In Which Insurance Agents are Demons

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Eliot was leaning back against the kitchen counter, laughing with an arched brow as he eyed Bobby, tipping the beer in his hand back to meet his lips, and drinking heavily from the amber-gold liquid.  They'd become fast friends after stumbling across each other in the middle of a job.  Turns out the bad guys that Nate and the rest of their crew had

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Crowley's watching with an almost detached curiosity. On the one hand, he is detached. He doesn't have any particular qualms with killing, but killing Eliot now would deprive him of toying with him, and the look on his face when Crowley told him he was a demon because it's fairly obvious he's not going to sort that out on his own. So he's not going to go too far, not going to take Eliot past the limit though they were well past his boundaries, he knew. He tightened his fist a little bit more, watching the color change in Eliot's cheeks and then, when he feels the other man's hands moving down over his body like he's the one doing the seduction, Crowley slowly lets up. He lets up because Eliot is shaking and he's obvious losing his grasp on his reservations. His guard has come down so quickly this time. Last time, as Eliot well remembers, they'd destroyed the whole room before they finally landed in the bed. They're doing quite well this time, by comparison. The only damages are Crowley's buttons and split lip. That pale pink line

[safetyoffthegun]

It came fast this time, Sterling pressing him past his boundaries to where he lost track of where they actually were. When Crowley's fingers let up, Eliot gasps, sharply sucking in air as his body wavers, crumbling a little as he presses into the man's body. His hands clutching in the lapels of Crowley's jacket, and though Eliot might be a bit rough with the fabric out of a strange desperation he can't quite identify, he's not trying to ruin it. His face leaning in, trembling, his pulse pounding in his head as he looks at Crowley through the flutter of his eyelashes. He stumbles a little, the ground still reeling under his feet when he gets pulled closer. But, it doesn't take him long to catch on once lips are against his own

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This isn't the same man who devotes his life to being the muscle of whatever group he's in, or looking out for himself when he's alone. This is the man behind that, the one that maybe existed before all that military training, the one that wanted to be touched and held, the one that needed a firm hand to feel at all. Crowley could tell that by pushing through his boundaries he'd gone deep, he'd stripped something away Eliot didn't want to lose

[safetyoffthegun]

Eliot takes as much as he can get when Crowley give him what he craves, then he's leaning in, pressing closer, desperate and trying to coax it from the other man, trying to steal what isn't freely given. Crowley hard found something behind those walls that Eliot wouldn't have been so much as admitting to, let alone allowing someone to see, to feel. Let alone allowing Sterling. He's almost certain this is some sort of con, ferreting out something that Sterling intends to use the next time they cross paths

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He knows he's won when Eliot is obviously starting to let this happen, when he's grabbing lapels and bringing him closer and letting himself be pushed onto the counter. But then, he's been letting this happen since he ripped Crowley's shirt.

Crowley bites at Eliot's mouth. His own lip isn't bleeding anymore, though it's still split, the flow has stopped for now. It's just one nip away from starting up again. Just like everything between them, it's raw and hardly needs a push to make it hurt.

He feels Eliot hug his hips with his knees and he's starting to wonder if they should continue like this, or if when the clothes are off if he should turn him, push him over the counter. Eliot's got a nice ass and he knows from experience just how energetically he moves into it when he's got his feet on the floor. Crowley pauses in his reverie to yank that shirt up, forcing Eliot to lift his arms, and tosses it aside, mussing up that lovely long hair in the process. He knows he hates that.

[safetyoffthegun]

Eliot murmurs as Crowley bites at his lips, leaning into it, kissing him hard. He wants this, is craving for it as he leans into the body pressed against him, unable to help biting against Crowley's lips, and lapping at that blood that spills over his tongue. It makes him shake, shiver, the way that it almost burns, crawls over his skin and through him, heat in a way that is all pleasure, hot enough his tongue almost feels numb

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"Oh, I wouldn't worry your pretty little head too much about your hair... it's going to be quite a sight by the time we're done," the last of what he said was breathed, betraying how affected he was by this now. Eliot does things to him, gets his heart rate going, gets under his skin because the men he comes across that like to throw punches - and take them - in the bedroom are few and far between. Some say they like it, wanting to go along with it, trying to seem kinkier or more interesting than they were, but that wasn't what this was. This was an honest, legitimate need. More like an eruption, when the violence inside was too much, it spilled over. It was as though every interaction that had was an uneasy truce, that it was taking everything in his power not to lash out even now

[safetyoffthegun]

Eliot shivers against Crowley, the breathy sound of his voice curling heat inside of him. His heart is already pounding, his pulse racing, because he likes this. He likes the fact that Sterling never seems to mind that Eliot is almost as violent when they're alone as he is at any other time. He loves that the fact that he hits Sterling never stops the man from pressing, from pushing, from hurting him in return. Eliot is intimidating and lethal, and it's so very, very rare that he can find people aware of that fact who are willing to push him, leave cuts and marks and bruises. The further Sterling pushes him into this, the more he craves it

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Crowley's unfastening Eliot's pants in a matter of fact, practiced way. He's not looking at what his hands are doing because Eliot's kissing him hard, clinging to his shoulders, occupying him so that his hands are moving through motions that have clearly become rote, stripping a man's jeans off. He pushes them down as far as he can while he's sitting there, and then his hands come up Eliot's sides and he pulls away from the kiss, simultaneously pushing Eliot, extricating himself from his grasp.

Then his hands are back at his waist, on his jeans, and he's tugging him off the counter, making him stand so he can push those jeans down, so he can strip him naked and take him over the counter just like this.

[safetyoffthegun]

There's a low groan into the kiss as Crowley's fingers unfasten his denims, starting to nudge them down off Eliot's hips as he sits on Bobby's counter. Theres a hot gasp as Crowley pulls back from the kiss, his hands sliding along the thief-hunter's bared torso. His head briefly leaning against the kitchen cabinets as he gets pushed back so that Crowley can extricate himself from grasping hands. Eliot's eyelashes flutter, his blue eyes dark with bedroom desire. He wants this, wants him, always does, because there's something about Sterling that's different from everyone else. It's enthralling, makes him press into him and let him redefine Eliot's boundaries. And he likes it, likes when he pushes him further than he's comfortable with, loved that pressure at his throat