Jo slid the cleaning rod down the barrel of the rifle and sighed, breathing deep the olfactory property of gun oil and metal. It was a scent that had, until recently, always reminded her of her Padre, the roadhouse and the other huntsman. Sometimes, it even reminded her of her mother. It was a look that paired itself in her computer storage with whiskey and moth-eaten beer, oily nutrient, the inscrutable barrel laughter of men and adult female with too few chance for temper. But now it reminded her primarily of one man, the way a sealed cologne can make a woman to hold back and breathe deep and just smile. In this instance, she resisted the grin by pursing her lips into a tight mew and furiously jamming the rod through the barrel, as though the rifle had done her a personal wrong. As though doyen Winchester had done her a personal wrong.

He had n't. She could accept that in her head, but emotionally-emotions were a whole former story and she just could n't get past the whole 'sins of the begetter'and all that. She wanted to be wild, and righteous, and bruise. She wanted to entertain all that pain close to her heart because it was something new and fresh. Because it replaced the empty ache of a Father-God that was just a collection of stories now and the idealized memory of a petty girl still in pigtails. Knowing John Winchester had a hand in Bill Harvelle 's death gave her something new to keep onto, the right artillery to maintain in the direction of the man whose tug and clout in her thoughts was starting to scare away her. She could n't get her hired man on John Winchester, could n't admit him to task for the years she spent with a grieving and dark mother, for the abandon station her father had left in her, but after the truth came out hurting any Winchester would do. A few steal moments in City of Brotherly Love could n't make up for another piece of her dying bloody by a female parent 's revelation.

James Dean knew he was good and that had been a solid carrying out in Philadelphia, but there was n't a trick he knew, between the tabloid or otherwise, that would ever be enough to make up for this particular Winchester house failure. He could give birth dealt with that tone in her eye, the tremor in her voice and the set of her jaw that dared him to remove one Thomas More step before she laid him out mat. He was ready to get back in his car and movement, give her some place and band back around after the dust cleared. She could pick apart him on his ass as many prison term as she needed to to get it out of her system. Except this time he was tripping over more of John Winchester 's shit when he barely had a grip on how to deal with his own messes let alone the old man 's. He would have been willing to crisscross the rural area, slide in and out of her life as many times as it took to smooth this new wrinkle out. He realized that, about himself and about her, the minute she turned her back on him. Turned away and walked through the high-pitched, dry prairie grass and away from him. He 'd turned his own back on too lots in his life not to take her seriously. Hers was not a vertebral column to be bargained with and there was nothing to be done but get back in the Impala and feed Jo the self-regard of letting her lick her combat injury in private.

Except, Jo found these wound were something altogether new. All the REO Speedwagon in the public was n't going to drown out the sound of the roadhouse door opening, the stamp of boots on plank boards and it would n't terminate her headspring from snapping up every single damn sentence hoping it was a certain Winchester brother seed to beat through her stubbornness with a few quick run-in and his nimble fingers. She was crawling out of her skin and it was time to hit the road.

Her mother 's objections had been perfunctory. The ensuing row the only way they really knew how to say, `` I love you. adios. Do n't die. '' A rifle. A .45. Her begetter 's tongue and a crossbow. A backpack with a alteration of wearing apparel stashed in the dorsum of a car Ash had managed to get for her. She had n't asked doubt. Who says women ca n't travel tripping ?

She liked hunting the beasts. lycanthrope, vampires, corporeal forms she could wind her work force around and convey down with brute military unit and bad attitude. This one had been a ghost Leigh Hunt and she was n't amused. Her lastly specter Richard Morris Hunt had found her shimmying her ass between 150 year old lathing and Dean Winchester 's front man zipper. She still remembered with a suspire just how glad he had been to suffer her there.

'' I should get cleaned the pipes ... '' There they were, trying to channelise in a outer space barely wide enough for one mortal let alone the both of them, back to belly, his voice suddenly an musical octave lower in her ear and his rising interest obvious against her backside.

'' You what ? '' Her elbow joint to his rib had been cursory, because if she was honest with herself, she would n't have minded helping him with that even then.

Even if she had n't been dim enough to get caught off guard, even if he had n't rescued her just like she knew he would, and even if she had n't had the time to sit there in the frigidity and damp and stink and be the sweetener with zip to do but think-it would have happened eventually. Even if the epinephrin gamey had n't hit her like a pint of tequila, Dean Winchester was like an itch she could n't quite reach.

She 'd ridden with Dean back to the construction site to return the cement motortruck he 'd 'borrowed'to entomb the angry smell. The blank on the bench hind end between them was like a chasm that begged to be breached. She sat on her hands to retain herself from reaching across the distance.

He was uncommonly silent until he said, `` Your mother 's on the next trajectory out. ``

She had n't said anything. Her inner six year old had taken over and she was feeling like she had when she had broken into pa 's gun lawsuit and taken his rifle. Her fingers had trembled as she set up the tin cans on the fencing posts, but steadied with the solid system of weights of the rifle in her hands. She 'd look out him a hundred times, knew how to load it, how to draw down and line up her guess. The explosion right next to her ear had been deafening and frightening and like the part of God. As her mother beat the tar out of her she had thought every sec had been worth it. She might own been born to a Hunter, but the hunter had been born in her at that moment. She slid a facial expression at Dean and noticed he was watching her out of the street corner of his eye. The risk had been worth it then, it 'd be worth it now.

'' It 's at to the lowest degree an 60 minutes to the drome, '' she said. He did n't reply, just watched her, his head tilted low and his eye thoughtful.

'' Probably a couplet hours til the flight lifts off. Three hour in the air if it 's direct. Another hour to get out of the airport and recover us. '' She ticked off the time on her fingers.

She was still trying to bend fourth dimension in her head when they slid quietly out of the cab of the truck. After quickly leaving the construction website Dean took his speech sound out of his air hole, Kuki dipped toward his dresser and oculus watching her steadily as the call option connected.

'' Sammy, do me a favor. Find me the earliest flight Ellen would experience been able-bodied to get from ... '' he looked expectantly at Jo.

'' Probably Central NE airdrome. '' She chewed her lower lip. Was he planning his pickup, or was he accepting what she was offering ?

'' Central Nebraska aerodrome, '' he repeated. There was a break as he jammed his free hand in his pocket and started walking, shoulders hunched, head down and eyes dodging side to slope. She kept pace with him easily, her own eyes swinging back and Forth River, sometimes grazing him, sometimes not. It was the natural pace of hunters watching each other 's backs.

He clicked the phone closed without reply and looked at his watch. `` We 've got maybe two minute, if we 're lucky. ``

She stopped. He took a handful of steps forward before turning back toward her. She pressed her back into the brick rampart, collecting her sentiment, using the aplomb brick to ground herself. This was so much easier when it was just about pizza and a six clique. Zeppelin IV on the stereo made talking unneeded. Never at a loss for Good Book, she could n't rule any now.

'' You can get pretty far in a couple time of day. ``

He took another step toward her, stopped, scratched the backbone of his short hair and ran a helping hand along his bare cervix as though trying to prance some of the junk loose. It was n't what she said, it was the space between her parole, the way she could admit on a ghost with a cell phone and a pig toughie and then shrink into the chips in the masonry when threatened with a good time that made him, all of him, sit up and exact notice.

'' Not that far, '' he answered.

She laughed. short, hard, nervous. `` I 've seen you drive. ``

Another step forward brought him into her personal place and she could smell the gun oil on him. See the dust and dirt on his facial expression and the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks gritrock clinging to his crownwork. White flecks of it clung to him everywhere. She was suddenly conscious of her own sweat, the dirt on her hands, the lank hair that hung in her eyes.

'' Do you require me to hightail it out of here ? '' His voice grew lower, huskier. His perpetual frown softening, he searched her face, trying to get a read on her. He looked oddly untested, almost innocent, although Jo had no illusions this man had ever been anything as simple-minded as 'innocent'. His sudden interestingness made her toe the concrete like a school day girl. Something in her hated this two-step, and some part of her was pleased he 'd even take the time to dance it with her.

'' It 'd probably be safer for you. Once my mom gets a hold of you, you 're going to be wishing for the fond embrace of your friendly neck of the woods serial killer whale back there. '' She knew where this game of verbal Bromus secalinus would go. They 'd return each former enough escapes until they were both hemmed in and one of them was forced to call chequemate.

dean shrugged, one position of his lip curling up into a wry grin. `` If I wanted safe, I 'd be living an apple pie sort of life right now. ``

Another step and there was no question that he was intentionally pushing the bounds of her personal space. She clutched at the wall behind her with one manus, the jumpy brick slowing the voluted, like putting one ft on the trading floor to stop the bed spins as she started to lose herself in the greenness flecks of his eyes. She felt the gun at the minor of his back as her early arm betrayed her and snaked around his waistline. She convinced herself the quick shift to the left the worldly concern took under her feet was only debilitation as she pulled herself to her full tiptop before ducking around the turning point of the building and out of his orbit.

Her peg carried her back towards the apartment building that had started this unharmed adventure while her mentation carried her ... elsewhere. This was a bad estimation. A really bad idea. She 'd seen this before. Her female parent and founder had sometimes locked themselves in the bedroom for days after a Leigh Hunt. At the roadhouse, Hunter paired off with each other without rime or intellect, burning off adrenaline and reminding themselves they 'd survived another day. Even Hunter with syndicate back home would take the occasional opportunity with a will mate. Among the hunters themselves, there was no shame in it. It was one little thing that made you more human when you spent too often metre with the ogre. She could say that was all this was and cut it, if he had n't already been on her radar from the first time she 'd had a rifle to his back.

They turned the block in silence until his hand shot out and blocked her track. She stared straight ahead as his lips whispered against her ear. `` What are we doing, Jo ? ``

She turned to answer him, her body pivoting as a a earthbound stumbled into Dean 's back, shoving him against her and pressing her between the concrete of the building and the rut of his foresighted lean shape. The bluster stuck in her throat as his body naturally aligned with hers and she could feel the bulk of his six human foot pressed against her.

'' Am I reading this wrong ? Cause I do n't mean I am, '' his voice was was like whiskey, smooth and dangerous, and he could have been reciting names from the speech sound Good Book and she still would have felt it pulling at things low in her gut.

'' What do you think you 're reading, Dean ? You that for certain of yourself ? '' She could n't just let go of the bravado. She could n't just melt into him because that would mean acknowledging there was something more between them than just hormones and epinephrin and a deep physical ache.

A fly on the bulwark of Dean 's mind would know he was never sure of anything, least of all Jo Harvelle, who could probably demote him in direction he could n't even envisage. He felt her lilliputian body fault against his and then freeze, like an animal in that split secondly before it decides onset is it 's live on resort. This could go wrong a million different ways, and he did n't care. So Dean moved forward as he always did when he did n't screw all the facts—he went with what he was pretty sure of.

'' Because if I was reading you all wrong, Jo, I 'd already be picking my testicles out of my windpipe. ``

'' It 's not out of the realm of possibility, '' her own phonation had dropped to a rustle, and she was pressing her back against the wall like she could drop off into the spaces between the cracks. The option was to compress herself forward, let instinct aim over and ride it wherever it took her.

'' It 's a prospect I 'm uncoerced to shoot, '' the live on was spoken against her lips as his headway cleared the final exam few inch of distance. His oral fissure grazed hers, a question, a taste, a admonition shot across her bow. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he was n't going to necessitate it if it was n't offered.

'' What about 'wrong clock time, untimely position'? '' She mumbled back. There was n't any Sir Thomas More space to speak, his backtalk firm against hers so that any Word of God, any speech sound would be aught more than an invitation. His hand moved up to cup her face, brushing strands of hair off her cheek as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like frigidness air and fond possibility. She opened to him as he pulled back abruptly, her back talk left gaping like a rainbow fish. He looked at his vigil then back at her.

'' We 've got about an hour twenty dollar bill. We should get back to the flat. ``

Jo shook the cobwebs out of her head, equally mangled between kneeing him solidly ( really, how could she omit with such an obvious bulge to aim for ) just on principle, and grabbing him by the swath to pull him in for a full, solid grind. Instead, she just cocked her heading and looked at him.

'' What ? '' He asked, backing up and shaking his leg a bit, trying to conform to the new concentration in his jeans. `` Or would you rather get interfering out here ? '' He looked up and down the moderately crowded sidewalk, then back at her. `` I mean, I can apprise a little kink and all, but I 'm not much for an consultation. ``

She swallowed hard and looked around the recess, feeling his body future to hers as he leaned into her more than was essential to get a thoroughly view of the front of the apartment construction. With everything looking like a exonerated shot up the front line stride into the nominal head door, they sprinted across the street and up the stairwell. On the indorsement bring Dean grabbed her back pocket and hauled her back toward him, cornering her between a handwriting rail and a fire box to pepper her face with buss before tracing a tongue lightly over her lips. The two-step was over and it was time to tango. Tucking a finger's breadth into the waist band of her denim, he pulled her against the manifest swelling in his pants. She took a late hint and buried her side in the crook of his shoulder when she realized the facts far outstripped his reputation.

'' Looks like everything 's still in working Order, '' he said with a smirk. `` Still seems like I got all my parts where they should be, so I 'm going to guess you 're not objecting. '' He risked a glimpse at his sentinel again. `` And I 'd say we 've got about an hour fifteen now. ``

'' Alright, jackass Bauer, you do realize a 'real'female child does n't get along with a timer, right ? '' Jo replied, although she had to admit if she had to, she 'd take just five hard and degraded minutes pressed right up against this wall right now.

'' Oh, sweetheart, '' Dean said, backing away and starting up the stairs two at a meter, his boldness sliding into a casual and slow smiling that had been winning girls over from ling closets to back seats since he was 15, `` it 's not the length of time you have, but what you do with the time you got. ``

They blew down the hall like pit itself haunted them and slammed into the door of the apartment in a heap. Realizing Sammy had the key, Dean pounded against the door, hoping his comrade was still inside packing up and not sitting out in the impala wondering where the hell they were. Sammy opened the door with a shotgun in his hand, then lowered it when he realized it was only Jo and Dean.

'' dean, I- '' But before Sam could land up his sentence Jo and Dean pushed him out of the way, paused for a second in the middle of the living room, then hung a left wing for the bedroom.

'' Dean, '' Sam followed them, confusion clear on his face. `` Hey, I already finished packing, your stuff 's over by the doorway. ``

'' Yeah, that 's, that 's great buddy, thanks, '' Dean said, sliding through the bedroom threshold and closing it almost in Sam 's face. `` Hey, '' Dean stuck his head out again, `` If Ellen shows up, stall her. ``

Jo watched Sam run his fingers roughly through his thrill. He opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to forge the right reply. Instead, he wedged a base in the threshold, staring his brother down with wrinkle lips and narrowed eyes.

He finally said, `` If Ellen shows up, you can deal with her yourself. I 'm not going to be the one to wind up with buckshot in my ass ... '' He looked like he had more to say, but Dean nodded curtly before shoving him in the dresser with one hired hand and slamming the door in his case with the other.

Jo stood awkwardly next to the bed, her organic structure taut as a piano wire and every inherent aptitude telling her to run, but Jo had never run from a thing in her life. She certainly was n't going to let dean freakin'Winchester spook her.

She 'd heard the son talk, banter between buddy when she was quiet enough to be no more than piece of furniture, and she had heard talk around the Roadhouse about the Winchester boys. The marvelous one, who might as well be saving himself for a virgin sacrifice, and the other one who was enough of a expert time for the both of them. She was anticipating a full on rodeo ride, although whether she or Dean would be taking the papal bull by the automobile horn she could n't say. She was surprised when he slammed the threshold in his brother 's face before resting his head against it, as though collecting himself. She suspected if there had been a bottleful of whisky available there may have even been a fort drink or two. She shifted from human foot to metrical unit. The merely thing that could be bad than going through with this would be to get this far and then have James Dean Winchester, lust Incarnate, get a bad causa of common sense. Before she could form a properly acid comment he crossed the room with decisive blessing and reached for her, jerking her roughly to him by her waistband, this time kissing her without preamble. It was deep and long and intimate, his lingua exploring her back talk as though they had all the time in the humankind. When he drew back his eyes had changed from thoughtful to a fill up cousin with dangerous. He cupped her jaw in one calloused handwriting, staring hard into her eyes.

'' What 're we doing, Jo ? '' He traced the line of her neck to her collarbone down to the 1st release on her ruined blouse with his thumb. The knuckles of his deal grazed her chest as he slid the button through the hole, dropping to the next, his oculus never leaving her face.

'' Do I have to pull back you a diagram ? '' She tugged his own shirt out of his dungaree until he lifted his blazon, reached over his head and shucked it like a second skin. She licked her lips as the map of a Hunter 's lifetime took chassis across the planes and angles of his body. She traced fingers over pink and puckered cutis, noting a heater injury here, knife wounds there, burns and claw marks and bites in respective stages of scarring. Even the fingerbreadth he used to unbutton her shirt were crooked from ill healed breaks. Impatiently he pushed the blouse off her shoulders.

'' You know what I mean. '' His vocalization was crude as he tilted his head from position to side, as though a different angle could give him a better view under her fire hook boldness. He took a shuddering intimation as she found a cicatrix running diagonally from belly button to hip and followed its way to where it disappeared into his denim. Her flyspeck fingers traveled along its harsh trail to his hip, then inched a bit to the leftfield to find him, rigid and set up. She paused to stroke him within the confines of his blue jean and then retraced her path to explore sassy territory along the contrast and planes of his ribs.

The grime of the day 's search left photographic print on her bra as he cupped a breast, his own fingertips creeping over the lace to bug a mammilla. `` Seriously, this isn't- '' but he lost his train of persuasion when her breathing space hitched and she cupped the back of his neck with sang-froid finger, pulling his oral fissure down to hers.

'' This is n't anything, '' she finished for him, letting him off the hook he was putting himself on. For all his swagger, she realized, Dean Winchester had a conscience.

'' This is n't going to make thing, like, yknow ... Weird. Or anything ? '' He was already unhooking her bra and letting it cliff to the floor. What if she said yes ?

'' Weirder than what, Deano ? Unless that little homemade EMF time has some conceal endowment a miss should have intercourse about, I think this is as normal as our biography get. Have n't you figured that out yet ? '' As if to emphasize the point, she pulled her don 's knife out of its ankle case and waved the blade in front line of his face before tossing it on the night stand.

He did n't need any more boost. His pistol joined the knife with a solid thud as he pulled her tightly against his chest, falling back on the bed and dragging her down on top. Their limbs tangled together as he rolled, her mouth parting for him as she fumbled for his belt. He nipped at her backtalk, playful love bites between hungrily trying to slip her breath away. His tongue warred with hers, grappling for say-so until her lips felt swollen, then retreated, frantically finding the curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear, the holler of her neck before taking her mouth again. light-headed fingers used to finessing lock chamber and coaxing 40 year old cars into submission teased over teat and skittered down her belly. He traced a track along her inseam from knee to zip up until she wanted to shout out. She was ready to come before she even got his knickers unbuttoned.

After all of his problematic guy talk and discriminating news, she had anticipated a knockout, fast ride. Instead, he left her tingling and sick, alternating between something like Assault and then idolization. He did n't care that she had n't been able to catch her breath long enough to do more than look up to the persuasion of his smash loose and the top button of his denim tantalizingly subject, instead wedging himself firmly between her branch and grinding hip to hip. She groaned and rose to meet him, damning the fabric caught between their bodies.

In the dim igniter of the drawn curtains, his eyes were dark, serious and intense as he rose back on his haunches. They were the same eyes of any marauder on the hunt. He watched her face like a man eying his last-place meal as he reached out and deftly flicked the top button of her jeans open, gently sliding the zipper down so that the soft 'vvvrrrrippppp'seemed to go on forever. She was squirming, inside and out, the inseam of her dungaree a gentle aggravation as she rose to slide them off her hips. James Dean smiled, a finger softly snapping the elastic of her thong. He liked what he saw. She lifted her pelvic arch again to shimmy out of the scrap of red lacing but he put a mitt on her belly to still her.

'' Leave it, '' he said, voice gone low and husky. Jo suddenly felt self conscious of the $ 45 fleck of Victoria 's closed book. She 'd dressed for a Hunt like she was going on a date.

Jo regrouped, squirming under his gaze before pushing up on her elbows. `` I think you 're overdressed for this party. ``

She swung herself around in the bed, kneeling breast to chest with him and pushing at the sash of his jeans until they slid over his bare ass. Commando. Well, she thought, chewing her lip, that was an unexpected exploitation ... and yet not surprising. He was kissing her again when she gripped him in her mitt. His breath seemed to strangle in his throat and he gasped against her mouth, stealing some of her own breath. She tried not to react, nipping lightly at his lower lip and tugging with her teeth. In her hand, he throbbed against her as she lightly ran her finger's breadth along the spear from tip to root.

His groan was long and low and ended in a growl. She was only dimly aware of the blue jean hitting the storey before he pushed her back on the bed, his mouth violently taking a breast. She steeled herself against a yelp but there was no motive, his aggression was deceiving, tongue gently laving the nipple until she lay there panting and shaking. His other hand followed the crease of her body until she hissed when he touched a raw fleck on her hip. He reared back, vexation creasing his face, his eyes flicking to where his script had just grazed purpling physique against the otherwise alabaster backdrop of her skin.

'' It 's nada, '' she said, trying to absorb his face back down to hers.

'' That does n't expect like null, '' he responded sharply, calloused fingers tracing around the fist sized bruise.

'' Jesus christ, Dean, I 'm a huntsman. You 're not whining about every friggin'blow and bruise. '' To emphasize her point, she poked what looked like a particularly attender smear on his bicep and noted with some satisfaction when his oculus went bright with the painful sensation. `` Neither am I. It 's an occupational luck. I 'm not bleeding or unconscious, '' she hooked her leg around his back and pulled him toward her, `` but you might be if there is n't some follow through here ... ''

She watched his eyes waver for a moment. Quick eye, observant, calculating as he actually saw, for the first-class honours degree time, her injuries. jut, bruises, raw spots of scraped hide from being dragged through burrow and thrown against walls.

God, she was green, he thought. Her body was virtually a sporting slate with no taradiddle to severalise. The stain on her today would blackleg over, cure clean, and leave the skin underneath flannel and perfect again. Until the next time, and the next, and the next until the wound never really healed before they scarred again. Before monsters marked her and the biography was all she ever knew and the story of every killing mapped itself on her figure. How long would they receive before the road map of nuisance and destruction swallowed her whole ?

He knew if this became a habit ... and God, the slick tone of her under his fingertips, the hot breath against his ear, her little carnal cries as he hit a spot just right ... God, she could get a substance abuse. He knew when this became a riding habit, this shortly spill off their epinephrin high into each other, that over the month and age her smooth out pale hide would begin to crisscross with the hard international nautical mile and scars of iron and copper and flesh and pearl. And every time something took a dry pint of profligate and a pound of flesh it would go forth on her skin a German mark so much smaller than the hole it left in her soul.

She was losing him. She could see it on his expression as his helping hand slid over her body, knowing he was committing her contours to retentivity before taking that tiresome regretful stone's throw back. ` She 'd seen it before. snake pit, she 'd done it before with those clueless college boys who just did n't know the teras in the wickedness were genuine. There was that acutely prick of realization as apparel tumbled to the storey and the senses overloaded that this just was n't actual. The monsters were, but this never would be. Jo could see it on Dean 's face, the same dance on the sharp boundary of desperation. They could get laid like lapin for the succeeding minute or for the adjacent year, but the monsters would still be out there when they came up for air. She was n't one of his pretty party girls that he used like a fifth of whiskey to tail the ruefulness. She had been touched by the fiend. She was a component part of the spirit he was constantly trying to put away from himself even as he trudged hip deep in it. She smelled like rock'n'roll common salt and fright, not Sunflowers and Chanel.

Quickly, she reached out and ran her fingers over the placid daily round fissures of gun shooter scratch even as he flinched away from the lowly scratches on her own shoulders. She grabbed his hands, holding crooked and calloused finger to her bosom. She ran fingertips over smooth and puckered mark, stab wounds and claw First Baron Marks of Broughton. She was pretty sure the hanker thin filet along his rib Cage was from a werewolf, pale enough to have happened in childhood or adolescence. The unforesightful little hash marks along his forearms were identity hitch, long and thin and made with a silver brand, drawing just enough blood to try out you were the only when one home inside your own skin. And yet for all the toilsome miles on his trunk, only two pocket-sized scars marred the ne plus ultra of his cheek. Of course of instruction, by the time a freak got close sufficiency to snack on your look, all there was left to do was salt your clappers and set about the fire.

He caught her bridge player as she traced the thin line under his eye, his sassing slightly open like he might say something. Instead, he brought her wrist to his backtalk, pressing his sassing to it reverently, his middle closed and his lips warm on her skin. She cupped her paw to his jaw, finger's breadth tucking imaginary hair's-breadth behind his ear. He turned his face into her manus, for a consequence looking like a naughty and tragic angel.

When he released her, she pressed her hand over his spirit, to the angry red welts that looked like they had only just begun to scar.

'' What does something like this, '' she asked.

He caught her hired man, held it a beat. `` A daimon. '' Letting go he leaned in and nuzzled her intrude affectionately. `` A really pissed off demon. ``

'' Is there any early form ? '' She tried for humor, but there was still a pain in his face that stilled the smile on her own lips.

She looked at the face of doyen Winchester, hurt and haunted and human and flawed and knew they needed this. They needed a moment, one Cross section of clock time with someone who could see the bother and not care. She chewed her scurvy lip thoughtfully before leaning in and sliding her tongue along the thickest of the gashes. It looked like something had tried to tear up him from the inside out. She felt his breath rush in and then the idle stillness of him as her mouth worked against the wrecked skin.

'' Does that hurt, '' she asked, her eyes flicking up to fit his.

'' No. '' The word stuck in his throat a import, and his chest of drawers heaved against her mouth as he tried to clear it. `` No, not at all. '' And she knew she had him back.

He leaned over and pressed gentle lips against her hip as she sprawled her midget body over his berm and along his spinal column. She lay her cheek against the valley of his spikelet and felt the tension in him change. She knew the cost benefit psychoanalysis had come out in her favor. Playfully, he tugged at the string of her thong with his teeth then let it crack back before clutching her tight against him. His arm curled around her constringe waist, his massive shoulder joint pushing her spinal column onto the bed. Languidly following the line of her leg with his mouth, he teased at the edge of the slip of material with his glossa, just grazing her with the hope of more to get, his breathing time hot against her.

He tilted his face to appear at hers, his clever rima oris never leaving her skin and his eyes ferine again. She noticed the cut of his articulatio humeri as he all but stalked the length of her body, one arm holding him inflexible above her as his other hand slid slowly into the position of her panties, teasing against her center. She threw her head back against the pillows and rose to meet him, imperativeness edifice with every unwarranted diagonal. He could eat her alive and she 'd only beg for more.

Her fingers slid through his short choppy hair, rounded over his articulatio humeri and gripped his back, trying to draw out him closer. He slipped his arm around the small of her vertebral column and muled her across the bed, so that when she looked into his font again she could only ideate the flavor in his center was the Lapp sorting of smell a wolf had for his mate. His knees shoved her thighs apart, his men coming up to wobble her ramification and spread her wide.

'' About clock time, cowman, '' she said as he took a bit to slide her pantie aside without taking them off. The words were nervous vim turned vocal. She held her breath when she felt his distance press against her, her hips rising toward him without any conscious thought. She wanted him. It was like a key need, more than biology and neuroses. This was n't sex by the telephone number, this was like an act of God. She groaned when his tip pressed against her and her hands gripped the sheets before they wrecked his spinal column. He tipped her knee back toward her pectus and slid into her, pausing for a moment before rolling his articulatio coxae a little.

Even as she groaned his back talk found hers and he swallowed her sounds, her mews and plaint as he filled her.

He moved slow, each diagonal calculated to add her closer without pushing her over the edge. If she frantically fluttered against him, he would pause, pinning her with his body and sliding his work force over breasts and ass, sassing licking and nipping at hers until she stilled and he would take off the torture all over again.

The long slow slide out, the long slow glide in, a little curlicue of his pelvic arch and once or twice she thought she might have forgotten her own name.

But not his. `` God, dean, '' she cried into his neck. `` Please, I 'm so close ... ''

'' I know, '' he panted against her skin.

She was covered in sweat, silken inside and out. He felt her clamp against his length every time he slid into her, her limbs struggling against him, trying to choose control. But ascendence was all he had left, if he handed it over to her, they were both done for. All he had was this moment, this snapshot, this space between breathing time when her face shined underneath him and his name was on her lips and he could do this without hiding his pain or tamping down the fury or pretending he was anything, anybody else. He was doyen Winchester and in this split second he was n't hiding anything, it just was n't there.

'' Please, Dean, '' it was more of a thought carried on a breath than words.

'' I know, '' he said again, this time thrusting harder. She met him and groaned with a vocalisation that seemed to start in her arse bone and travel the length of her spine as it bowed beneath him. He felt it vibrate through her core as he buried himself in her, his own groan meeting and matching hers.

She saw his face and it was like a storm swarm had broken over him. She watched the control whittle away, each thrust bringing him closer to ... something. He was wild and dangerous and the set of his jaw was adequate to piss her tremble even if his cock did n't have her shuddering on the edge of a chasm so cryptic she was sure enough she 'd never find her way out once she fell over. She gripped him tight with her legs and met him thrust for thrust until he was pounding into her, the bed banging dangerously against the wall, his workforce clutching at her thighs until they left new bruises.

He was slamming into her, both of their bodies grappling for purchase when she felt the tremor hit low in her belly. Her hands flew to the small of his book binding, digit digging into the valley of his spine in a futile endeavor to bring him closer as the orgasm tore a scream out of her. He rode the wave with her, his caput resting against her temple, his low animal growling lost in her wails.

Dean felt her suitcase him, like the flitter fender of an iron butterfly, his pelvic arch fighting for each vicious slash. He did n't desire to hurt her, but Jo was made of sterner stuff than well-nigh and she was n't the kind of lay to take a hard leap just to be nice. He wanted this minute to just stop, to hit the pause button on her writhing beneath him but he felt his own sexual climax construction not far behind hers and there was n't much he could do about it. This was just the inevitable end, as there were for all thing. And then he was cresting the waving and falling into the chasm with her, about as close to heaven as a Winchester can ever get.

He licked at the footling rill of travail behind her ear and she sighed. She was still tracing his scars with her fingertips, twirling her finger's breadth in jobless round from here to there while he still lay on top of her.

'' holy dogshit, '' she finally said, taking a deep breath.

'' Yeah, '' he sighed against her. `` That about kernel it up. ``

'' We should get going, before Mom gets here. '' She tapped his shoulder, indicating it was time to roam away. Dean 's lips twitched in a smile. Jo Harvelle would never be offended when he got up and left in the middle of the nighttime. His centre dipped into a scowl, though his backtalk still curled mischievously. Would he be offended, when she did it to him ?

'' Joanna Beth, '' the husky Midwestern drawl came from the living room, `` If you two are done in there, I 'd wish a word. ``

They froze and looked at each other like rabbits caught in a snare before the mad scramble for the clothes started.

'' Holy turd ! '' Dean said, jamming a leg into a twosome of blue jean before realizing they were Jo 's. `` She, '' he extricated his leg and threw them to Jo, who was holding his out to him impatiently, `` She ca n't smack fear, can she ? ``

'' concern ? No, '' Jo jumped up and down to get the pants over her swither glib thighs and zipped. `` I 'd be more disquieted about her smelling the sex ... we reek of it. ``

James Byron Dean paused and smiled, momentarily pleased with himself. Jo shot him a scathing facial expression as she tossed his shirt to him.

'' wellspring, Deano, '' Jo hooked her bra and shoved her arms into the sleeve of her own shirt, `` If you were n't scared of my mom before, you probably should be now. ``

Dean spoke, his phonation sounding muted and far away from inside his shirt. `` She 's got ta know that you—you know-, '' his head popped out the top and he motioned towards the bed.

'' Oh, she knows, '' she shoved her feet into her horseshoe. `` She 's just never had a front row seat before. '' She gave him a tight lipped grinning, then smacked his ass before heading for the door.

Dean grabbed her elbow joint and turned her toward him. `` Are we ok ? ``

'' Yeah, Dean, '' she said, her voice softening just a bit, `` we 're good. ``

That had been then. sixteen hr before the reaching back at the Roadhouse. Mere moments after creative thinker blowing sex when she might bear even promised him her first born if he had asked. But XVI hours is a yearn time to imagine, jammed in the back buttocks with Sammy who had the marketplace cornered on pensiveness. And the whole prison term she would search at the back of James Byron Dean 's head and think that she wanted to run her fingers through that short whisker, and she felt god damned tingly when he would glance at her in the nurture vista. She thought about his scars and found herself rubbing her fingertips together, remembering the flavour of him under her hands. She thought about him dangerous as a offend animal on top of her and her panties were wet again. If she thought about him slipping over every square in of her bare pelt, something in her essence hiccupped and that was just fucking infuriating.

So it was easy to blame the boy for the sine of their Church Father. It was easier than admitting there might actually be something there for her and doyen. It was easier than letting go of that space between who she wanted to be and the scared lilliputian miss she still was. If she kept running maybe she could celebrate one step ahead of him—one footfall ahead of herself. Except now, she could n't even make clean her goddamned rifle without thinking about a Winchester.

Maybe it was clock time to put down for a spell, get her head screwed on straight person and leave the fiend to the hunters who were only slightly more fucked in the head word than she was. Maybe. Maybe Duluth was n't such a bad city for a barmaid with a knife ingathering to wait for a Winchester to watch up with her ...