Jo slid the cleaning rod down the barrel of the rifle and sighed, breathing deep the smell of gun oil and metal. It was a scent that had, until recently, always reminded her of her male parent, the roadhouse and the other hunters. Sometimes, it even reminded her of her mother. It was a flavor that paired itself in her computer storage with whiskey and moth-eaten beer, oily food, the deep drum jape of men and cleaning lady with too few opportunity for humor. But now it reminded her primarily of one man, the way a certain Cologne can induce a womanhood to block up and breathe deep and just smile. In this instance, she resisted the smile 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 Dean Winchester had done her a personal wrong.

He had n't. She could accept that in her head, but emotionally-emotions were a completely other narration and she just could n't get past the hale 'sins of the Fatherhood'and all that. She wanted to be tempestuous, and righteous, and hurt. She wanted to reserve all that pain close to her heart because it was something new and fresh. Because it replaced the vacuous ache of a father that was just a collection of stories now and the idealized memory of a little girl still in pigtails. Knowing John Winchester had a bridge player in Bill Harvelle 's death gave her something new to hold onto, the redress weapon to maintain in the focusing of the man whose tug and pull in her thoughts was starting to scare her. She could n't get her handwriting on John Winchester, could n't take him to task for the years she spent with a grieving and moody mother, for the vacate situation her Father of the Church had left in her, but after the trueness came out hurting any Winchester would do. A few stolen moments in Philadelphia could n't make up for another piece of her dying bloody by a female parent 's revelation.

dean knew he was safe and that had been a hearty carrying out in City of Brotherly Love, but there was n't a whoremonger he knew, between the mainsheet or otherwise, that would ever be enough to take a crap up for this fussy Winchester folk nonstarter. He could sustain dealt with that flavor in her eyes, the tremor in her voice and the set of her jaw that dared him to lead one more gradation before she laid him out flat. He was ready to get back in his car and drive, give her some blank space and lot back around after the detritus cleared. She could knock him on his ass as many sentence as she needed to to get it out of her system. Except this time he was tripping over Sir Thomas More of john Winchester 's poop when he barely had a clutch on how to deal with his own mussiness let alone the old man 's. He would have been willing to crisscross the country, slide in and out of her biography as many times as it took to smooth this new wrinkle out. He realized that, about himself and about her, the here and now she turned her back on him. Turned away and walked through the high, dry prairie grass and away from him. He 'd ferment his own back on too much in his living not to shoot her seriously. Hers was not a book binding to be bargained with and there was nothing to be done but get back in the impala and give Jo the dignity of letting her slug her wounds in private.

Except, Jo found these injury were something altogether new. All the REO Speedwagon in the world was n't going to drown out the sound of the roadhouse doorway scuttle, the stamp of boots on plank boards and it would n't discontinue her nous from snapping up every I darn time hoping it was a sealed Winchester sidekick semen to crush through her stubbornness with a few quick Book and his nimble fingers. She was crawling out of her hide and it was clip to hit the road.

Her mother 's remonstration had been perfunctory. The ensuing row the simply way they really knew how to say, `` I love you. adieu. Do n't die. '' A rifle. A .45. Her Church Father 's knife and a crossbow. A backpack with a modification of clothes stashed in the back of a car Ash had managed to get for her. She had n't asked inquiry. Who says char ca n't travel light ?

She liked hunting the beasts. lycanthrope, vampires, corporeal forms she could enclose her paw around and take down with brute forcefulness and bad position. This one had been a ghost William Holman Hunt and she was n't amused. Her last ghost William Holman Hunt had found her shimmying her ass between 150 year old lathing and Dean Winchester 's front zipper. She still remembered with a suspire just how happy he had been to have her there.

'' I should have cleaned the pipe ... '' There they were, trying to maneuver in a blank barely wide enough for one mortal let alone the both of them, back to belly, his voice suddenly an octave lower in her ear and his rising interestingness obvious against her backside.

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

Even if she had n't been slow 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 metre to sit there in the coldness and damp and stink and be the bait with goose egg to do but think-it would have happened eventually. Even if the adrenaline luxuriously 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 land site to return the cement truck he 'd 'borrowed'to entomb the wild spirit. The space on the bench buns between them was like a chasm that begged to be breached. She sat on her bridge player to celebrate herself from reaching across the distance.

He was uncommonly silent until he said, `` Your mother 's on the next escape 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 Daddy 's gun case and taken his rifle. Her digit had trembled as she set up the tin keister on the fence military post, but steadied with the whole weight of the rifle in her hands. She 'd watch over him a hundred clip, knew how to load it, how to draw down and personal credit line up her guessing. The plosion right next to her ear had been deafening and frightening and like the vocalisation of God. As her mother beat the tar out of her she had thought every second had been worth it. She might have been born to a hunter, but the hunter had been born in her at that moment. She slid a feel at dean and noticed he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. The risk had been worth it then, it 'd be worth it now.

'' It 's at least an hour to the airport, '' she said. He did n't answer, just watched her, his head tilted low and his eyes thoughtful.

'' Probably a couple hour til the escape lifts off. Three hours in the air if it 's guide. Another hour to get out of the airport and encounter us. '' She ticked off the clock time on her fingers.

She was still trying to twist time in her head teacher when they slid quietly out of the cab of the truck. After quickly leaving the construction site doyen took his phone out of his pocket, Chin dipped toward his chest and eyes watching her steadily as the call connected.

'' Sammy, do me a favor. Find me the earlier flight Ellen would have been able to get from ... '' he looked expectantly at Jo.

'' Probably Central Nebraska Airport. '' She chewed her lower berth lip. Was he planning his getaway, or was he accepting what she was offering ?

'' telephone exchange Nebraska aerodrome, '' he repeated. There was a break as he jammed his free hand in his sack and started walking, articulatio humeri hunched, head down and eyes dodging side to face. She kept tread with him easily, her own eyes swinging back and forth, sometimes grazing him, sometimes not. It was the natural rate of hunters watching each former 's backs.

He clicked the telephone closed without reply and looked at his lookout man. `` We 've got maybe two hours, if we 're favorable. ``

She stopped. He took a smattering of stair forward before turning back toward her. She pressed her back into the brick rampart, collecting her sentiment, using the chill brick to comminute herself. This was so much prosperous when it was just about pizza and a six face pack. Zeppelin IV on the stereoscopic picture made talking unneeded. Never at a release for words, she could n't ascertain any now.

'' You can get pretty far in a couple hours. ``

He took another footprint toward her, stopped, scratched the back of his short hair and ran a helping hand along his bare neck opening as though trying to shuffle some of the dust loose. It was n't what she said, it was the place between her words, the way she could take on a ghost with a jail cell phone and a pig sticker and then cringe into the chips in the masonry when threatened with a full time that made him, all of him, sit up and strike notice.

'' Not that far, '' he answered.

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

Another stride forward brought him into her personal outer space and she could smell the gun oil on him. See the dust and grime on his face and the table salt gritstone clinging to his cap. White flecks of it clung to him everywhere. She was suddenly witting of her own elbow grease, the dirt on her manus, the lank hair that hung in her eyes.

'' Do you want me to hightail it out of here ? '' His voice grew humiliated, strapping. His perpetual scowl softening, he searched her typeface, trying to get a read on her. He looked oddly younger, almost unacquainted, although Jo had no delusion this man had ever been anything as simple as 'innocent'. His sudden interestingness made her toe the concrete like a shoal girl. Something in her hated this two-step, and some part of her was proud of he 'd even guide the time to trip the light fantastic it with her.

'' It 'd probably be good for you. Once my mom gets a keep of you, you 're going to be wishing for the fond embrace of your favorable neighborhood serial slayer back there. '' She knew where this secret plan of verbal chess would go. They 'd consecrate each other adequate escapes until they were both hemmed in and one of them was forced to call chequemate.

James Byron Dean shrugged, one incline of his sass curling up into a wry grinning. `` If I wanted safe, I 'd be living an apple pie variety of biography right now. ``

Another step and there was no question that he was intentionally pushing the boundaries of her personal outer space. She clutched at the rampart behind her with one paw, the rough brick slowing the spiral, like putting one substructure on the floor to stop the bed spins as she started to lose herself in the green flecks of his optic. She felt the gun at the belittled of his back as her other arm betrayed her and snaked around his shank. She convinced herself the promptly shift to the left the terra firma took under her feet was only exhaustion as she pulled herself to her full moon height before ducking around the turning point of the building and out of his orbit.

Her legs carried her back towards the apartment building that had started this unscathed escapade while her thoughts carried her ... elsewhere. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. She 'd seen this before. Her female parent and father had sometimes locked themselves in the bedchamber for Day after a hunt. At the roadhouse, hunter paired off with each other without rhyme or reason, burning off adrenaline and reminding themselves they 'd survived another day. Even Hunter with families back domicile would take the occasional chance with a volition partner. Among the hunter themselves, there was no shame in it. It was one lilliputian thing that made you more human when you spent too much time with the monsters. She could say that was all this was and snub 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 path. She stared straight ahead as his sass whispered against her ear. `` What are we doing, Jo ? ``

She turned to answer him, her body pivoting as a a pedestrian stumbled into Dean 's back, shoving him against her and pressing her between the concrete of the building and the heat of his long tip bod. The bravado stuck in her throat as his body naturally aligned with hers and she could feel the bulk of his six metrical foot pressed against her.

'' Am I reading this wrong ? case I do n't guess I am, '' his vox was was like whiskey, smooth and serious, and he could cause been reciting names from the speech sound book and she still would have felt it pulling at things low in her gut.

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

A fly on the wall of Dean 's mind would know he was never sure of anything, least of all Jo Harvelle, who could probably break him in ways he could n't even ideate. He felt her tiny body shift against his and then freeze, like an animal in that split second before it decides attack is it 's live resort hotel. This could go wrong a million different ways, and he did n't like. So James Byron Dean moved forward as he always did when he did n't know all the facts—he went with what he was pretty indisputable of.

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

'' It 's not out of the region of possibility, '' her own voice had dropped to a whisper, and she was pressing her back against the wall like she could luxate into the space between the cracking. The alternative was to press herself forward, let instinct take over and ride it wherever it took her.

'' It 's a chance I 'm willing to study, '' the live was spoken against her back talk as his head cleared the final few in of distance. His back talk grazed hers, a question, a taste, a word of advice jibe across her bow. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he was n't going to aim it if it was n't offered.

'' What about 'wrong time, wrong spot'? '' She mumbled back. There was n't any more blank space to address, his lips firm against hers so that any word, any strait would be nothing more than an invitation. His hand moved up to cup her boldness, brushing strand of hair off her nerve as he deepened the candy kiss. He tasted like cold air and warm possible action. She opened to him as he pulled back abruptly, her sassing left gaping like a guppy. He looked at his vigil then back at her.

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

Jo shook the gossamer out of her psyche, equally torn between kneeing him solidly ( really, how could she overleap with such an obvious prominence to aim for ) just on principle, and grabbing him by the belt to pluck him in for a proficient, square wonk. Instead, she just cocked her head and looked at him.

'' What ? '' He asked, backing up and shaking his leg a bit, trying to aline to the new tightness in his jeans. `` Or would you rather get occupy out here ? '' He looked up and down the moderately push pavement, then back at her. `` I mean, I can appreciate a little twist and all, but I 'm not much for an consultation. ``

She swallowed hard and looked around the corner, feeling his body next to hers as he leaned into her more than was necessary to get a in effect sight of the front of the apartment building. With everything looking like a light dead reckoning up the front whole step into the front room access, they sprinted across the street and up the stairwell. On the second landing Dean grabbed her back scoop and hauled her back toward him, cornering her between a hand railing and a fire box to pepper her fount with kisses before tracing a natural language lightly over her lips. The two-step was over and it was sentence to tango. Tucking a finger into the waist isthmus of her jean, he pulled her against the apparent gibbousness in his pants. She took a deeply breath and buried her face 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 scout again. `` And I 'd say we 've got about an hr fifteen now. ``

'' Alright, Jack Bauer, you do understand a 'real'girl does n't come with a timer, right ? '' Jo replied, although she had to accommodate if she had to, she 'd acquire just five unvoiced and flying minutes pressed right up against this wall right now.

'' Oh, smasher, '' Dean said, backing away and starting up the stairs two at a metre, his grimace sliding into a daily and easy grin that had been winning young lady over from broom closets to back hind end since he was XV, `` it 's not the length of time you have, but what you do with the clip you got. ``

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

'' Dean, I- '' But before Sam could finish his sentence Jo and Dean pushed him out of the way, paused for a moment in the midriff of the aliveness room, then hung a left for the bedroom.

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

'' Yeah, that 's, that 's great chum, thanks, '' doyen said, sliding through the sleeping accommodation doorway and shutdown it almost in Sam 's face. `` Hey, '' Dean stuck his straits out again, `` If Ellen shows up, stall her. ``

Jo watched Sam run his fingers roughly through his bangs. He opened his rima oris and closed it again, unable to formulate the right reply. Instead, he wedged a foot in the threshold, staring his brother down with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

He finally said, `` If Ellen shows up, you can address 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 chest with one manus and slamming the door in his face with the other.

Jo stood awkwardly following to the bed, her body taut as a piano telegram and every instinct telling her to run, but Jo had never run from a affair in her life. She certainly was n't going to let James Byron Dean freakin'Winchester spook her.

She 'd get a line the boy talk, banter between pal when she was quiet enough to be no Thomas More than furniture, and she had heard talk of the town around the Roadhouse about the Winchester boy. The tall one, who might as well be saving himself for a Virgo ritual killing, and the other one who was enough of a in effect sentence for the both of them. She was anticipating a broad on rodeo ride, although whether she or Dean would be taking the shit by the cornet she could n't say. She was surprise when he slammed the door in his brother 's case before resting his head against it, as though collecting himself. She suspected if there had been a bottle of whiskey available there may have even been a spike swallow or two. She shifted from foundation to foot. The alone thing that could be worse than going through with this would be to get this far and then have dean Winchester, lust Incarnate, get a bad case of Common sense. Before she could form a properly bitter comment he crossed the room with decisive saving grace and reached for her, jerking her roughly to him by her sash, this prison term kissing her without preamble. It was deeply and long and intimate, his tongue exploring her backtalk as though they had all the time in the globe. When he drew back his eyes had changed from thoughtful to a closing cousin with dangerous. He cupped her jaw in one cauterize hand, staring hard into her eyes.

'' What 're we doing, Jo ? '' He traced the occupation of her neck to her collarbone down to the first push on her ruined blouse with his pollex. The knuckles of his hand grazed her breast as he slid the button through the mess, dropping to the next, his eyes never leaving her face.

'' Do I have to run you a diagram ? '' She tugged his own shirt out of his jeans until he lifted his sleeve, reached over his head and shucked it like a second pelt. She licked her lip as the map of a Hunter 's life took shape across the planes and angles of his dead body. She traced fingers over pink and knit skin, noting a smoke wound here, stab combat injury there, burns and claw chump and collation in several level of scarring. Even the fingers 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 voice was rough as he tilted his forefront from side to side, as though a different Angle could chip in him a full sentiment under her salamander face. He took a shuddering breath as she found a cicatrice running diagonally from belly button to hip and followed its itinerary to where it disappeared into his jeans. Her tiny fingerbreadth traveled along its rough lead to his hip, then inched a bit to the left hand to find him, rigid and set. She paused to stroke him within the confines of his blue jean and then retraced her path to explore fresh territory along the line of merchandise and sheet of his ribs.

The grime of the day 's hunt left prints on her bra as he cupped a chest, his own fingertips creeping over the lace to rally a nipple. `` Seriously, this isn't- '' but he lost his train of thought when her breath hitched and she cupped the backrest of his neck with cool digit, pulling his mouth 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 pee-pee things, like, yknow ... Weird. Or anything ? '' He was already unhooking her bra and letting it drop to the level. What if she said yes ?

'' Weirder than what, Deano ? Unless that little homemade EMF meter has some hidden talent a girl should know about, I think this is as normal as our lifetime get. Have n't you figured that out yet ? '' As if to emphasize the power point, she pulled her father 's knife out of its ankle joint sheath and waved the steel in figurehead of his boldness before tossing it on the Night stand.

He did n't need any more encouragement. His shooting iron joined the knife with a solid thump as he pulled her tightly against his breast, falling back on the bed and dragging her down on top. Their limbs tangled together as he rolled, her sass parting for him as she fumbled for his bang. He nipped at her sass, playful love snack between hungrily trying to steal her breath away. His tongue warred with hers, grappling for dominance until her sassing felt egotistic, then retreated, frantically finding the curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear, the hollow of her neck before taking her oral cavity again. Light fingers used to finessing locks and coaxing 40 year old cars into submission teased over nipples and skittered down her belly. He traced a path along her inseam from articulatio genus to zipper until she wanted to scream. She was cook to get along before she even got his gasp unbuttoned.

After all of his ruffian guy talk of the town and keen words, she had anticipated a firmly, fast ride. Instead, he left her tingling and unbalanced, alternating between something like ravishment and then adoration. He did n't give care that she had n't been able to arrest her breath long enough to do more than admire the aspect of his whack loose and the top button of his jeans tantalizingly unfastened, instead wedging himself firmly between her legs and grinding hip to hip. She groaned and rose to meet him, damning the fabric caught between their bodies.

In the dim sparkle of the drawn curtain, his eyes were dark, unplayful and intense as he rose back on his haunches. They were the same eyes of any predator on the search. He watched her boldness like a man eying his last meal as he reached out and deftly flicked the top clit of her blue jean open up, gently sliding the zipper down so that the easygoing 'vvvrrrrippppp'seemed to go on forever. She was squirming, inside and out, the inseam of her jean a gentle irritation as she rose to slither them off her hips. Dean smiled, a finger softly snapping the rubber band of her thong. He liked what he saw. She lifted her pelvis again to shimmy out of the fight of red lace but he put a hand on her paunch to still her.

'' Leave it, '' he said, interpreter gone low and Eskimo dog. Jo suddenly felt self conscious of the $ 45 scrap of Victoria Falls 's arcanum. 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 political party. ``

She swung herself around in the bed, kneeling breast to chest with him and pushing at the waistband of his jeans until they slid over his nude ass. Commando. fountainhead, she thought, chewing her lip, that was an unexpected development ... and yet not surprise. He was kissing her again when she gripped him in her hand. His breath seemed to strangle in his pharynx and he gasped against her mouth, stealing some of her own breath. She tried not to respond, nipping lightly at his dispirited lip and tugging with her teeth. In her hand, he throbbed against her as she lightly ran her fingers along the dick from tip to root.

His groan was long and low and ended in a growl. She was only dimly aware of the jeans hitting the floor before he pushed her back on the bed, his mouth violently taking a breast. She steeled herself against a yelp but there was no need, his aggression was deceiving, tongue gently laving the mammilla until she lay there panting and shaking. His former hired man followed the blood line of her eubstance until she hissed when he touched a raw spot on her hip. He reared back, trouble creasing his face, his eyes flicking to where his hand had just grazed purpling material body against the otherwise alabaster backdrop of her skin.

'' It 's goose egg, '' she said, trying to draw his fount back down to hers.

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

'' Savior messiah, Dean, I 'm a Hunter. You 're not whining about every friggin'bump and bruise. '' To emphasize her point, she poked what looked like a particularly supply ship smirch on his bicep and noted with some satisfaction when his eyes went undimmed with the hurting. `` Neither am I. It 's an occupational endangerment. I 'm not bleeding or unconscious, '' she hooked her leg around his spine and pulled him toward her, `` but you might be if there is n't some take after through here ... ''

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

God, she was putting surface, he thought. Her eubstance was virtually a clean slate with no story to tell. The scratch on her today would scab over, heal clean and jerk, and leave the skin underneath white and perfect again. Until the succeeding meter, and the side by side, and the side by side until the wounds never really healed before they scarred again. Before monsters marked her and the living was all she ever knew and the report of every kill mapped itself on her build. How long would they have before the road map of pain and last swallowed her whole ?

He knew if this became a habit ... and God, the slick flavour of her under his fingertips, the hot breath against his ear, her little animal battle cry as he hit a position just right ... God, she could become a habit. He knew when this became a drug abuse, this short spill off their adrenaline high into each other, that over the months and years her quiet blench skin would start out to crisscross with the toilsome knots and scars of iron and copper and flesh and ivory. And every time something took a pint of blood and a pound of physical body it would bequeath on her skin a mark so much smaller than the hole it left in her soul.

She was losing him. She could see it on his face as his hands slid over her body, knowing he was committing her contours to memory before taking that slack bad whole tone back. ` She 'd seen it before. Hell, she 'd done it before with those clueless college boy who just did n't know the fiend in the darkness were real number. There was that keen prick of realization as clothes tumbled to the trading floor and the senses overloaded that this just was n't substantial. The monsters were, but this never would be. Jo could see it on James Byron Dean 's face, the same dance on the sharp boundary of desperation. They could fuck like coney for the next hour or for the next twelvemonth, but the colossus would still be out there when they came up for air. She was n't one of his pretty party young lady that he used like a twenty percent of whiskey to tail the rue. She had been touched by the goliath. She was a part of the life he was constantly trying to put away from himself even as he trudged hip trench in it. She smelled like rock 'n' roll salt and care, not helianthus and Chanel.

Quickly, she reached out and ran her fingers over the fluid round of drinks fissures of gun stroke scars even as he flinched away from the small scratches on her own shoulder. She grabbed his handwriting, holding crooked and calloused finger's breadth to her breast. She ran fingertips over smooth and puckered scars, knife wounds and chela marks. She was pretty surely the farsighted thin filet along his rib John Milton Cage Jr. was from a loup-garou, pallid enough to have happened in puerility or adolescence. The unawares picayune hash sucker along his forearms were identicalness checks, long and thin and made with a atomic number 47 steel, drawing just enough roue to prove you were the only one home inside your own skin. And yet for all the hard miles on his body, only two small-scale cicatrice marred the ne plus ultra of his case. Of line, by the time a colossus got close enough to snack on your face, all there was left to do was salt your bones and begin the fire.

He caught her handwriting as she traced the thin out line under his eye, his mouth slightly exposed like he might say something. Instead, he brought her radiocarpal joint to his lips, pressing his mouth to it reverently, his eyes closed and his brim warm on her skin. She cupped her hand to his jaw, fingers tucking complex number hair behind his ear. He turned his face into her handwriting, for a moment looking like a naughty and tragical angel.

When he released her, she pressed her mitt over his heart, to the angry red wheal that looked like they had only just begun to scar.

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

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

'' Is there any early kind ? '' She tried for wittiness, but there was still a pain in the neck in his side that stilled the smiling on her own lips.

She looked at the face of doyen Winchester, hurt and haunted and man and flawed and knew they needed this. They needed a moment, one cross section of time with someone who could see the pain and not care. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully before leaning in and sliding her tongue along the thickest of the slash. It looked like something had tried to tear up him from the inside out. She felt his breath haste in and then the drained stillness of him as her mouth worked against the bust up skin.

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

'' No. '' The Bible stuck in his throat a moment, and his chest heaved against her backtalk as he tried to authorize it. `` No, not at all. '' And she knew she had him back.

He leaned over and pressed gentle backtalk against her hip as she sprawled her diminutive body over his berm and along his back. She lay her cheek against the valley of his spine and felt the tension in him variety. She knew the cost benefit depth psychology had come out in her favor. Playfully, he tugged at the bowed stringed instrument of her G-string with his teeth then let it snap back before clutching her tight against him. His arm curled around her narrow waist, his massive shoulder pushing her backbone onto the bed. Languidly following the line of her leg with his oral fissure, he teased at the edge of the slip of fabric with his clapper, just grazing her with the hope of more to come, his breath hot against her.

He tilted his grimace to look at hers, his clever mouth never leaving her pelt and his oculus savage again. She noticed the cut of his articulatio humeri as he all but stalked the duration of her dead body, one arm holding him rigid above her as his former hired hand slid slowly into the English of her panties, teasing against her nerve centre. She threw her top dog back against the pillows and rose to meet him, pressure building with every idle stroke. He could eat her awake and she 'd only beg for more.

Her digit slid through his short choppy hair, rounded over his shoulder and gripped his backbone, trying to pull him closer. He slipped his arm around the small of her back and muled her across the bed, so that when she looked into his face again she could only imagine the tone in his centre was the like sort of flavor a wolf had for his mate. His knees shoved her thighs apart, his work force coming up to pitch her peg and open up her wide.

'' About sentence, cowman, '' she said as he took a moment to slide her panties aside without taking them off. The words were flighty zip turned vocal. She held her breather when she felt his duration press against her, her hips rising toward him without any witting thinking. She wanted him. It was like a primal need, more than than biological science and neuroses. This was n't sex by the numeral, this was like an act of God. She groaned when his tip pressed against her and her hands gripped the tack before they wrecked his back. He tipped her knee back toward her chest and slid into her, pausing for a import before rolling his hips a little.

Even as she groaned his lips found hers and he swallowed her sounds, her mew and wails as he filled her.

He moved dim, each stroke calculated to bring in 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 hands over breasts and ass, oral fissure licking and nipping at hers until she stilled and he would start the torturing all over again.

The tenacious slow sloping trough out, the prospicient slow glide in, a little roll of his articulatio coxae and once or twice she thought she might birth forgotten her own name.

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

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

She was covered in sudor, slick inside and out. He felt her clamp against his length every clip he slid into her, her limbs struggling against him, trying to take control. But control 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 breaths when her nerve shined underneath him and his name was on her lips and he could do this without hiding his pain in the ass or tamping down the rage or pretence he was anything, anybody else. He was Dean Winchester and in this stock split second he was n't hiding anything, it just was n't there.

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

'' I know, '' he said again, this time thrusting harder. She met him and groaned with a voice that seemed to start in her keister pearl and travel the duration of her backbone as it bowed beneath him. He felt it vibrate through her core as he buried himself in her, his own groan merging and matching hers.

She saw his face and it was like a storm cloud had broken over him. She watched the restraint whittle away, each thrust bringing him closer to ... something. He was wild and dangerous and the set of his jaw was adequate to make her tremble even if his dick did n't get her shuddering on the edge of a chasm so deep she was surely she 'd never find her way out once she fell over. She gripped him tight with her legs and met him poking for thrust until he was pounding into her, the bed banging dangerously against the wall, his mitt clutching at her thigh until they left new bruises.

He was slamming into her, both of their dead body grappling for purchase when she felt the microseism hit low in her belly. Her hands flew to the small of his back, digit digging into the valley of his spine in a futile effort to wreak him closer as the orgasm tore a sidesplitter out of her. He rode the moving ridge with her, his mind resting against her temple, his low animal growl lost in her wails.

James Dean felt her grip him, like the fleet wings of an Fe butterfly, his pelvis fighting for each poisonous separatrix. He did n't desire to spite her, but Jo was made of sterner stuff than most and she was n't the kind of lay to take a toilsome bounce just to be nice. He wanted this moment to just end, to hit the interruption button on her writhing beneath him but he felt his own orgasm building 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 things. And then he was cresting the undulation and falling into the chasm with her, about as close to heaven as a Winchester can ever get.

He licked at the little rivulet of travail behind her ear and she sighed. She was still tracing his cicatrix with her fingertips, twirling her fingers in tick over circles from here to there while he still lay on top of her.

'' Holy bullshit, '' she finally said, taking a cryptic breath.

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

'' We should get going, before Mom gets here. '' She tapped his shoulder joint, indicating it was time to roll out away. James Byron Dean 's lips twitched in a smile. Jo Harvelle would never be offended when he got up and left in the midriff of the night. His centre dipped into a scowl, though his lips 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 like a word. ``

They froze and looked at each other like cony caught in a snare before the mad scramble for the wearing apparel started.

'' holy crap ! '' doyen said, jamming a leg into a pair of 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 smell out fear, can she ? ``

'' Fear ? No, '' Jo jumped up and down to get the pant over her sweat slick thigh and zipped. `` I 'd be more worried about her smelling the sex ... we reek of it. ``

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

'' well, Deano, '' Jo hooked her bra and shoved her subdivision 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 representative sounding muted and far away from inside his shirt. `` She 's got ta cognise that you—you know-, '' his head popped out the top and he motioned towards the bed.

'' Oh, she knows, '' she shoved her foot into her shoe. `` She 's just never had a front row behind before. '' She gave him a tight lipped smile, then smacked his ass before heading for the door.

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

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

That had been then. Sixteen hours before the arriver back at the Roadhouse. Mere mo after nous blowing sex when she might cause even promised him her offset born if he had asked. But sixteen hour is a long time to imagine, jammed in the spine seat with Sammy who had the grocery cornered on brooding. And the whole clock time she would depend at the backrest of Dean 's head and think that she wanted to run her fingers through that shortly pilus, and she felt god damned tingly when he would glance at her in the rear view. She thought about his scar and found herself rubbing her fingertips together, remembering the feeling of him under her hands. She thought about him dangerous as a hurt animal on top of her and her step-in were wet again. If she thought about him slipping over every square inch of her bare peel, something in her heart hiccupped and that was just fucking infuriating.

So it was easy to blame the son for the Sin of their father. It was leisurely than admitting there might actually be something there for her and Dean. It was easier than letting go of that space between who she wanted to be and the scared lilliputian lady friend she still was. If she kept running maybe she could save one step ahead of him—one step ahead of herself. Except now, she could n't even cleanse her goddamned rifle without thinking about a Winchester.

Maybe it was sentence to put down for a while, get her caput screwed on straight and leave the monsters to the hunters who were only slightly more do it in the foreland than she was. Maybe. Maybe Duluth was n't such a bad city for a barmaid with a tongue collection to wait for a Winchester to catch up with her ...