A/N: My friends Silverspoon and WelshWitch1011 asked me for something light after my last post. I've been hanging onto this one because there was something that bugged me about it, but I think I got it straightened out. While I'm not sure this qualifies as sugar-spun fluff, it's definitely sweet. I guess y'all will have to be the judge.
Figure it occurs sometime after Jus in Bello and, other than being very early in Dean and Jo's relationship, pick your own 'verse.
Like what you see? Have a special request? Leave it in a review or PM me. I'd love to hear from you!
Things have been crazy busy today, so this one is self-betaed. Any mistakes are all my fault...but don't let that stop you from checking out my pal and beta stephaniew! Her OC keeps Dean on his toes...when she lets him out of bed. ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Dean hears the hood of the car she's working on slam shut followed by a frustrated little growl. He watches as Jo steps out of the rain, quietly entering the garage. She's returning tools to their proper locations when their eyes meet.
He stares at her, drinking her in. She shivers. Damp clothing clings to the curves of her body. Motor oil smudges across her face and t-shirt. Her hair is a mess, the elastic band holding it back slipping loose. Jo glares back, her eyes wary of the way he looks at her. She'd swear he's undressing her. That he's stripping her down to the very essence of her soul. That he wants something she isn't entirely sure she possesses. She lets out a breath when he steps toward her. Brown eyes lock on his green ones when he reaches out to wipe the smudge from her cheek with his thumb. She's desperate to look away, to free herself from him, because she knows what's at stake. His tongue slips over his lower lip as his fingers move to the rubber-band. He tugs it free, spilling silky coils of damp curls over her shoulders. He realizes he's never let her hair down before. His fingers itch to touch it. "Dean?" she questions softly, raising an eyebrow at his scrutiny. He looks at her - really looks at her - and he's surprised by what he sees. The stiffness tells him she knows better. That she shouldn't let this happen. That it isn't worth all the fighting, constantly making circles and ending up in stalemates.
But her eyes tell another story. The shimmering pools that flash in shades ranging from melted chocolate to that of a rich cup of coffee have him drowning. Trust. Bravery. And something else, something he's never noticed before.
He slips nearer. His eyes drop from hers to her parted lips before rocketing back up. He moves closer still, his hands cupping the back of her neck. "If you don't want me to kiss you, now would be the time to say something..." The last time she'd seen him, they'd fought. They'd screamed and yelled, slamming doors and nearly coming to blows. Now he wanted to kiss her?
She can't think quickly enough. She watches his mouth as it lowers, her eyes glued to the tiny freckle on his lower lip. She tenses slightly. She can feel his breath fanning over her cheeks. It's warm and tinged with whiskey. He's so close now that she can almost feel the pressure of his lips. She can almost taste his kiss as her eyes drift closed. She's not sure why, but she's terrified.
Is it his reputation? That he's treated women as though they were disposable and that some part of her is worried he'll do the same to her? Is it that she thinks she isn't enough? That she's too inexperienced and won't be able keep up with or satisfy him? Is it that they'd been arguing mere hours ago and he's suddenly forgotten? So many questions roll through her mind, but no answers. Like moth to flame, he finds himself drawn to her. Drawn to the fierce, young woman standing in front of him even though he's tried to deny it. Tried to ignore it. Tried to give up and walk away.
Nothing works. Not time or distance. Not alcohol or other women. Invisible strings pull him back over and over. When he sees her eyes close, he knows. He knows he's got to find a way to convince her - convince them both - that they've got even half a chance of having something. Something they should grab on and cling to for as long as possible. He takes a breath and touches his lips to hers. The restraint he puts into it is painful. He longs to crush her against him, holding her firmly and soundly. Everything in him wants to kiss her so thoroughly it makes her toes curl, but he keeps it feather-light. His lips move softly against hers. Patient. Giving. Searching. She shifts leaning into him for support. Her fingers curl into the worn cotton of his t-shirt. Though her mind still races with questions, all she can do is feel - something, everything. There will be time for answers later. Time for making sense and working things out.
But for now? For now, she sees nothing wrong with being in his arms, with feeling his mouth on hers. How could it be wrong when it felt so...right? Purring softly, she tilts her head and better angles her mouth under his. Needing. Taking. Asking. He answers with a moan as his tongue sweeps over her lower lip. It tickles against hers teasingly as his arms glide down her back, wrapping around her. He feels his shirt growing damp as her arms snake around his neck and she pulls closer, but he ignores it and deepens the kiss. He leans a hand against the car behind her as he attempts to support them both.
Breathless, he caresses her face as he continues to lean over her. When she stares up at him with wide eyes and kiss-swollen lips, he reaches for her hand. Suddenly the words that weren't there earlier find their way to his lips. "Can I see it?" he murmurs against her fingers as he brings them to his lips.
She raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were mad..."
"I panicked," he says, rolling his eyes. "It made me feel like you were that much more at risk."
"But you and Sam..." she begins.
"Come on, Jo," he lets out a heavy sigh. "Me and Sam have our reasons. You know that better than anybody..."
She leans up and kisses him, her hands cupping his neck and holding his mouth to hers. "I didn't want you to worry. I did it because it's one less thing you'd have to think about," she confesses. There's a sadness to her voice, one that says she wishes he didn't have to worry about anything. That he could be free of the weight of everything that burdens him, haunts him.
Taking his hand, she trails it down over her breasts to her abdomen. She leans against the car, arching into his touch when his fingers brush the fastenings on her jeans. She nods, biting her lip at the rasp of the zipper.
His fingers brush over the gauze at her hip and gently peel back the tape. Roughly the size of a silver dollar, it's a perfect replica of the tattoo on his chest. "Babe," he whispers, his voice husky. "I..."
She shakes her head, her fingers moving to cover his lips. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I should've talked to you first."
He presses a kiss to her forehead. "No, I'm sorry. I shoulda listened to you and let you explain. It's just..."
She shakes her head, turning to face him as he leans against the car next to her. Her hands move to close the fly on her pants and she tugs her t-shirt back down. "Guess we've both got a lot to learn," she says softly.
"Looks like," he answers, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Hey, Dean?" A grin tugs at the corner of her lips as she tilts his chin up with the tips of her fingers. When their eyes meet, she reaches out to take his hand. "I'm willing to give it a shot..."
He doesn't answer. Instead, he captures her mouth and lets his tongue speak for him. Maybe someday he'll learn to talk to her. But for now, that's a lesson he hasn't quite learned yet...