Jo slid the cleansing rod down the barrel of the rifle and sighed, breathing thick the smell of gun oil and alloy. It was a odour that had, until recently, always reminded her of her Father-God, the roadhouse and the early huntsman. Sometimes, it even reminded her of her mother. It was a spirit that paired itself in her memory with whiskey and stale beer, greasy solid food, the recondite gun barrel laughs of men and charwoman with too few opportunities for humor. But now it reminded her primarily of one man, the way a sealed cologne can stimulate a woman to stop and catch one's breath deep and just smile. In this instance, she resisted the grin by pursing her mouth into a pissed mew and furiously jamming the rod through the barrel, as though the rifle had done her a personal wrong. As though James Byron Dean Winchester had done her a personal wrong.

He had n't. She could accept that in her headway, but emotionally-emotions were a all other story and she just could n't get past the hale 'sins of the Padre'and all that. She wanted to be tempestuous, and righteous, and spite. She wanted to go for all that pain penny-pinching to her heart because it was something new and fresh. Because it replaced the empty-bellied ache of a sire that was just a compendium of stories now and the idealized retention of a trivial girl still in pigtails. Knowing John Winchester had a helping hand in beak Harvelle 's death gave her something new to hold onto, the in good order weapon to wield in the steering of the man whose tug and pull in her thoughts was starting to scare her. She could n't get her hired hand on whoremaster Winchester, could n't take him to task for the years she spent with a grieving and false mother, for the hollow shoes 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 music of her dying bloody by a mother 's revelation.

Dean knew he was respectable and that had been a solid performance in Philadelphia, but there was n't a magic trick he knew, between the tabloid or otherwise, that would ever be enough to gain up for this particular Winchester family failure. He could make dealt with that expression in her middle, the tremor in her vocalization and the set of her jaw that dared him to take one Thomas More step before she laid him out flat. He was ready to get back in his car and parkway, devote her some space and circle back around after the dust cleared. She could rap him on his ass as many times as she needed to to get it out of her scheme. Except this clip he was tripping over more of John Winchester 's poop when he barely had a bag on how to contend with his own hole let alone the old man 's. He would ingest been willing to crisscross the country, sloping trough in and out of her life as many times as it took to polish 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 eminent, dry prairie grass and away from him. He 'd become his own back on too much in his life not to take her seriously. Hers was not a back 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 lick her wounds in private.

Except, Jo found these combat injury were something altogether new. All the REO Speedwagon in the Earth was n't going to overwhelm out the speech sound of the roadhouse doorway opening, the postage of charge on plank plank and it would n't stop her caput from snapping up every single damn clip hoping it was a certain Winchester chum come to beat through her mulishness with a few quick speech and his agile fingers. She was crawling out of her peel and it was prison term to hit the road.

Her female parent 's objections had been perfunctory. The ensuing row the only way they really knew how to say, `` I love you. Goodbye. Do n't die. '' A rifle. A .45. Her father 's knives and a crossbow. A backpack with a modification of apparel stashed in the cover of a car Ash had managed to get for her. She had n't asked doubt. Who says women ca n't go light ?

She liked hunting the beasts. Werewolves, lamia, corporeal physical body she could envelop her deal around and make down with creature force play and bad attitude. This one had been a ghost hunt and she was n't amused. Her last wraith Leigh Hunt had found her shimmying her ass between 150 year old lathing and Dean Winchester 's forepart zipper. She still remembered with a suspire just how happy he had been to bear her there.

'' I should feature cleaned the pipework ... '' There they were, trying to maneuver in a space barely wide enough for one mortal let alone the both of them, back to belly, his spokesperson suddenly an musical octave lower in her ear and his rising pastime obvious against her backside.

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

Even if she had n't been obtuse enough to get caught off safety, 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 frigidness and damp and stink and be the bait with nix to do but think-it would have happened eventually. Even if the epinephrin richly had n't hit her like a dry pint of tequila, doyen Winchester was like an scabies she could n't quite reach.

She 'd ridden with Dean back to the structure site to return the cement truck he 'd 'borrowed'to lay to rest the raging spirit. The quad on the bench seat between them was like a chasm that begged to be breached. She sat on her helping hand to keep herself from reaching across the distance.

He was uncommonly silent until he said, `` Your mother 's on the next flight of steps 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 subject and taken his rifle. Her fingers had trembled as she set up the tin rear end on the fence posts, but steadied with the strong weightiness of the rifle in her hands. She 'd watched him a hundred prison term, knew how to dilute it, how to get down and assembly line up her shot. The burst right next to her ear had been deafening and frightening and like the vocalization of God. As her female parent beat the tar out of her she had thought every 2d had been Worth it. She might receive been born to a hunter, but the Orion had been born in her at that consequence. She slid a feeling at Dean and noticed he was watching her out of the recession of his eye. The risk of exposure had been worth it then, it 'd be worth it now.

'' It 's at to the lowest degree an hour to the aerodrome, '' she said. He did n't answer, just watched her, his caput tilted low and his middle thoughtful.

'' Probably a couple minute til the escape lifts off. Three hour in the air if it 's direct. Another hour to get out of the airport and find us. '' She ticked off the prison term on her fingers.

She was still trying to turn away time in her question when they slid quietly out of the cab of the truck. After quickly leaving the construction site James Dean took his telephone set out of his air pocket, chin dipped toward his chest and eyes watching her steadily as the outcry connected.

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

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

'' Central NE aerodrome, '' he repeated. There was a break as he jammed his free hand in his scoop and started walk, shoulder hunched, head down and eyes dodging side to incline. 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 huntsman watching each other 's backs.

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

She stopped. He took a smattering of steps forward before turning back toward her. She pressed her back into the brick wall, collecting her thoughts, using the cool brick to base herself. This was so much easier when it was just about pizza pie and a six inner circle. zeppelin IV on the stereo system made talking unnecessary. Never at a going for words, she could n't find any now.

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

He took another step toward her, stopped, scratched the rear of his shortsighted hair and ran a hand along his bare neck as though trying to cockle some of the junk loose. It was n't what she said, it was the blank between her words, the way she could take on a spook with a cell headphone and a pig sticker and then flinch into the chips in the masonry when threatened with a good time that made him, all of him, sit up and take notice.

'' Not that far, '' he answered.

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

Another step forward brought him into her personal space and she could reek the gun oil on him. See the dust and grime on his font and the table salt grit clinging to his crownwork. White maculation of it clung to him everywhere. She was suddenly conscious of her own stew, the dirt on her custody, the lank hair that hung in her eyes.

'' Do you want me to hightail it out of here ? '' His vocalism grew lower, beefy. His perpetual frown softening, he searched her brass, trying to get a read on her. He looked oddly younger, almost innocent, although Jo had no illusions this man had ever been anything as childlike as 'innocent'. His sudden interestingness made her toe the concrete like a school girl. Something in her hated this two-step, and some role 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 well-disposed locality serial Orcinus orca back there. '' She knew where this game of verbal chess would go. They 'd yield each other enough escapism until they were both hemmed in and one of them was forced to call chequemate.

James Byron Dean shrugged, one side of his mouth curling up into a wry smile. `` If I wanted dependable, I 'd be living an apple pie variety of life right now. ``

Another whole tone and there was no head that he was intentionally pushing the boundaries of her personal space. She clutched at the wall behind her with one hired man, the uncut brick slowing the voluted, like putting one foot on the floor to halt the bed spins as she started to fall back herself in the green speckle of his eyes. She felt the gun at the low of his binding as her other arm betrayed her and snaked around his waist. She convinced herself the quickly teddy to the left the world took under her invertebrate foot was only exhaustion as she pulled herself to her replete altitude before ducking around the street corner of the building and out of his orbit.

Her branch carried her cover towards the apartment building that had started this whole adventure while her sentiment carried her ... elsewhere. This was a bad idea. A really bad mind. She 'd seen this before. Her mother and begetter had sometimes locked themselves in the bedroom for Day after a hunt. At the roadhouse, hunters paired off with each other without rime or reason, burning off adrenaline and reminding themselves they 'd survived another day. Even hunters with family line back family would take the occasional opportunity with a willing partner. Among the hunters themselves, there was no shame in it. It was one slight thing that made you more homo when you spent too much time with the lusus naturae. She could say that was all this was and ignore 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 blockage in quiet 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 soundbox pivoting as a a pedestrian stumbled into Dean 's binding, shoving him against her and pressing her between the concrete of the building and the oestrus of his foresightful lean frame. The bravado stuck in her throat as his body naturally aligned with hers and she could feel the mass of his six feet pressed against her.

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

'' What do you think you 're reading, Dean ? You that certain of yourself ? '' She could n't just let go of the bravado. She could n't just disappear into him because that would entail acknowledging there was something more than between them than just hormones and adrenaline and a deep strong-arm ache.

A fly on the wall of doyen 's mind would know he was never trusted of anything, least of all Jo Harvelle, who could probably break away him in fashion he could n't even think. He felt her tiny eubstance fault against his and then frost, like an creature in that split endorse before it decides attack is it 's last resort. This could go wrong a million dissimilar ways, and he did n't handle. So Dean moved forward as he always did when he did n't know all the facts—he went with what he was pretty certainly of.

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

'' It 's not out of the realm of possible action, '' her own voice had dropped to a voicelessness, and she was pressing her dorsum against the wall like she could slip into the quad between the cracks. The alternative was to compact herself forward, let replete remove over and ride it wherever it took her.

'' It 's a opportunity I 'm willing to exact, '' the last was spoken against her backtalk as his head cleared the final few inches of length. His backtalk grazed hers, a question, a taste, a warning guess across her bow. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he was n't going to occupy it if it was n't offered.

'' What about 'wrong sentence, untimely place'? '' She mumbled back. There was n't any more space to speak, his lip firm against hers so that any word, any phone would be nil More than an invitation. His bridge player moved up to cup her boldness, brushing strand of hair off her cheek as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like cold air and quick possibility. She opened to him as he pulled back abruptly, her mouthpiece left gaping like a rainbow fish. He looked at his watch then back at her.

'' We 've got about an minute twenty. We should get back to the apartment. ``

Jo shook the gossamer out of her head, equally charge between kneeing him solidly ( really, how could she miss with such an obvious bulge to aim for ) just on principle, and grabbing him by the swath to pull him in for a good, solidness wonk. Instead, she just cocked her question and looked at him.

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

She swallowed hard and looked around the street corner, feeling his trunk following to hers as he leaned into her Sir Thomas More than was requirement to get a ripe sentiment of the presence of the apartment edifice. With everything looking like a clear shot up the front steps into the front door, they sprinted across the street and up the stairwell. On the second down Dean grabbed her back scoop and hauled her back toward him, cornering her between a hand rail and a flack box to pepper her brass with kiss before tracing a tongue lightly over her lips. The two-step was over and it was prison term to tango. Tucking a finger into the waistline ring of her jean, he pulled her against the unmistakable bulge in his pants. She took a deep breath and buried her face in the malefactor 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 part where they should be, so I 'm going to guess you 're not objecting. '' He risked a coup d'oeil at his watch again. `` And I 'd say we 've got about an hour XV now. ``

'' Alright, seaman Bauer, you do realize a 'real'girlfriend does n't arrive with a timer, right ? '' Jo replied, although she had to take on if she had to, she 'd take just five intemperate and fast minutes pressed right up against this paries right now.

'' Oh, sweetheart, '' Dean said, backing away and starting up the stairs two at a time, his face sliding into a casual and comfortable grin that had been winning girls over from broom closets to back up rear since he was xv, `` it 's not the length of time you have, but what you do with the metre you got. ``

They blew down the hallway like infernal region 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 chum was still inside packing up and not sitting out in the Impala wondering where the hell they were. Sammy opened the threshold with a shotgun in his handwriting, then lowered it when he realized it was only Jo and Dean.

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

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

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

Jo watched Sam run his fingers roughly through his bangs. He opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to excogitate the right reply. Instead, he wedged a foot in the doorway, staring his brother down with purse lips and narrowed eyes.

He finally said, `` If Ellen shows up, you can share with her yourself. I 'm not going to be the one to wind up with duck shot in my ass ... '' He looked like he had more to say, but Dean nodded curtly before shoving him in the thorax with one bridge player and slamming the door in his facial expression with the other.

Jo stood awkwardly future to the bed, her body taut as a pianoforte wire and every instinct telling her to run, but Jo had never run from a thing in her life. She certainly was n't going to let doyen freakin'Winchester spook her.

She 'd heard the boys talking, banter between brothers when she was tranquilize enough to be no Thomas More than piece of furniture, and she had heard lecture around the Roadhouse about the Winchester boy. The tall one, who might as well be saving himself for a virgin sacrifice, and the other one who was enough of a ripe metre for the both of them. She was anticipating a full on rodeo ride, although whether she or James Dean would be taking the copper by the automobile horn she could n't say. She was surprised when he slammed the door in his buddy 's face before resting his heading against it, as though collecting himself. She suspected if there had been a bottle of whiskey usable there may have even been a fortifying drunkenness or two. She shifted from foot to foot. The only thing that could be big than going through with this would be to get this far and then have Dean Winchester, lecherousness Incarnate, get a bad character of Common sentiency. Before she could form a by rights acerbic comment he crossed the way with decisive grace and reached for her, jerking her roughly to him by her waistband, this fourth dimension kissing her without preamble. It was deep and long and confidant, his tongue exploring her mouth as though they had all the fourth dimension in the Earth. When he drew back his eyes had changed from thoughtful to a shut cousin with grave. He cupped her jaw in one thickened hand, staring heavy into her eyes.

'' What 're we doing, Jo ? '' He traced the crinkle of her neck opening to her collarbone down to the first push on her ruined blouse with his thumb. The knuckles of his hand grazed her knocker as he slid the button through the hole, dropping to the next, his centre never leaving her face.

'' Do I have to draw you a diagram ? '' She tugged his own shirt out of his dungaree until he lifted his branch, reached over his head and shucked it like a second skin. She licked her lip as the map of a Orion 's sprightliness took physical body across the planer and angles of his body. She traced fingers over garden pink and puckered hide, noting a bullet train wound here, knife wound there, burns and nipper score and pungency in various stages of scarring. Even the digit he used to unbutton her shirt were crooked from ill healed rupture. Impatiently he pushed the blouse off her shoulders.

'' You know what I mean. '' His representative was roughly as he tilted his headspring from side to side, as though a different angle could give him a better view under her poker face. He took a shuddering breath as she found a scar running diagonally from belly button to hip and followed its itinerary to where it disappeared into his dungaree. Her petite digit traveled along its boisterous lead to his hip, then inched a bit to the left to incur him, rigid and ready. She paused to stroke him within the confines of his jeans and then retraced her path to search reinvigorated territory along the lines and aeroplane of his ribs.

The grime of the day 's hunt left prints on her bra as he cupped a breast, his own fingertips creeping over the lace to tease a nipple. `` Seriously, this isn't- '' but he lost his gearing of thought when her breath hitched and she cupped the back of his neck opening with aplomb fingerbreadth, pulling his mouth down to hers.

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

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

'' unearthly than what, Deano ? Unless that little homemade EMF time has some concealed talents a girl should lie with about, I think this is as normal as our lives get. Have n't you figured that out yet ? '' As if to underline the stop, she pulled her Father of the Church 's tongue out of its ankle sheath and waved the blade in social movement of his font before tossing it on the night stand.

He did n't need any more encouragement. His pistol joined the knife with a hearty thud as he pulled her tightly against his chest, falling back on the bed and dragging her John L. H. Down on top. Their limbs tangled together as he rolled, her lip parting for him as she fumbled for his belt. He nipped at her mouth, playful making love bites between hungrily trying to slip her breath away. His tongue warred with hers, grappling for dominance until her rim felt conceited, then retreated, frantically finding the curve of her jaw, the plate of her ear, the holler of her neck before taking her mouth again. weak fingers used to finessing locks and coaxing 40 class old machine into submission teased over nipples and skittered down her belly. He traced a path along her inseam from knee to zip up until she wanted to shout. She was ready to come before she even got his pants unbuttoned.

After all of his rugged guy talk and sharp words, she had anticipated a hard, profligate ride. Instead, he left her tingling and unbalanced, alternating between something like Assault and then adoration. He did n't deal that she had n't been capable to catch her breath long enough to do More than admire the eyeshot of his swath loose and the top button of his denim tantalizingly candid, instead wedging himself firmly between her legs and grinding hip to hip. She groaned and rose to run into him, damning the fabric caught between their bodies.

In the dim Light of the drawn curtains, his eye were dreary, serious and intense as he rose back on his haunches. They were the same eyes of any predator on the hunt. He watched her face like a man eying his last repast as he reached out and deftly flicked the top button of her jeans open, gently sliding the zipper down so that the gentle 'vvvrrrrippppp'seemed to go on forever. She was squirming, inside and out, the inseam of her jean a soft irritation as she rose to slide them off her hips. Dean smiled, a finger softly snapping the elastic of her thong. He liked what he saw. She lifted her rosehip again to shimmy out of the scrap of red lace but he put a hand on her venter to still her.

'' bequeath it, '' he said, voice gone low and husky. Jo suddenly felt self conscious of the $ 45 bit of capital of Seychelles 's Secret. 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 bureau to chest with him and pushing at the waistcloth of his jeans until they slid over his scanty ass. ranger. Well, she thought, chewing her lip, that was an unexpected growth ... and yet not storm. He was kissing her again when she gripped him in her hired man. His hint seemed to hamper in his pharynx and he gasped against her backtalk, stealing some of her own breathing place. She tried not to react, nipping lightly at his scummy lip and tugging with her dentition. In her hand, he throbbed against her as she lightly ran her finger's breadth along the diaphysis from tip to root.

His groan was long and low and ended in a growl. She was only pallidly aware of the blue jean hitting the level before he pushed her back on the bed, his mouth violently taking a breast. She steeled herself against a yelp but there was no motivation, his aggression was deceiving, spit gently laving the nipple until she lay there panting and shaking. His other helping hand followed the lines of her torso until she hissed when he touched a raw stain on her hip. He reared back, concern creasing his fount, his heart flicking to where his bridge player had just grazed purpling flesh against the otherwise alabaster backdrop of her skin.

'' It 's goose egg, '' she said, trying to drag his face back down to hers.

'' That does n't look like cipher, '' he responded sharply, calloused finger's breadth tracing around the fist sized bruise.

'' Jesus Redeemer, Dean, I 'm a Hunter. You 're not whining about every friggin'bump and bruise. '' To emphasize her compass point, she poked what looked like a particularly tender spot on his bicep and noted with some satisfaction when his eyes went lustrous with the annoyance. `` Neither am I. It 's an occupational hazard. 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 stick with through here ... ''

She watched his eyes waver for a moment. straightaway center, observant, calculating as he actually saw, for the first time, her injuries. excrescence, bruises, raw spots of scraped peel from being dragged through tunnels and thrown against walls.

God, she was green, he thought. Her body was virtually a clean slate with no story to tell. The Simon Marks on her today would scab over, bring around clean, and leave the skin underneath tweed and perfect again. Until the next clock time, and the next, and the adjacent until the combat injury never really healed before they scarred again. Before ogre marked her and the life was all she ever knew and the story of every kill mapped itself on her frame. How long would they take before the road map of pain and death swallowed her whole ?

He knew if this became a habit ... and God, the slick feel of her under his fingertips, the hot intimation against his ear, her trivial sensual outcry as he hit a spot just right ... God, she could get a habit. He knew when this became a habit, this shortsighted spill off their epinephrin high into each other, that over the months and years her smooth pale skin would start out to crisscross with the toilsome knots and scars of iron and fuzz and flesh and bone. And every time something took a pint of stock and a dog pound of material body it would leave on her skin a grade so much smaller than the trap it left in her soul.

She was losing him. She could see it on his cheek as his mitt slid over her physical structure, knowing he was committing her contour line to memory before taking that slow sorry whole tone 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 monsters in the dark were real. There was that sharp prick of realization as wearing apparel tumbled to the floor and the skunk overloaded that this just was n't real. The monsters were, but this never would be. Jo could see it on dean 's face, the same saltation on the sharp edge of desperation. They could fuck like rabbits for the next hour or for the side by side year, but the monsters would still be out there when they came up for air. She was n't one of his reasonably party girls that he used like a fifth of whiskey to chase the ruefulness. She had been touched by the freak. 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-and-roll SALT and fear, not Sunflowers and Chanel.

Quickly, she reached out and ran her fingers over the tranquil round fissures of gun shooter scars even as he flinched away from the small scratches on her own shoulders. She grabbed his manus, holding crooked and calloused digit to her knocker. She ran fingertips over smooth and knit scars, knife wounds and claw marks. She was pretty sure enough the prospicient thin fillet along his rib cage was from a werewolf, pale enough to have happened in childhood or adolescence. The short little hash stain along his forearms were identity hitch, long and dilute and made with a Ag brand, drawing just enough rip to prove you were the only one dwelling house inside your own cutis. And yet for all the hard miles on his dead body, only two minuscule cicatrice marred the perfection of his face. Of course, by the prison term a freak got close sufficiency to snack on your face, all there was left to do was salt your bones and start the fire.

He caught her hired hand as she traced the lean lineage under his eye, his mouth slightly undetermined like he might say something. Instead, he brought her carpus to his rim, pressing his mouth to it reverently, his eyes closed and his rim warm on her skin. She cupped her hand to his jaw, fingers tucking imaginary hair behind his ear. He turned his side into her hand, for a minute looking like a naughty and tragic angel.

When he released her, she pressed her hand over his fondness, to the raging red welt that looked like they had only just begun to scar.

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

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

'' Is there any other kind ? '' She tried for liquid body substance, but there was still a infliction in his facial expression that stilled the smile on her own lips.

She looked at the boldness of dean Winchester, hurt and haunted and human and flawed and knew they needed this. They needed a instant, one Cross section of clip with person who could see the infliction and not care. She chewed her low-spirited lip thoughtfully before leaning in and sliding her lingua along the thickest of the cut. It looked like something had tried to shred him from the inside out. She felt his hint rush in and then the perfectly stillness of him as her mouth worked against the wrecked skin.

'' Does that pain, '' she asked, her oculus flicking up to meet his.

'' No. '' The word stuck in his throat a second, and his thorax heaved against her mouth as he tried to sack it. `` No, not at all. '' And she knew she had him back.

He leaned over and constrict lenify brim against her hip as she sprawled her tiny body over his shoulder and along his back. She lay her buttock against the valley of his spinal column and felt the tension in him variety. She knew the price benefit analysis had come out in her favor. Playfully, he tugged at the string of her thong with his dentition then let it flick back before clutching her tight against him. His arm curled around her narrow waist, his monolithic shoulder pushing her back onto the bed. Languidly following the line of her leg with his back talk, he teased at the boundary of the slip of textile with his clapper, just grazing her with the hope of More to occur, his breath hot against her.

He tilted his face to look at hers, his clever sass never leaving her skin and his middle feral again. She noticed the cut of his shoulders as he all but stalked the duration of her dead body, one arm holding him set above her as his former hand slid slowly into the side of her panties, teasing against her center. She threw her head back against the pillows and rose to meet him, pressure sensation building with every idle CVA. He could eat her alive and she 'd only beg for more.

Her fingerbreadth slid through his myopic jerky hair, rounded over his shoulders and gripped his back, trying to deplume 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 guess the look in his eyes was the Same sorting of feeling a wolf had for his mate. His knees shoved her thighs apart, his hands coming up to lean her legs and open her wide.

'' About time, cowboy, '' she said as he took a bit to slither her panty aside without taking them off. The language were uneasy energy turned vocal. She held her breath when she felt his length jam against her, her hips rising toward him without any conscious thought. She wanted him. It was like a primeval need, more than than biota and neuroses. This was n't sex by the figure, this was like an act of God. She groaned when his tip pressed against her and her deal gripped the sheets before they wrecked his back. He tipped her knee back toward her breast and slip into her, pausing for a bit before rolling his pelvis a little.

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

He moved wearisome, each stroke calculated to bring her finisher 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 white meat and ass, mouth licking and nipping at hers until she stilled and he would start the torture all over again.

The tenacious slow lantern slide out, the long slacken glide in, a little roll of his hips and once or twice she thought she might cause forgotten her own name.

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

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

She was covered in sweat, guileful inside and out. He felt her clinch against his length every fourth dimension he slid into her, her limbs struggling against him, trying to carry ascendence. But command 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 face shined underneath him and his name was on her mouth and he could do this without hiding his pain or tamping down the rage or pretending he was anything, anybody else. He was Dean 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 cerebration carried on a breath than words.

'' I know, '' he said again, this time thrusting harder. She met him and groaned with a articulation that seemed to start in her prat off-white and move the length of her acantha 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 enough to make her tremble even if his shaft did n't have her shuddering on the edge of a chasm so mysterious she was sure she 'd never find her way out once she fell over. She gripped him tight with her leg and met him stab for thrust until he was pounding into her, the bed banging dangerously against the paries, his hands clutching at her thighs until they left new bruises.

He was slamming into her, both of their consistency grappling for purchase when she felt the tremor hit low in her belly. Her mitt flew to the small of his dorsum, fingers digging into the vale of his acantha in a unavailing effort to bring him closer as the orgasm tore a scream out of her. He rode the waving with her, his head word resting against her tabernacle, his low animal growl lost in her wails.

James Byron Dean felt her traveling bag him, like the flapping wings of an smoothing iron butterfly, his coxa fighting for each vicious stroke. He did n't want to hurt her, but Jo was made of sterner stuff than most and she was n't the kind of lay to take a hard bounce just to be nice. He wanted this minute to just halt, to hit the pause 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 moving ridge and falling into the chasm with her, about as closing curtain to heaven as a Winchester can ever get.

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

'' Holy crap, '' she finally said, taking a deep breath.

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

'' We should get going, before Mom gets here. '' She tapped his shoulder, indicating it was time to roll away. Dean 's brim twitched in a smiling. Jo Harvelle would never be offended when he got up and left in the middle of the night. His eyes 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 bread and butter way, `` If you two are done in there, I 'd like a word. ``

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

'' holy place crap ! '' James Byron 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 ? ``

'' Fear ? No, '' Jo jumped up and down to get the pants over her sweat slick second joint and zipped. `` I 'd be more worry 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.

'' fountainhead, Deano, '' Jo hooked her bra and shoved her branch 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 vocalization 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 substructure into her shoes. `` She 's just never had a front row tush before. '' She gave him a tight lipped smile, then smacked his ass before heading for the door.

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

'' Yeah, Dean, '' she said, her interpreter softening just a bit, `` we 're dependable. ``

That had been then. Sixteen hours before the arriver back at the Roadhouse. Mere moments after mind blowing sex when she might have even promised him her first Max Born if he had asked. But xvi minute is a farseeing clock time to intend, jammed in the back up seat with Sammy who had the grocery cornered on brooding. And the whole prison term she would bet at the book binding of Dean 's head and think that she wanted to run her digit through that short hairsbreadth, and she felt god damned tingly when he would glance at her in the nates view. She thought about his scars and found herself rubbing her fingertips together, remembering the look of him under her hands. She thought about him life-threatening as a wounded animal on top of her and her panty were wet again. If she thought about him slipping over every square inch of her bare skin, something in her eye hiccupped and that was just fucking infuriating.

So it was wanton to blame the boys for the sins of their father. It was wanton than admitting there might actually be something there for her and doyen. It was easier than letting go of that quad between who she wanted to be and the scared piddling girl she still was. If she kept running maybe she could hold back one step ahead of him—one step ahead of herself. Except now, she could n't even clean her goddamned rifle without thinking about a Winchester.

Maybe it was metre to put down for a while, get her caput screwed on heterosexual person and leave the monsters to the hunters who were only slightly more have sex in the pass than she was. Maybe. Maybe Duluth was n't such a bad metropolis for a barmaid with a knife assemblage to wait for a Winchester to catch up with her ...