This is, quite honestly, the closest thing to porn I've ever written. And it's probably the closest to porn I will ever get. I nearly died blushing while writing it, and it's not even explicit. So, um...be gentle? And also: you know every person who ships anything but exclusive Wincest was thinking this. It was written originally in the comments of hanncoll's episode review, where she said "I really want Dean/Nancy first time, with Dean being all surprisingly gentle and unsure, and her being all 'GIMME.'" Thus, it is dedicated to her.

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Ei Ennen Papin Aamenta

(Not 'Til The Priest Says Amen)

--

"You okay?" he asks, and she just nods.

(In actuality she's not fine, not at all, but hell. She's alive, and she figures that's good enough for now.)

His brother is talking to the FBI guy, and he wanders into a nearby room--probably to check on the recently-possessed. She's starting to find that he's like that. She follows, watches as he shuffles around the prone bodies and scuffs at the spray paint on the floor. Then he turns around, sees her, and his mouth quirks like he wasn't expecting her to be there. "Hey," he says, and that's all it takes.

She takes a deep (calming) breath, marches over to him, and pulls his face down to hers. She doesn't close her eyes, so she sees his eyebrows shoot up and it makes her feel a little giddy. Then, just as suddenly, her hand is finding its way beneath the waistband of his jeans and he practically jumps out of his skin. He skitters back against a wall in a way totally unlike the heavy stalk she's seen him move about in all night.

"Hey," he repeats. (Only not, because this time there's a totally different inflection and the smirk he's giving her looks less weary and more...apologetic?) But he doesn't tell her to stop, so she presses up against him again and he kisses her back. But when she tugs his shirt up, he pulls away; hooking his thumbs behind her jaw, he stares at her chin and mutters, "Shouldn't be like this. You need a bed and some wine and a guy who worships ya."

She is perfectly frank when she asks, "Where was yours?"

His expression is half-prideful, half-ruing. "Back of a car."

"This'll work."

So he slides his hands up under her shirt and she shudders. When he pauses and looks concerned, she grabs his ass and growls in that way she's seen in movies. He grins at her like she's just something else. She presses him harder against the wall, though, and he grunts in pain.

His shoulder. She'd forgotten. (How had she forgotten? She'd tended to him in the first place.) She backs off and his face shows something between relief and disappointment.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she says, because she still kinda feels like she's doing this wrong. "If you're too, you know, injured..."

And he laughs: an honest, barking laugh devoid of scorn. "Darlin', I'd put up with worse. You wanna go, I'll tell you what..." He hoists her up then, wrapping her legs around his waist and twisting so suddenly her back is against the wall.

She smiles, feeling kinda feral, and getting a bit of a rush as she remembers that there are other people in the room. Unconscious people, but hey. He's got an index finger pulling down the fabric of her bra, and she takes the opportunity to work on the fasteners of his jeans.

A few minutes later, he pauses again, and she's going mad. They're so close now, nothing separating them but air and seconds, and he pants lightly, "You're sure? 'Cause you said it was by choice, and I'm nobody's first pick."

She huffs out a laugh and shoves her hips against his, and he gives a tiny shrug.

He's slow at first, and it doesn't exactly feel good, but he's searching her face (nervously?) and she locks her teeth and urges him on. Then he does something with the hand that he's not using to prop himself up against the wall and that's...

He keeps close while she calms back down, hands her the panties she'd discarded. He's rather considerate, considering. A few hours ago she'd thought he was a dangerous psycho, too. (He's still dangerous, some small part of her brain whispers, but she hushes it.)

"You okay?" he asks again, and he looks like he actually cares.

"Great." She adjusts her blouse, carefully ignoring the place where the cross normally lies across her chest. "It was the right thing to do, wasn't it?"

He exhales sharply, his eyebrows arching. "With me? Probably not."

She shakes her head. "No, giving myself up. Offering to be the sacrifice--for their sake. That's what was right...right?"

And then his face gets funny, like she's never seen it before, and he seems to be searching her, looking through her, and she suddenly is keenly aware that he's thinking of something else entirely.

His voice is tight when he whispers, "Yeah."