Crowley had a… fantasy. A fanciful desire, if you will. And this desire, fantasy, fancy, vision, want was born from a rather wonderful and terrible act.

He never should have taken a picture of him kissing Robert. That had been an awful idea on his part. Now it was his screensaver, both on his cell phone and laptop. Quite simply, the image was an obsession of his. He loved Robert's – oh, wait, he didn't like being called that, did he? Bobby's – expression, like he was unwilling, even as their lips meshed together. He especially loved it because what had been going on inside their mouths had been completely different from what had been caught on camera.

Tongues had entwined, teeth had clicked, lips had gotten slippery with saliva, and the whole business had lasted nearly three minutes. Bobby might have turned red when he had shown the picture to the Winchester boys, but he should have been lucky he hadn't gone into excruciating detail about the entire fiasco.

This singular picture, however, had done something nasty to him. Now he had daydreams about setting up a camcorder in the old hunter's bedroom and just shagging the grouch into next week.

"Isn't that all just dreadful, Bobby?" said Crowley, admitting all of this to the hunter.

Bobby huffed and growled some things that the demon couldn't quite make out and so he ignored the noises all together, like white noise.

"And the worst part is that I've had it stuck in my head ever since that very first day, like a disease, Bobby. It's vomit-inducing. I just want to touch you and claim you and fuck you… what do you think of that?"

The old hunter glared at him, all hot fury and impatience.

"I always imagine screwing you to be like riding a bull, hm? All of this raw energy, just thrashing to be free…" A bottle of lubricant appeared in his one hand and he spread its contents evenly over the opposite fingers, humming meanwhile. "I've never been one for rodeos."

He dipped his newly wetted fingers and gently moved them between the hunter's spread thighs. Bobby's eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"Think about it, though… You, me… this bed, that camcorder over there… like one body, y'know. All working towards the same end, darling." He sighed, looking away towards said video camera and then back fondly, lips quirking just a bit. "Ah, but the tragedies of life. Not every poor ol' demon gets their wish." With a melodic whistle, he slipped his hand free and undid his pants, stroking himself once, twice, a third time. "I suppose it's a good thing that I'm the king of all demons, am I right, Bobby?"

With one slow, hard push, he bottomed out inside of Bobby, groaning lowly at the sensations of the hunter's tight, tight arse around his cock. Bobby let out a similar noise, though his was choked off by his plaid shirt-formed gag.

Crowley waited a moment, twisted his hips thoughtfully, and then grinned cheekily as Bobby actually whined. "Oops, did I just smite your sacred spot?" Inquisitively, he did it again, a little a lot harder. Hard enough that the bed frame slamed against the wall, anyway.

Bobby shouted and his hands worked furiously at the bonds holding them to opposite edges of the mattress.

"You like that, don't you? Why, you dirty old man… I should have known." He thrust again, harder than the last time, and a flash of pain marred Bobby's expression. "Oh, you girl. I'm hardly even doing half my strength and you can hardly take it? Bobby, love, darling, sweetheart, I dread to say that I am going to have to rip you in two."

Bobby might have been trying to say "Nononononono" around his gag, but Crowley feigned ignorance.

"Let's see what you have left in this old skinbag, what do you say?" He pulled back, all the way to the tip, and then shoved his full length down Bobby's hole, setting up a merciless, fast, brutal pace.

Bobby's body was giving around his, not entirely a good thing, considering the slight trickle of blood exiting the hunter, but Crowley was pleased. The grouch was screaming, though muffled, face and chest flushed red, hands clenched tightly around the restrains holding him still. His legs fought most of the same fight, spread-eagle to the demon king's desires.

Judging by how juicy Little Bobby was however…

Crowley safely assumed that his murderous fucking wasn't entirely unwelcomed.

"I think you're liking this a little… too much, sweetheart…" he paused to grunt. Cracks were forming in the walls, weaving closer and closer to the ceiling with each slam of the bed. "You would, wouldn't you? No gentle treatment for Robert Steven Singer."

He was nearly there, about to send his hellspawn deep inside the hunter. He licked his lips, twisted the angle of his hips, fingers bruising Bobby's thick hips, and he grinned like the cat who got the canary when the man went suddenly limp beneath him.

Ribbons of white shot over the grouch's belly, shivers racking his experienced form.

"Mm, so ravishing, Singer." Judging that the hunter was too exhausted to fight him either way, he willed away the bonds and flipped Bobby onto his belly, quickly reentering his wet and loose arse. He was so well-fucked, so very relaxed in the glow of his orgasm…

Bobby just moaned into his gag, twitching here and there as Crowley continued to merrily screw him inside out. He was even too lax to remove the gag, lying there with his head to the side and his eyes glazed over.

"Mmmm, Bobby, I like you like this… all calm and giving…" he raised Bobby onto his knees, supporting him. "I've never seen this part of you before."

The glare Bobby singled him out with, with just enough spark of that old hunter's die-hard soul (the same one Crowley had had tucked in his pocket the year before, mind you, and let him tell you, that had been a very interesting time in his life), was what drove the king over the edge.

With a serpentine hiss, he spattered his essence against Singer's prostate, drawing out one last moan from the human.

He came and came… and came and came… and came even after his semen was leaking out around his cock and Bobby's eyes were the size of saucers, his gag nearly following out of his wide-open mouth.

Crowley licked his lips, bit the inside of his cheek, and kept thrusting, working his cum in deep. "By Satan, Bobby… you just keep taking, don't you?"

The hunter honest to Lucifer whimpered.


Crowley whistled as he repositioned the camcorder, checked to see if there was still room on the card, and then stalked back into the bed.

With a pleased hum, he settled into the recently changed blankets, glanced almost joyfully around the recently repaired room, and then wrapped an arm around his recently fucked hunter, fitting the unconscious grouch to his side.

Grinning, he stared up at the ceiling for a long hour, fingers tap-tap-tapping against Singer's back, an evil glint in his eyes as the human tucked in close to him.

It was nearly dawn when it occurred to him that he forgot to tell Bobby something. "By the way, love," he murmured into Bobby's unhearing ear, wicked intentions written out in the curl of his lips, "I think I forgot to mention that you're possibly carrying my spawn. Y'know, my being a demon and all… and you, your body swallowing up so much damn seed… Oh, but I suppose it doesn't matter right now, I'll just tell you again when you're awake."

A moment of silence. Bobby snorted, growled something about 'damn idjits', and then fell back asleep.

Crowley tap-tap-tapped his way down Bobby's spine around the curve of his hip to his pre-morning wood. "Maybe."

Author's Note: HAH