Dean's eyes went wide when he felt his back pressed against the cold stone of the wall.
He expected a knife in his abdomen but instead he just felt the Angel's soft lips on his, longing for more.
And hell yes, he was willing to give the Angel more.

Dean pressed himself further in the almost-stranger's direction, feeling as if his whole life he'd been under water and now suddenly he was breathing air again.
Everything - this situation, this person, this kiss - felt right. What a weird feeling.
The rough stubble of the Angel's face, the rough hands on his cheeks, the rough tongue dancing for dominance in his mouth.
Dean's hand slid to the Angel's waist, where he held on tight and pulled the Angel closer, they were still to far from each other.
There were definitely too many layers between them.
He pushed the Angel away lightly to take a breath, before yanking the trench coat off and throwing it somewhere.
But Somewhere happened to be the next cupboard. The beige trench coat hit a multi-coloured vase, which immediately fell to the ground and broke.

The sound of splintering porcelain, probably a hundred years or even older, brought them back to reality.
Still panting, they separated and tensely they listened if someone heard the noise and now came to check upon it.
But no footsteps, no breathing - except the assassins'.

"Here's the deal: we both kill him and then we have some great sex. We go our ways and if we meet again we repeat that" the Angel whispered - he didn't truly trust his voice at the moment.

Dean smirked. "Then let's kill him. But we only repeat that if you don't disappoint me."

"Oh I'm sure, I won't."