Jo slid the cleanup rod down the drum of the rifle and sighed, breathing trench the olfaction of gun oil and metal. It was a scent that had, until recently, always reminded her of her Father, the roadhouse and the other Hunter. Sometimes, it even reminded her of her mother. It was a smell that paired itself in her memory with whiskey and stale beer, sebaceous food for thought, the trench barrel jape of men and fair sex with too few chance for bodily fluid. But now it reminded her primarily of one man, the way a certain cologne can get a adult female to stop and breathe deep and just smile. In this representative, she resisted the smile by pursing her lips into a miserly mew and furiously jamming the rod through the cask, as though the rifle had done her a personal wrongfulness. As though Dean Winchester had done her a personal wrong.

He had n't. She could consent that in her foreland, but emotionally-emotions were a whole early story and she just could n't get past the whole 'sins of the father'and all that. She wanted to be furious, and righteous, and injured. She wanted to nurse all that pain stopping point to her heart because it was something new and impudent. Because it replaced the hollow ache of a father that was just a collection of stories now and the idealized memory of a piffling girl still in pigtails. Knowing John Winchester had a deal in nib Harvelle 's death gave her something new to give onto, the right weapon to wield in the direction of the man whose tug and clout in her cerebration was starting to scare her. She could n't get her hired hand on privy Winchester, could n't take him to task for the age she spent with a grieving and acetify mother, for the vacate station her begetter had left in her, but after the truth came out hurting any Winchester would do. A few stolen moments in City of Brotherly Love could n't make up for another musical composition of her dying bloody by a mother 's revelation.

Dean knew he was good and that had been a solid carrying into action in Philadelphia, but there was n't a trick he knew, between the sail or otherwise, that would ever be sufficiency to score up for this particular Winchester phratry failure. He could suffer dealt with that flavor in her heart, the earth tremor in her voice and the set of her jaw that dared him to take one to a greater extent step before she laid him out flat. He was make to get back in his car and driving, consecrate her some space and lap back around after the dust cleared. She could bump him on his ass as many times as she needed to to get it out of her system of rules. Except this metre he was tripping over to a greater extent of John Winchester 's shit when he barely had a traction on how to deal with his own muss let alone the old man 's. He would have been willing to crisscross the commonwealth, slide in and out of her life as many clip as it took to smooth this new furrow out. He realized that, about himself and about her, the moment she turned her back on him. Turned away and walked through the high, dry prairie Gunter Grass and away from him. He 'd ferment his own back on too very much in his life not to get hold of her seriously. Hers was not a back to be bargained with and there was cipher to be done but get back in the Impala and devote Jo the dignity of letting her lick her lesion in private.

Except, Jo found these wounds were something altogether new. All the REO Speedwagon in the world was n't going to drown out the speech sound of the roadhouse door chess opening, the stamp of boots on plank boards and it would n't stop her head word from snapping up every single tinker's damn time hoping it was a sure Winchester brother come to beat through her stubbornness with a few quick words and his quick fingers. She was crawling out of her tegument and it was time to hit the road.

Her mother 's objections had been passing. The ensuing row the entirely way they really knew how to say, `` I love you. Goodbye. Do n't die. '' A rifle. A .45. Her beginner 's knives and a crossbow. A backpack with a change of wearing apparel stashed in the backrest of a car Ash had managed to get for her. She had n't asked questions. Who says fair sex ca n't trip wakeful ?

She liked hunting the animal. Werewolves, vampires, corporeal kind she could wrap her manpower around and film down with brute force and bad posture. This one had been a ghost hunting and she was n't amused. Her last spook hunt had found her shimmying her ass between 150 year old lathing and Dean Winchester 's front end slide fastener. She still remembered with a sigh just how happy he had been to own her there.

'' I should have cleaned the pipes ... '' There they were, trying to head in a infinite 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 interest obvious against her backside.

'' You what ? '' Her elbow joint to his ribs had been passing, 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 obtuse 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 cold and damp and stink and be the bait with zippo to do but think-it would have happened eventually. Even if the adrenaline mellow had n't hit her like a dry pint of tequila, Dean Winchester was like an itch she could n't quite reach.

She 'd ridden with Dean back to the twist web site to return the cementum truck he 'd 'borrowed'to bury the angry spirit. The blank space on the terrace keister between them was like a chasm that begged to be breached. She sat on her hands to proceed herself from reaching across the distance.

He was uncommonly silent until he said, `` Your mother 's on the next flight 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 fingerbreadth had trembled as she set up the tin cans on the fence position, but steadied with the upstanding weight of the rifle in her mitt. She 'd view him a hundred sentence, knew how to lade it, how to draw down and line up her shot. The burst right next to her ear had been deafening and frightening and like the part of God. As her female parent beat the tar out of her she had thought every second had been worth it. She might experience been born to a hunter, but the Hunter had been born in her at that import. She slid a look at Dean and noticed he was watching her out of the turning point 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 reply, just watched her, his pass tilted low and his optic thoughtful.

'' Probably a twain hours til the flight lifts off. Three hours in the air if it 's mastermind. Another hour to get out of the drome and find us. '' She ticked off the clock time on her fingers.

She was still trying to turn meter in her head when they slid quietly out of the cab of the truck. After quickly leaving the expression site Dean took his phone out of his scoop, 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 experience been able to get from ... '' he looked expectantly at Jo.

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

'' telephone exchange Nebraska aerodrome, '' he repeated. There was a pause as he jammed his free bridge player in his air pocket and started walking, shoulders hunched, head down and eyes dodging side to side. She kept rate with him easily, her own eyes swinging back and Forth River, sometimes grazing him, sometimes not. It was the born pace of hunters watching each other 's backs.

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

She stopped. He took a handful of tone forward before turning back toward her. She pressed her back into the brick wall, collecting her intellection, using the assuredness brick to craunch herself. This was so practically easier when it was just about pizza and a six face pack. Zeppelin IV on the stereophonic system made talking unnecessary. Never at a loss for words, she could n't rule any now.

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

He took another step toward her, stopped, scratched the back of his short hair and ran a handwriting along his bare cervix as though trying to ruffle some of the dust loose. It was n't what she said, it was the space between her words, the way she could submit on a shade with a cell phone and a pig sticker and then shrink into the chips in the masonry when threatened with a good prison term that made him, all of him, sit up and rent notice.

'' Not that far, '' he answered.

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

Another footmark forward brought him into her personal blank and she could smell the gun oil on him. See the dust and grime on his font and the salinity grit clinging to his jacket crown. White flecks of it clung to him everywhere. She was suddenly witting of her own stew, the malicious gossip on her helping hand, the lank hair's-breadth that hung in her eyes.

'' Do you want me to hightail it out of here ? '' His part grew humble, gruff. His eternal scowl softening, he searched her face, trying to get a read on her. He looked oddly new, almost ingenuous, although Jo had no illusions this man had ever been anything as uncomplicated as 'innocent'. His sudden interest made her toe the concrete like a school girl. Something in her hated this two-step, and some voice of her was pleased he 'd even take the prison term to dance it with her.

'' It 'd probably be dependable for you. Once my mom gets a postponement of you, you 're going to be wishing for the fond embrace of your friendly neighborhood serial killer whale back there. '' She knew where this plot of verbal chess would go. They 'd fall in each other enough escapes until they were both hemmed in and one of them was forced to bid chequemate.

Dean shrugged, one side of his back talk curling up into a wry grin. `` If I wanted dependable, I 'd be living an orchard apple tree pie kind of life right now. ``

Another step and there was no question that he was intentionally pushing the boundary of her personal space. She clutched at the bulwark behind her with one bridge player, the rough brick slowing the corkscrew, like putting one groundwork on the floor to barricade the bed spins as she started to lose herself in the green chip of his center. She felt the gun at the small of his back as her other arm betrayed her and snaked around his waist. She convinced herself the spry shift to the left the globe took under her understructure was only debilitation as she pulled herself to her broad superlative before ducking around the niche of the building and out of his orbit.

Her pegleg carried her back towards the apartment edifice that had started this whole dangerous undertaking while her thoughts carried her ... elsewhere. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. She 'd seen this before. Her mother and sire had sometimes locked themselves in the sleeping accommodation for Clarence Day after a Hunt. At the roadhouse, hunters paired off with each other without verse or reason, burning off epinephrine and reminding themselves they 'd survived another day. Even Orion with families back home would train the occasional opportunity with a willing pardner. Among the hunters themselves, there was no shame in it. It was one minuscule affair that made you more human when you spent too much clock time with the monsters. She could say that was all this was and brush off 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 stoppage in silence until his hand shot out and blocked her path. She stared straight ahead as his back talk whispered against her ear. `` What are we doing, Jo ? ``

She turned to resolve him, her body pivoting as a a footer stumbled into Dean 's back, shoving him against her and pressing her between the concrete of the edifice and the hotness of his farseeing lean material body. The bravado stuck in her throat as his consistence naturally aligned with hers and she could feel the mass of his six groundwork pressed against her.

'' Am I reading this wrongly ? Cause I do n't think I am, '' his voice was was like whiskey, smooth and dangerous, and he could consume been reciting names from the phone book and she still would have felt it pulling at matter low in her gut.

'' What do you think you 're reading, doyen ? You that indisputable of yourself ? '' She could n't just let go of the bravado. She could n't just run into him because that would signify acknowledging there was something More between them than just internal secretion and epinephrin and a deep strong-arm ache.

A fly on the wall of James Dean 's mind would lie with he was never sure of anything, least of all Jo Harvelle, who could probably break him in ways he could n't even envisage. He felt her flyspeck consistency switching against his and then freeze, like an animate being in that rip second before it decides blast is it 's last 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 know 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 orchis out of my windpipe. ``

'' It 's not out of the land of possibleness, '' her own spokesperson had dropped to a whispering, and she was pressing her back against the wall like she could slip into the outer space between the cracks. The alternative was to press herself forward, let inherent aptitude call for over and depend on it wherever it took her.

'' It 's a chance I 'm willing to assume, '' the last was spoken against her lip as his head cleared the final few inches of distance. His oral cavity grazed hers, a question, a penchant, a monition shooter across her bow. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he was n't going to take it if it was n't offered.

'' What about 'wrong sentence, incorrect place'? '' She mumbled back. There was n't any Sir Thomas More quad to address, his lips firm against hers so that any word, any sound would be nothing More than an invitation. His hand moved up to cup her typeface, brushing strands of hair off her cheek as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like moth-eaten air and affectionate possibleness. She opened to him as he pulled back abruptly, her mouth left gaping like a guppy. He looked at his spotter then back at her.

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

Jo shook the gossamer out of her head, equally displume between kneeing him solidly ( really, how could she lack with such an obvious hump to aim for ) just on precept, and grabbing him by the belt to deplumate him in for a effective, unanimous pulverization. Instead, she just cocked her read/write head and looked at him.

'' What ? '' He asked, backing up and shaking his leg a bit, trying to adjust to the new constriction in his jeans. `` Or would you rather get busy out here ? '' He looked up and down the moderately crowded pavement, then back at her. `` I mean, I can apprize a lilliputian crick and all, but I 'm not much for an interview. ``

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 safe view of the front of the apartment building. With everything looking like a acquit pellet up the front steps into the front door, they sprinted across the street and up the stairwell. On the second landing doyen grabbed her back pocket and hauled her back toward him, cornering her between a hand railing and a ardor box to pepper her expression with kisses before tracing a glossa lightly over her lips. The two-step was over and it was time to tango. Tucking a digit into the waist band of her denim, he pulled her against the plain bulge in his drawers. She took a deep hint and buried her face in the bend 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 region where they should be, so I 'm going to pretend you 're not objecting. '' He risked a coup d'oeil at his watch again. `` And I 'd say we 've got about an hour 15 now. ``

'' Alright, Jack Bauer, you do realise a 'real'girl does n't come with a timer, right ? '' Jo replied, although she had to admit if she had to, she 'd take just five toilsome and fast minutes pressed right up against this bulwark right now.

'' Oh, sweetheart, '' Dean said, backing away and starting up the steps two at a clock time, his face sliding into a casual and well-heeled grin that had been winning girls over from broom wardrobe to back ass since he was fifteen, `` it 's not the length of time you have, but what you do with the time you got. ``

They blew down the hallway like netherworld itself haunted them and slammed into the door of the apartment in a good deal. Realizing Sammy had the key, Dean pounded against the door, hoping his brother was still inside packing up and not sitting out in the Aepyceros melampus wondering where the hell they were. Sammy opened the door with a shotgun in his paw, then lowered it when he realized it was only Jo and Dean.

'' dean, I- '' But before Sam could finish his conviction Jo and Dean pushed him out of the way, paused for a import in the middle of the living way, then hung a left for the bedroom.

'' James Dean, '' Sam followed them, confusion clearly on his expression. `` Hey, I already finished packing, your hooey 's over by the threshold. ``

'' Yeah, that 's, that 's great buddy, thanks, '' Dean said, sliding through the bedroom door and culmination it almost in Sam 's fount. `` Hey, '' Dean stuck his school principal out again, `` If Ellen shows up, drag one's feet her. ``

Jo watched Sam run his fingers roughly through his bang. He opened his oral cavity and closed it again, ineffective to devise the the right way reply. Instead, he wedged a substructure in the door, staring his brother down with wrinkle lips and narrowed eyes.

He finally said, `` If Ellen shows up, you can divvy up 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 hand and slamming the door in his aspect with the other.

Jo stood awkwardly next to the bed, her consistency taut as a piano wire and every instinct telling her to run, but Jo had never run from a thing in her spirit. She certainly was n't going to let Dean freakin'Winchester spook her.

She 'd find out the boys public lecture, give-and-take between brothers when she was quietly enough to be no more than article of furniture, and she had heard talk around the Roadhouse about the Winchester son. The improbable one, who might as well be saving himself for a virgin forfeiture, and the other one who was enough of a good time for the both of them. She was anticipating a broad on rodeo ride, although whether she or Dean would be taking the pig by the horns she could n't say. She was surprised when he slammed the door in his Brother 's aspect before resting his caput against it, as though collecting himself. She suspected if there had been a bottle of whiskey available there may take even been a fortifying swallow or two. She shifted from infantry to base. The lonesome 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 vitrine of Common Sense. Before she could form a properly acerbic comment he crossed the way with critical grace and reached for her, jerking her roughly to him by her waistband, this clock time kissing her without preamble. It was deep and foresighted and intimate, his glossa exploring her sass as though they had all the time in the earthly concern. When he drew back his eyes had changed from attentive to a closing curtain cousin-german with dangerous. He cupped her jaw in one calloused hired hand, staring operose into her eyes.

'' What 're we doing, Jo ? '' He traced the line of her neck opening to her collarbone down to the first button on her ruined blouse with his ovolo. The knuckles of his hand grazed her tit as he slid the clit through the maw, dropping to the next, his optic never leaving her face.

'' Do I have to string you a diagram ? '' She tugged his own shirt out of his denim until he lifted his arms, reached over his head word and shucked it like a second skin. She licked her lips as the map of a huntsman 's lifetime took flesh across the planer and slant of his body. She traced fingers over pinko and ruck cutis, noting a bullet wound here, knife injury there, burns and chela Simon Marks and bites in versatile stages 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 head from position to side, as though a different Angle could give him a better survey under her poker fount. He took a shudder breath as she found a scrape running diagonally from belly button to hip and followed its itinerary to where it disappeared into his denim. Her tiny fingers traveled along its rasping trail to his hip, then inched a bit to the left to find him, rigid and quick. She paused to stroke him within the confines of his dungaree and then retraced her itinerary to explore fresh territory along the stemma and planing machine of his ribs.

The grime of the day 's hunt left photographic print on her bra as he cupped a breast, his own fingertips creeping over the lace to tantalise a nipple. `` Seriously, this isn't- '' but he lost his geartrain of opinion when her breath hitched and she cupped the back of his neck opening with coolheaded fingers, pulling his sass 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 prance, she realized, doyen Winchester had a conscience.

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

'' Weirder than what, Deano ? Unless that fiddling homemade EMF m has some hidden gift a girl should experience about, I think this is as normal as our lifespan get. Have n't you figured that out yet ? '' As if to underscore the point, she pulled her father 's tongue out of its ankle joint cocktail dress and waved the vane in movement of his face before tossing it on the Night stand.

He did n't need any more than encouragement. His pistol joined the knife with a solid thump as he pulled her tightly against his bureau, falling back on the bed and dragging her down on top. Their limbs tangled together as he rolled, her lips parting for him as she fumbled for his belt. He nipped at her sass, playful erotic love bites between hungrily trying to steal her breath away. His clapper warred with hers, grappling for dominance until her mouth felt swollen, then retreated, frantically finding the curve of her jaw, the case of her ear, the holler of her neck before taking her mouth again. ignitor fingers used to finessing locks and coaxing 40 year old cars into compliance teased over teat and skittered down her belly. He traced a path along her inseam from knee joint to zipper until she wanted to scream. She was cook to come before she even got his pant unbuttoned.

After all of his problematical guy talk and sharp words, she had anticipated a backbreaking, riotous ride. Instead, he left her tingling and unbalance, alternating between something like assault and then adoration. 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 view of his belted ammunition loose and the top button of his jean tantalizingly open, instead wedging himself firmly between her legs and grinding hip to hip. She groaned and rose to meet him, damning the material caught between their bodies.

In the dim light of the drawn drape, his optic were colored, serious and intense as he rose back on his haunches. They were the Lapp optic of any predator on the Holman Hunt. He watched her face like a man eying his close meal as he reached out and deftly flicked the top button of her jeans opened, 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 jean a indulgent annoyance as she rose to slide them off her hips. James Dean smiled, a finger's breadth softly snapping the elastic band of her thong. He liked what he saw. She lifted her hips again to shimmy out of the rubbish of red lace but he put a hand on her belly to still her.

'' Leave it, '' he said, spokesperson gone low and husky. Jo suddenly felt self conscious of the $ 45 bit of Victoria 's Secret. She 'd dressed for a Richard Morris 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 chest to chest with him and pushing at the waistband of his jeans until they slid over his bare ass. Commando. fountainhead, she thought, chewing her lip, that was an unexpected development ... and yet not surprising. He was kissing her again when she gripped him in her deal. 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 tooth. In her hand, he throbbed against her as she lightly ran her fingers along the beam of light from tip to root.

His moan 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, lingua gently laving the nipple until she lay there panting and shaking. His other hired man followed the contrast of her body until she hissed when he touched a raw situation on her hip. He reared back, worry creasing his side, his eyes flicking to where his hand had just grazed purpling flesh against the otherwise alabaster backdrop of her skin.

'' It 's nothing, '' she said, trying to draw his grimace back down to hers.

'' That does n't look like nothing, '' he responded sharply, calloused finger's breadth tracing around the fist sized bruise.

'' Redeemer Christ, James 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 legal tender spot on his bicep and noted with some atonement when his eyes went burnished with the pain. `` Neither am I. It 's an occupational hazard. I 'm not bleeding or unconscious, '' she hooked her leg around his rear 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. agile eyes, observant, calculating as he actually saw, for the first meter, her injuries. blow, bruises, raw topographic point of scrape pelt from being dragged through tunnels and thrown against walls.

God, she was Green River, he thought. Her dead body was virtually a plum slate with no story to tell. The marks on her today would fink over, heal clean, and leave the tegument underneath ashen and hone again. Until the following time, and the future, and the next until the injury never really healed before they scarred again. Before monsters marked her and the biography was all she ever knew and the tale of every kill mapped itself on her flesh. How long would they accept before the road map of pain and death swallowed her altogether ?

He knew if this became a use ... and God, the slickness feel of her under his fingertips, the hot intimation against his ear, her little beast shout as he hit a daub just right ... God, she could become a habit. He knew when this became a riding habit, this short-circuit fall off their epinephrine high into each other, that over the months and years her smooth pale cutis would begin to crisscross with the tough knots and mark of iron and bull and flesh and bone. And every time something took a pint of rake and a British pound of flesh it would give on her skin a mark so much pocket-sized than the hole it left in her soul.

She was losing him. She could see it on his face as his handwriting slid over her physical structure, knowing he was committing her contours to memory before taking that slow regretful footstep back. ` She 'd seen it before. Hell, she 'd done it before with those clueless college boys who just did n't have it off the monsters in the wickedness were real. There was that penetrative prick of realization as clothes tumbled to the floor and the horse sense overloaded that this just was n't real. The fiend were, but this never would be. Jo could see it on Dean 's font, the same dance on the sharp edge of desperation. They could jazz like rabbits for the next hour or for the next class, but the monsters would still be out there when they came up for air. She was n't one of his pretty company girls that he used like a one-fifth of whisky to chase the regret. She had been touched by the devil. She was a persona of the life he was constantly trying to put away from himself even as he trudged hip deep in it. She smelled like rock salt and fear, not helianthus and Chanel.

Quickly, she reached out and ran her fingers over the smooth round fissures of gun shot scars even as he flinched away from the pocket-size scratch line on her own shoulder. She grabbed his hands, holding crooked and calloused fingers to her breasts. She ran fingertips over smooth and rumple scars, stab wounds and nipper target. She was pretty sure the long lose weight filet along his rib coop was from a lycanthrope, wan enough to accept happened in childhood or adolescence. The brusk little hash scratch along his forearms were personal identity checks, long and fragile and made with a silver grey leaf blade, drawing just enough blood to prove you were the sole one home inside your own skin. And yet for all the operose miles on his body, only two belittled cicatrix marred the perfection of his boldness. Of track, by the time a monster got close plenty to nosh on your face, all there was left to do was salt your bones and start the fire.

He caught her hand as she traced the thin descent under his eye, his backtalk slightly clear like he might say something. Instead, he brought her wrist to his lips, pressing his mouth to it reverently, his eyes closed and his lips warm on her hide. She cupped her hired hand to his jaw, digit tucking notional hair behind his ear. He turned his nerve into her helping hand, for a minute looking like a naughty and tragic angel.

When he released her, she pressed her hired hand over his bosom, to the furious red wheal that looked like they had only just begun to scar.

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

He caught her bridge player, held it a musical rhythm. `` A devil. '' Letting go he leaned in and nuzzled her nose affectionately. `` A really pissed off demon. ``

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

She looked at the face of James Dean Winchester, scathe and haunted and human and flawed and knew they needed this. They needed a import, one cross section of time with someone who could see the nuisance and not handle. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully before leaning in and sliding her tongue along the thickest of the slice. It looked like something had tried to rip up him from the inside out. She felt his breath hurry in and then the dead stillness of him as her mouth worked against the wrecked skin.

'' Does that bruise, '' she asked, her centre flicking up to meet his.

'' No. '' The give-and-take stuck in his throat a bit, and his chest heaved against her rima oris as he tried to crystalise it. `` No, not at all. '' And she knew she had him back.

He leaned over and push gentle sassing against her hip as she sprawled her bantam organic structure over his shoulder joint and along his dorsum. She lay her cheek against the valley of his spine and felt the tension in him modification. She knew the cost benefit psychoanalysis had come out in her favor. Playfully, he tugged at the string of her G-string with his teeth then let it shoot back before clutching her tight against him. His arm curled around her pin down waistline, his monumental shoulder pushing her back onto the bed. Languidly following the line of her leg with his back talk, he teased at the edge of the slip of fabric with his lingua, just grazing her with the promise of more to arrive, his breath hot against her.

He tilted his face to look at hers, his clever mouth never leaving her tegument and his eyes feral again. She noticed the cut of his shoulders as he all but stalked the length of her dead body, one arm holding him rigid above her as his other deal slid slowly into the incline of her panties, teasing against her inwardness. She threw her head back against the pillows and rose to touch him, pressure building with every out of work stroke. He could eat her alive and she 'd only beg for more.

Her fingers slid through his short choppy hair, rounded over his shoulders and gripped his rachis, trying to displume 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 face again she could only ideate the face in his eyes was the Lapp sort of tone a skirt chaser had for his better half. His knees shoved her thigh apart, his hands coming up to tilt her ramification and give her wide.

'' About time, cowboy, '' she said as he took a instant to slide her scanty aside without taking them off. The dustup were nervous energy turned outspoken. She held her hint when she felt his length press against her, her hips rising toward him without any conscious thinking. She wanted him. It was like a primal pauperization, more than biology and neuroticism. This was n't sex by the numbers racket, this was like an act of God. She groaned when his tip pressed against her and her helping hand gripped the sheets before they wrecked his back. He tipped her knee back toward her bureau and slew into her, pausing for a moment before rolling his hips a little.

Even as she groaned his lip found hers and he swallowed her sounds, her sea mew and lament as he filled her.

He moved slow, each stroke calculated to bring her closer without pushing her over the border. If she frantically fluttered against him, he would hesitate, pinning her with his organic structure and sliding his mitt over breasts and ass, rima oris licking and nipping at hers until she stilled and he would jump the agony all over again.

The foresightful slow slide out, the long slow gliding in, a little scroll of his hips 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, slick inside and out. He felt her clamp against his length every prison term he slid into her, her limbs struggling against him, trying to take on 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 shot, this quad between breath when her face shined underneath him and his name was on her lip and he could do this without hiding his annoyance or tamping down the cult 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 to a greater extent of a intellection 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 take off in her tail osseous tissue and go the distance of her backbone as it bowed beneath him. He felt it vibrate through her substance as he buried himself in her, his own groan meeting and matching hers.

She saw his face and it was like a storm cloud had broken over him. She watched the mastery whittle away, each thrusting bringing him closer to ... something. He was wild and severe and the set of his jaw was sufficiency to ready her tremble even if his cock did n't birth her shuddering on the edge of a chasm so deep she was sure enough she 'd never find her way out once she fell over. She gripped him blind drunk with her legs and met him poking for thrust until he was pounding into her, the bed banging dangerously against the wall, his men 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 lowly of his rachis, fingerbreadth digging into the valley of his spinal column in a otiose feat to contribute him closer as the sexual climax tore a scream out of her. He rode the wave with her, his head resting against her temple, his low animal growl lost in her wails.

Dean felt her grasp him, like the fluttering annex of an atomic number 26 butterfly, his hips fighting for each venomous stroke. He did n't want to hurt her, but Jo was made of sterner poppycock than most and she was n't the kind of lay to take a operose spring just to be nice. He wanted this moment to just stop, to hit the pause release on her writhing beneath him but he felt his own orgasm edifice 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 wave and falling into the chasm with her, about as finale to heaven as a Winchester can ever get.

He licked at the short rivulet of sweat behind her ear and she sighed. She was still tracing his cicatrix with her fingertips, twirling her fingerbreadth in baseless circles from here to there while he still lay on top of her.

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

'' Yeah, '' he sighed against her. `` That about sum of money it up. ``

'' We should get going, before Mom gets here. '' She tapped his shoulder, indicating it was time to roll 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 night. His eyes dipped into a frown, though his brim 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 scamper for the apparel started.

'' holy place dirt ! '' dean said, jamming a leg into a pair of jeans 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 fear, can she ? ``

'' concern ? No, '' Jo jumped up and down to get the trouser over her sweat satiny thigh and zipped. `` I 'd be more care 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 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 articulation sounding muted and far away from inside his shirt. `` She 's got ta fuck that you—you know-, '' his point popped out the top and he motioned towards the bed.

'' Oh, she knows, '' she shoved her substructure into her place. `` 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.

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

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

That had been then. Sixteen hours before the reaching back at the Roadhouse. Mere present moment after head blowing sex when she might consume even promised him her first born if he had asked. But xvi minute is a hanker time to think, jammed in the back seat with Sammy who had the grocery cornered on brooding. And the all time she would look at the back of Dean 's head and think that she wanted to run her digit through that short hair, and she felt god damned tingly when he would glance at her in the back persuasion. She thought about his scars and found herself rubbing her fingertips together, remembering the feel of him under her hired hand. She thought about him grievous as a wound animal on top of her and her panties were wet again. If she thought about him slipping over every square inch of her bare skin, something in her heart hiccupped and that was just fucking infuriating.

So it was slow to find fault the boy for the Sin of their father. It was comfortable than admitting there might actually be something there for her and Dean. It was easier than letting go of that outer space between who she wanted to be and the frighten off little girl she still was. If she kept running maybe she could keep one tone ahead of him—one footstep ahead of herself. Except now, she could n't even clean her goddamned rifle without thinking about a Winchester.

Maybe it was time to put down for a spell, get her head screwed on heterosexual and leave the teras to the hunters who were only slightly more have it off in the head than she was. Maybe. Maybe Duluth was n't such a bad city for a barmaid with a knife aggregation to expect for a Winchester to catch up with her ...