A/N: When I re-watched Abandon All Hope in preparation for writing Can't Fight This Feeling, my muse interpreted Dean and Jo's kiss in a different light. The pained expression on Dean's face as he looked at Jo, the way she sighed and looked lost afterwards, made it seem like it more than just a comforting good bye. I'm not talking about regrets or could-have-beens. I'm talking something happened between them and wasn't quite resolved.

Let's say things played out like they did in the episode...except for this. Set after Dean and Jo flirt about the end of the world but before they head off into battle.

Reviews are like brain candy...sugar up my muse? ;)

Thanks bunches to friend and fellow author stephaniew for her unending support. Check her out! Her Mine and A Little TLC are a couple of my personal favorites. She's got another one that I'm dying to see posted...help me convince her?

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural...I just enjoy playing in Kripke's sandbox and borrowed a little bit of dialogue.

If Only For Tonight

Jo Harvelle shifts restlessly in her bed. She nibbles at her lower lip, her fingers twisting in the hem of her camisole. She thinks about the kitchen. She'd been sure she felt Dean staring a hole in her ass. She smiles at the memory and replays their conversation over again in her mind.

"So, dangerous mission tomorrow. Guess it's time to eat, drink and, you know, make merry."

"Are you giving me the last night on earth speech?"

"What?"

"What?"

"No." he laughs, "If I was, would that work?"

"No. Sweetheart, if this is our last night then I'm gonna spend it with a little thing I call self respect."

Though she'd grown up in a bar and was no stranger to alcohol, she'd felt a little tipsy. The rush of the beer and vodka shots through her veins made her cautious rather than setting her free. She'd wanted to kiss him, but she could smell the alcohol on Dean's breath. If she was going to be with him, she wanted to make damn sure he remembered it in the morning. She didn't want to see him fumbling and trying to dodge questions. She also didn't want to wake up alone.

Biting her lip, she sits up and gets out of bed. The house is quiet. The only sounds she hears are the gentle clicking of the ceiling fan above the bed and the crickets outside. She opens the door and peers down the hallway as her eyes adjust to the darkness.

She walks to the room she saw Dean enter earlier. Her fingers flutter lightly over the knob. The brass is cool to her touch and she wonders, not for the first time since she climbed out of bed, if she's making a mistake. Sucking in a deep breath, she turns it.

"Dean?" she whispers, peeking around the door. She doesn't dare enter the room.

He stirs in the bed. His voice husky, he answers, "Jo?" Still half asleep, he pulls back the covers and motions for her to join him beneath the sheets.

Jo hesitates briefly before entering and closing the door behind her. She pads across the room to the edge of the bed. She doesn't sit down, doesn't move to lay next to him. "Are you scared?" she asks softly.

Dean rubs his eyes, forcing himself awake. He moves his feet to the floor so he faces her. "Come'ere," he says, his voice gruff with sleep as he reaches for her hand.

The moonlight from the window lights her from behind. It shimmers in the golden waves of her hair and slips across her skin in a lover's caress. A caress he wants to follow and explore himself, but he won't force it. He'll give her whatever she needs without taking what she doesn't freely offer.

She takes his hand, feeling the callouses as they scrape against her palm. "What if this is it, Dean? What if this really is our last night on earth?"

He lets out a breath and scrubs over the stubble on his face, unsure of how to answer. But she doesn't give him the chance. Instead, Jo steps forward and cups his face. Leaning in, she kisses him. It's light and soft, her lips skimming just over his in the gentlest of touches.

Dean's hands move to her waist, anchoring her. When he feels the flicker of her tongue lapping at his mouth, he matches the touch. The kiss is harder now. It's deep and hot. It's wet and maddeningly slow. Dean groans. Taking a deep breath, he pulls away with his eyes shut tightly. "Jo," he growls, warning seeping into his tone.

"You backtracking, Dean-O?" she chides, her hands caressing over his bare shoulders.

Standing in front of her, he slides his fingers into her hair and tilts her lips up to his. "I want you," he mutters, his breath fanning over her face. He does. He wants Joanna Beth Harvelle like he's never wanted another woman before. God help him when her Mama finds out.

"And I want you," she answers. Her voice is strong, confident even. "What's stopping us, Dean? Why're we holding back?"

He bends across the few inches that separate them to press his mouth to hers again. Kissing Jo is different. It makes him feel different, makes him wish he could find the words to let her know. Not that she'd believe him. He knows he's full of shit. He knows he's said so many things to so many women that no matter how hard he tries, the words sound hollow. Fake. Like pretty little lies to get what he wants.

So, instead he just feels. He feels the surge of the blood pounding through his veins. Feels the way she steps into him, her hands sliding up the hard wall of his chest. He sucks at her lower lip, feeling his body temperature rise as she whimpers softly.

"Please, Dean?" she says when they come apart. Her eyes search his and she gulps, giving him the out. "Please? Even if it's only for tonight..."

His hands slip under the hem of her top, his fingertips brushing soft circles over the skin at her sides. He looks at her and even in the dim light that creeps through the bedroom window he can see she's serious. Her eyes pool with liquid heat and longing. He knows that falling into her - falling with her - means no escape. That being with her once will mean giving her everything.

She nibbles at her lower lip and reaches to pull the tank over her head. She listens to the way Dean sucks in a sharp breath as her hair swishes through the neckline and cascades over her shoulders. Her own breath catches as they come chest to chest, the warmth of his skin burning her like a brand.

He kisses her, his lips crashing hungrily over hers. The tips of his fingers graze over her back, mapping the newly uncovered flesh. She sighs and he feels her hands fall over the waistband of his boxer briefs as she stumbles forward into him. He feels giddy, drunk on her response.

And that's when it truly hits him. This is really happening. She's real, this isn't some fantasy he'll suddenly wake up from. He can feel everything, he can taste her sweetness. Unlike the countless other women he's been with - even the ones he knows he's satisfied - this isn't going to be some hard, fast, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am coupling. It can't be, because it's Jo. His Jo.

His mind is racing. Did he really just think that? Did he really just think of her as his?

Sensing something, Jo takes his hand, entwining their fingers as she leads him back to the bed. She sits on the edge. Her heart is pounding and her breathing shallow. She feels like she's got butterflies fluttering in her belly. She's nervous, but it's not that she's afraid to go through with it. It's the fear that he will shoo her away. Treat her like she's a kid - or worse, a little sister.

He pulls her back into a standing position and wraps his arms around her. She closes her eyes, stealing herself for the worst, the rejection she's sure is coming. "Jo," his voice is deep and dark, it's scratchy and it makes her ache. "Look at me, babe."

She pinches her lips together. "If you're gonna send me back to my room, Dean, just do it, okay?" She pushes against his chest, struggling to free herself from his embrace.

He holds her with a steadfast grip, feathering kisses over her hairline and down her cheek. "Look at me," he demands, pressing his forehead to hers.

The way he says it - the way he continues to hold her in his arms - she risks falling for the chance to fly. In their close proximity, she sees something she doesn't expect, but it's his words that make her feel like she's drowning. "What if I don't want it to be just for tonight?"

Emotion washes over her in waves. Love. Lust. Certainty. Doubt. Need. Fear. Insecurity. Inexperience. All of it. Rather than answer, rather than lose herself in the depths of what was either a startling confession or a need to guarantee she stay, she kisses him. Consequences of the morning be damned, she was going to enjoy this moment. Enjoy the sights, sounds, feel and taste of everything that being with Dean Winchester meant.

Dean backs them against the bed, placing a knee on the mattress and lowering Jo onto her back. He revels in the feel of her hands on his neck and shoulders. He smiles against her lips, marveling at the tiny moans and purrs that escape as his own glide over her skin in tender inspection.

Jo grins into his kiss. There's a delicious contrast in the feel of his skin beneath her palms and the roughness of his hands as they trail over her aroused flesh. The noise that escapes her lips when his find the little hollow where her neck and shoulder meet is one she knows she's never made before. The scratch of his stubble is sinful and she finds herself arcing beneath him.

He hums against her chest as he trails soft, wet kisses and tiny licks down through the valley of her breasts. He studies her body, touching and tasting everything he can get his hands or mouth on. With eager lips and devilish fingertips, he learns all the little freckles, scars and pleasure points. By the time he gets to her hips and guides her shorts down her legs, she's writhing beneath him and squirming to get closer to his touch.

Jo feels shy and a little wanton. Sensations she wasn't expecting begin to surface. When she left her bed, she thought for sure this would be quick and dirty. She'd fully expected he'd live up to everything she'd heard about. That they'd set fire to the sheets. But never once had she expected this.

Dean Winchester isn't the first man she's been with...but he's the first to make her feel cherished. A bit of a tom boy, she's not used to feeling beautiful. When he looks at her, she feels special. She smirks, shaking her head to dispel the thought that he likely makes every woman feel the way she feels now.

His tongue darting over her inner thigh is enough to bring her back. She realizes she's naked, exposed in a way that he isn't. She longs to see him, to admire his body the way he has hers. "Dean..." she urges, her tone pleading.

She feels rather than sees the smile on his face as he nuzzles her hip bone. "Jo?" he answers mockingly.

"Don't tease..." she moans as he laps at her skin.

He slides his way over her, making his way up to capture her mouth. His fingers stroke as he kisses her. "Believe me, babe," he breathes against her ear. "You'd know if I was teasing you."

She toys with the elastic on the only garment that separates them. She wants to feel his skin from shoulder to toes. She purrs into his touch, silently slipping her calf around his.

Dean chuckles when he finds himself on his back, a waterfall of blonde hair falling against his shoulder as Jo flips their positions. The silk-spun curls tickle his chest and he sinks his hand into them, drawing her mouth to his.

She traces over the smooth skin of his bare chest with her lips, her hands and tongue. Tormenting him. Teasing him into a frenzy. He's damn near whimpering and she relishes in making his hands twist in the sheets as she continues in her quest.

Stripping away the thing that separates them, she wiggles teasingly as she makes her way back to his lips. Stopping, she peppers kisses over his abdomen, earning a growl of frustration. His hands are in her hair and he pulls her back for more kisses, pressing into her as she comes to rest over him.

"Turn about is fair play..." she sighs, his arms tightening around her.

Dean ignores the barb and plucks softly at her lips. His tongue ghosts against hers lazily as they finally come together. It's at once drugging and breathtakingly slow. The tiny shift and quakes of her soft body rock him to the core of his being. He murmurs her name against her throat, sliding deeper.

Jo struggles to remember to breathe as liquid heat spreads through her body. He's as intoxicating as the drinks they shared earlier. She feels a moan rapidly forming in her throat and is grateful when his mouth closes over hers and he swallows it, taking it in before the others can hear.

He fondles her hair, kissing her fervently. He watches her face as the pleasure washes over her. It's like the dawn, breaking over the horizon with every movement they make. It starts with her mouth. The curve of her lips is the first hint of light and the gentle glow of her smile - the perfect little "o" of surprise when he hits just the right spot - marks the start of a brand new day. The heat of her breath as she exhales, still struggling to remain quiet, is that shot of warmth that signifies that he's made it through the night - survived more of the seemingly never-ending madness that has always been his life. But it's her eyes - those deep, brown pools a man could drown in - that light her face and thaw the chill of the sadness that forever haunts him.

She clings to him, pulling him tighter to her until she feels her bones turn to jell-o. She sighs, melting into a contented puddle beneath him. Her lips find his ear and she cradles him to her neck, urging him on as he picks up the pace. She meets him stroke for stroke until they fly over the edge together.

He groans and falls against her. When he pulls away, she feels empty. Cold and lost, she tugs the covers up around her as she considers what to do next.

In an uncharacteristic moment, he reaches for her and tucks her safely against his chest. This is usually the moment when he makes an escape, but they're in his room. It's more than that, though, and he knows it. Having had her once, he knows he could never get enough. Telling her would be a liability neither of them could afford.

So he hangs on to hope as he combs his fingers through her hair and feels the weight of her head against his chest. Hope that they will make it through this. Hope that maybe - just maybe - he's got a shot at a real future, that he won't suffer the fate of Sam or their father. Hope that, for once in his life, tomorrow won't be too late.