Assassin (A Crobby Fanfic)

Chapter 8

The ice rattled against the elaborate glass cup as Crowley took a sip, swallowing soundlessly. "Where shall I begin?"

"How about the friggin' beginning?" Bobby offered sarcastically.

"If you'd like." Crowley crossed a leg over his knee, sitting as if he were on a throne. "That gunshot you heard over the phone was real. However, no bullet ever entered my body."

"The wound?"

"Fake. Magic of makeup, darling." He took another sip of his scotch.

"Your pulse?"

Crowley took out a small phial from his inner suit pocket. "It never stopped. I just slowed it down enough so you wouldn't feel it without sensitive instruments. Of course, that isn't without any risks."

"I assume the dried blood under you is animal blood," Bobby said.

"No, they're actual human blood. Just not mine. I had a few prisoners that I desperately needed to get rid of." Crowley pocketed the phial, draining the rest of his scotch. "You've still got one more question to ask."

"Why'd you do it?"

He smirked into his cup before pulling it away for a refill, liquid gurgling as it spilled. "I have my reasons. One, you'd finally be left alone by the Band of Holy Brats. Two, I'd be free from the stress and annoyance of being a mafia leader."

Bobby stared at the foamy leftover settling on the bottom of his beer bottle. "You faked your own death to escape responsibility?"

Crowley hummed in affirmation, swirling the contents of his glass.

"'Course. What more could ya expect from the King of Hell?"

"So." He put his glass down with a soft thunk and looked up at Bobby with a glint of something in his eyes. "I've no mafia responsibilities anymore, and you don't seem to have any work to do. Plenty of time to... catch up. Just the two of us."

"How do I know this ain't another trick of yours? Last time I got close to you, I got a loaded gun to my head."

The glint in his eyes disappeared as his expression dropped into one akin to disappointment. "Bobby, I didn't pull the trigger. I would never have pulled the trigger, not on you. I truly am sorry for that. It was an empty threat."

"Didn't seem like one," he grumbled.

Crowley sighed and moved to sit next to the old sniper. "Bobby, I know I'm a real jerk at times." He paused to give a soft peck to his forehead. "But I would never"—a peck to his left cheek—"ever"—a peck to his right cheek—"hurt you intentionally." He finished by planting his lips onto Bobby's, as if sealing a promise. He didn't use tongue, though, wanting to show genuine tenderness.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Bobby murmured back, letting a small smile upturn his lips.

"At least you'd die happy," Crowley returned, the glint reigniting in his eyes.

"Shut up and strip already."

"And what if I don't? What if I want to play the bad boy?" He trailed a teasing finger down Bobby's chest.

Bobby swallowed his lust and forced himself to slump back to feign nonchalance. "Well then, I guess we can just sit here like regular old pals, getting drunk and making boring small talk."

This changed Crowley's demeanor. He began working his tie from around his neck and unbuttoning his suit.

"So you can be a good boy," Bobby teased.

"Only for you, dear Robert," he replied with a grin that would've left people wondering whether he was serious or joking. Crowley pulled his undershirt over his head before moving to his belt buckle.

Bobby stopped him. "Hold up."

"Second thoughts?"

The sniper scoffed in response and pulled him down for another kiss, rougher and much more needy. All the while, Bobby grabbed a bottle and smashed it against the edge of the table. He worked quickly to cut Crowley's belt before he had a chance to do anything.

"Really, Robert? Unlike your belt, that one was actually expensive," Crowley panted.

"I'll get you a new one if you don't kill me by the end of tonight," Bobby mocked, throwing the broken bottle somewhere away.

"My, you're in a hurry tonight," Crowley teased.

Bobby didn't respond. The sniper lowered his lover's dress pants with concealed enthusiasm. It wasn't all that much concealed, in all honesty.

Crowley lowered his head to Bobby's ear, breathing hard purposefully. "Hardly fair that you're still entirely clothed while I'm all opened up for you, darling." He mirrored his partner's act by ripping open his flannel and pulling down his jeans. "Much better."

Bobby hissed from the sudden contact of cold air with his erection.

"Well, since you're sitting so prettily beneath me, I believe I get the honors this time," Crowley said, getting up and beckoning for him to follow. He turned his partner around and bent him forward, licking his lips at the sight.

"This will hurt like hell unless you use lubricant," Bobby reminded.

Crowley's smirk never faltered as he procured a small bottle from his discarded suit that was conveniently nearby.

"Why am I not surprised?" Bobby mumbled.

"You know me well. But after tonight," Crowley paused to spread the lubricant around his cock. "You'll know every inch of me," he promised in continuation, pushing his way carefully to invade his lover's body.

The guttural sound Bobby made encouraged Crowley to push deeper, to thrust faster. It wasn't until Crowley hit a certain spot that Bobby's body jerked in pleasure, weakening slightly to give way for Crowley's control. Not that the assassin minded. Crowley was turning him into a senseless mess, and Bobby didn't have any problems letting him. When Bobby's orgasm hit, his face screwed into such an obscene look that it triggered Crowley's own release. Tired and panting, the ex-King of Hell fell over the couch with Bobby.

It must've been an odd seen: an assassin resting peacefully, arm-in-arm with his target. Even more so when the intimidating British businessman cuddled closer into the Southern drunk. But that's just how it was, how it is, how it will be.