew it too, if the shit-eating grin he was giving Dean was any indication.
But, despite the change in roles, Dean was still interested. Why go to a bar and get a cheap one night stand when he could stay right where he was and get a rich one night stand instead?
"Aren't you supposed to be donating loose change to this charity thing?" he asked with a teasing smirk.
"I told my sectary to put in a substantial amount in my place," Oliver replied, hand slipping just that much lower as he and Dean entered an elevator leading to the parking garage. "As soon as I saw you, well, I already knew I wouldn't be going home alone tonight."
The son of a bitch sounded so sure of himself, and Dean was a little ticked that the guy had just assumed he'd be willing to jump into bed with him, but definitely not enough to not jump into bed with him. Fucker was hot.
Get a hold of yourself there Winchester, stop acting like a teenager about to get it on under the bleachers.
The elevator doors dinged open, and before he could even take a step, Oliver yanked him out by the suit lapels and shoved him against the wall-all but tongue fucking his mouth.
Dean was half tempted to bite the prick, because with the way he was acting, Oliver seemed to think he'd be topping. Ha! Instead Dean settled for putting everything he had into the kiss. All those early years of janitor closet make-out sessions and the more recent evening don't-let-my-boss-hear-you bar sex finally paying off with experience.
Oliver nudged one of his legs between Dean's, the Hunter obligingly spreading just that much wider. He used the opportunity to roll his hips, giving the blond sweet, sweet friction before quickly taking advantage of his distraction to flip their positions.
Dean hoped he was getting the point across, this would be how the evening ended: with him on top.
He prepared himself for Oliver to try and flip them again, but it never came; even the kissing seemed to calm down-going from dirtywettaketaketake to a steadier, slower pace. Dean broke out all the stops, all but devouring the blonde's mouth. He was caught up in the moment-distracted by the low moans the deep-pocketed hotty was making for him and, well, he couldn't really be blamed for what happened next.
Oliver one of slide his hands from Dean's chest to his crotch, palming the Hunter through his pants before pushing off the wall, catching Dean off balance and walking him backwards before pushing him into the side of a car.
Dean groaned-a deep throated, growling thing. Because, that right there? That was hot. He never even realized he had a thing for be manhandled-it's not like many people could do it to him. But with the interested twitch his dick just gave, he'd say it was one of his many kinks. Still, that didn't change his determination to top.
Dean was trying to think of another way to reverse their positions, despite the amount of brain cells descending into his dick, (tall, blond and handsome's hand not helping the matter in the slightest) but before he could put any ideas into action, Oliver pulled back; ending the kiss.
They were both panting like they'd just ran a marathon, and Hell, if they'd put the energy they just used for kissing into running, maybe they could have. Oliver's cheeks were painted a pretty shade of pink, pupils blown, lips spit wet and clothing disheveled. Fuck, he was pretty.
"I'm thinking this would best be finished in the privacy and comfort of my home," smirked Oliver, still trying to catch his breath. "What do you think?"
Dean was half tempted to just bend the blond over the car's hood and take him there, but common sense was kicking in, and he didn't really feel like being arrested at the moment.
"Yeah, fuck, guess we should."
"Articulate I see…" Oliver smirked before reaching around Dean for the car's door and-huh, he hadn't paid the vehicle much thought before, but he could appreciate the shiny new gleam of the silver Lamborghini-pulling the handle and gesturing for Dean to get in.
"Fuck you," there was no heat behind the retort, he was still breathless and Dean didn't think he could work up the energy for a wittier comment. His raging libido was seeing to that.
"Oh trust me, baby, I plan on it," Oliver chuckled.
Dean slid in the passenger seat and watched the blond as he walked around to the driver's side. And fuck, his ass looked good in those pants, Dean was pretty damn sure his ass would look good in just about anything. In fact, his ass was so nice, he decided not to give the guy Hell when he got in the car for the 'baby' comment.
Buckling his seat belt as Oliver climbed in, Dean laid his head back on the seat and tried to distract himself from the pulsing heat between his legs. He was seriously hoping that Oliver didn't live far from the museum and that the traffic wasn't a bitch, because fuck he wanted. And if the blond drove a few miles over the speed limit, well, Dean wasn't about to complain…
To Be Continued...