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He was drunk.
That was nothing new; he started the day drunk, still buzzed from the night before, or hungover. And if he was hungover, he cured it with the hair of the dog that bit him and he was drunk again within the hour. Nothing new.
Anne-Marie was used to drunk. And anyway, he didn't obsess and stalk her like Matt, and he'd never smacked her around--even with as much as he knocked the shit out of people around the bar--so she thought he was all right. Better than she deserved, maybe. If every man you meet is an asshole, it's probably you who's the asshole, her Mama always said.
He was good for passing the time. And the sex was good. She usually came, and that was more than she could say for most of the assholes she slept with. Her own fault for picking them.
Most of the time, he'd be sweet. He'd take his time, or however much time she had. He'd push her up against a wall and fuck her slow, get the angle just right to get her off, or they'd fall into bed and just bang on and off for hours. He even went down on her sometimes when he was too drunk to get it up, just to make her moan, just to make her come. She'd never had a guy like that before. Sweet. A bad boy out in the bar, but maybe good underneath. She hoped he was good underneath, anyway.
But some days he'd go sour, get a little surly, get a little mean. Yesterday he'd beat the shit out of her other boyfriend for getting rough on her, and that felt real sweet until he kept going, turned his face into meat, looked like he was getting off on just ruining someone, but at least he'd seemed happier after that. Until he had some kind of falling out with his boss or buddy or whatever the little English guy was to him, and went all dark and brooding again.
So now he was drunk, but he was also spoiling inside, sloppy and rotten. She didn't like him so much when he was like this. Wasn't like she was going to turn him down, though; turn them down and they leave. She knew that well enough by now.
He rolled her over onto her belly in Crowley's bed so she spread her legs to let him in, but he just laid on her back, rubbed up against her slow, dick just resting in the cleft of her ass. He kissed on her neck and she smiled, ran his hands down her sides and slid one under to play with her titties, the other to play with her clit, and she moaned for him 'cause he seemed to like it when she made a lot of noise. Some men did, made 'em feel big and sexy and good at the job. He was pretty good, too. She ground her ass up against his dick, wiggled a little, made sure his hand had plenty of room between her legs to work her up.
"Gonna fuck me?" she said. That was more or less how she flirted. She said it sweet, anyway.
"Hell, yeah," he growled, and bit her shoulder just a little too hard, but she kinda liked that. Then he kissed his way down her back, bit her hip, her ass, her thigh, stuck his face down between her legs.
She didn't think he could really go down on her from there and she started to try to squirm up on her knees, but he planted an arm across her waist and fuck but he was strong. He pinned her like a bug, and she grunted, but stayed. No use making a fuss. If he wanted to try it that way, she guessed it wouldn't do any harm.
But then he started licking her ass, instead, and that was... well, that was kinda weird. Anne-Marie wasn't really sure how she felt about that one. She got too much in her head to settle down and enjoy it, wondering didn't it taste bad, wondering had she gotten clean enough in the shower earlier for that kind of thing, wondering if she was supposed to like it or he was supposed to like it or what. It was weird.
But then he kinda moaned into her ass, like he liked it a lot, like she was worth something, and she thought maybe it was okay after all. She settled inside, tried to like it, too, and it still felt weird, but eventually started to feel nice, too. Soft and sweet, like he was just kissing her but from the wrong end. Tickled but good.
"That's nice," she said, then felt stupid for saying it. He grunted and growled into her, then, though, like he was hungry for it, and she felt herself blushing, and with that finger still on her clit she thought maybe this was all right.
It got weird again after that, though. His tongue got kind of hard, the tip of it pointing and pushing and trying to worm its way in, and that just felt wrong. She didn't really like things going up her ass. Matt had fucked her ass once, when he was mad at her, just to make it hurt. Frank, too, few seasons back--he'd been real into her ass, pushed her for it as often as she'd let him. She finally asked him why he liked it so much, why he wanted it so bad, and he said, "'Cause you don't." She'd kept seeing him, but she was sort of glad when he'd got in the accident and stopped coming around. Her ass was even gladder.
Her skin started to crawl. Maybe she didn't like this after all.
Behind her, he sounded hungrier, and maybe a little meaner, too. It felt like tickling, now, this weird squirming feeling of something crawling up the wrong way, and she tried not to squeeze--that made it hurt more, she remembered that--but that just let him get his tongue further up her, working it in and out almost like he was trying to fuck her with it.
"Don't you want to just fuck me?" she finally asked, desperately. Wouldn't getting his dick in her pussy be more fun? It would have to be.
"Thought you'd never ask," he said, pulling his tongue out, leaving her feeling wet and slippery. She let out a breath of relief when she heard him crack open a condom.
But then he was up lying on her back, and he wasn't grinding down between her legs; he was sliding his dick up and down the cleft of her ass, again, slipping back and forth over the taint and the hole.
"W--I meant my pussy," she said, but without much hope.
"Come on, baby..." he cajoled. "I got it all nice and wet and opened up."
"I'd--I'd rather you stuck it in my pussy," she tried, a little firmer, but still not very. "Isn't it nicer and warmer anyway?"
"It's different. Both good. Want your ass, tonight," he said, slightly slurred, and this time the head caught on the rim, and he grunted. His fingers lost track of her clit while he grabbed her hips to steady himself.
"Dean--please--" she said, but then he rocked again and the head breached.
There was a shock of pain and she gasped, sharp, while on her back he hissed, "Yes."
Snake, she thought, something sinking inside.
Anne-Marie sighed and gritted her teeth against the hurt, tried to relax and let him in. Thank God the condoms came with the spermicidal lube on them, that spit was never going to be enough in a million years. Still burned like hell going in, and ached like he was too big, was stretching her too far.
He had a nice dick. Fat in her palm, full in her pussy, and he knew how to use it. But right now she wished it were a hell of a lot smaller. Or somewhere else--anywhere. Her pussy. Her mouth. Another state.
"You like that?" he growled in her ear, and she hid her face in the pillow.
"Yeah," she lied. What was she supposed to do? You say no and they leave.
"Yeah," he agreed, and pushed himself in as deep as he could get, groaning when he came to rest. He wriggled for a minute to work out the position, the leverage, then he rocked back and she held her breath at the tug, the feeling like she was somehow sticking to him as he moved, coming out of place. She yelped when he jammed himself back in.
"Yeah," he repeated, low and rumbling in his chest, "listen to that..." And when he did it a second time, she yelped again. Sounded like a kicked dog to her own ears--it was all startled pain and discomfort--but he seemed to like it just the same.
"I like it 'cause you don't," she remembered.
Maybe he wasn't much of a good guy after all.
Dean ground himself in and out, and soon enough he stopped even trying to get at her clit. Stopped caring if she got off, too. He humped her like a dog, all grunts and growls, even bit her neck and held on. When he was rabbiting fast and hard, panting and close to coming, he slapped her hip and made her tense up, rode harder while she squealed at the sharper pain. He hissed, "Yes," said, "you love it," said, "so fucking hot," then sputtered out a strangled breath as he came.
He panted for a minute on her back, pressing the breath out of her, then rolled off, sliding out with a frightening squelch. He passed out there, spent condom still dangling off of his shrinking dick.
Anne-Marie took care of it, dumping it into the trash, then limped to the bathroom to clean herself up.
Her mascara was smeared, streaked in tiny lines down her cheeks. She sighed and wet a paper towel, wiped away what she could. Didn't help with tips if you looked like a raccoon while you were bussing tables. She sighed, pulled back on her clothes, and went back out for the next shift.
She thought about what her mama said. If they're all assholes... well, maybe he was all she deserved.