Seeley Booth/Dean Winchester
When Booth arrived on the scene, the local cops were standing guard. He bit his tongue to keep the Barney Fife jokes inside his head where they rebounded with curses for his boss sending him in the first place. Tiny town, grisly murder, Bones busy.
Seeley already felt the migraine creep along the back of his neck up into his mind from the non-stop questions that Zach had thrown at him the entire drive. Despite threats of specific physical nature, the boy ( and Zach would always be a boy to Booth, no matter how old or how smart) never stopped talking. Not fucking once.
Yes it was a bizarre murder.
Yes it was definitely odd.
Yes they would hold the scene and save all the evidence and fucking YES Zach would, could, should learn as much as he can before moving the body back to the lab.
Seeley got out of the SUV, his hand going to his temples.
One of the Mayberrys ambled over, his eyes on Booth’s badge that hung from the waistband of his jeans.
“’Nother Eff Bee Eye, huh?”
Seeley congratulated himself on not rolling his eyes.
“The only FBI. This is Zach Addy from the Jeffersonian. He’ll look over the bodies. If you could show him—"
“’Nother boy.” Barney tilted his head toward the house. “He’s up, checking out the scene. Must’ve beat you here.”
Booth’s eyes narrowed. He felt the headache intensify. There was no other FBI called to this scene. Which was why he was fucking here, in the country, in the middle of the night.
There was a chase. Some running. Booth catching the imposter and slamming him up against his car.
Heh. Nice car.
Black and solid. Built for speed and strength.
Booth slapped the cuffs around the man’s wrists and turned him around. He leaned over him. Stared down.
Sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and smiled.
“You know what the penalty is for impersonation of a Federal employee?”
Hand moving to the other man’s jeans. Quick glance and they were alone, unnoticed.
“You know what’s going to happen to a pretty boy like you? In prison? Federal Pound Me In The Ass prison?”
Fingers sliding up between denim-clad thighs. Thumb pressing over the hard length of cock. Pushing in until Booth saw the other man’s eyes widen.
“What do you want?” The impersonator asked.
“Why are you here?” Booth countered.
His lips only centimeters away from the other man’s mouth. Fuck … had he ever seen such long eyelashes … had he ever felt this connection and damn … hot breath pouring over his jaws. Dry lips still trying to smile.
“I’m gonna give you my card. I’m gonna take your fingerprints and DNA. I’m gonna deal with this case and find the criminal and then I’m gonna call you. And you’re gonna answer.”
It was dark. They were alone.
There was a nod. A click of key in metal.
A promise of something … more.
Oh. I could have gone on ... and on ...