A/N: A little bit of smut to brighten your Monday? This one is pretty smutty...you've been warned.

Currently working on a multi-chapter Dean/Jo fic. Inspire my muse with reviews?

Thank you to stephaniew for putting up with me and the craziness of my muse. Check out her stuff!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

A Good Thing

"What's the rule, Dean?" Jo asks, her mouth curving up in a little grin as she glances at him from the corner of her eye.

Immediately, he draws his hand away from the car's radio. He sulks back against the seat. "Come on, babe," he whines, trying to convince her. "You really want me to listen to this crap?"

"Nothin' beats a little REO. Besides," she laughs. "It's your rule, I'm just enforcing it."

He stares across the front seat at her, a smile spreading across his face. "If it's my rule, we can bend it..." he wheedles, reaching for the knob only to have his hand batted away.

"Dean," she scolds.

He tries an innocent look and fails miserably. "Yeah, babe?"

Jo devastates him with a smile and twinkling eyes. Her voice teasing, she says softly, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole."

He sits back, a thoughtful look on his face, and, for a brief flicker, she wonders what she's gotten herself into before turning back to the road. She's sure she'll find out soon enough.

It's maybe half an hour later that the song comes on the radio. The one she turned into a private show. Dancing in the kitchen. For him. He sees her squirm and watches her reach for the radio. "Leave it," he says, his tone dark and demanding. His hand takes hers and moves it to her thigh. Using both their hands together, he slides the hem of her cotton sundress up to expose a pale expanse of creamy skin.

She gasps, a tiny whimper escaping. "I'm trying to drive..." she fusses.

"Mmm..." he hums, moving her hand to the steering wheel. "You'll need this then..." his voice almost as soaked with desire as her panties. He keeps fanning the flame. "By the time we get to town, you'll be begging me to take you..." he husks, his fingertips skimming the warm flesh of her inner thigh in an upward motion.

"I have fond memories of this song," he says hotly. His touch moves to her panties. "For example, I can tell you these are the pastel version of the ones that you wore that night."

She shifts in the seat, trying to move away knowing that resisting him is a losing battle. It's the best kind of loss...the kind where everybody wins and nobody gets hurt. "Please," she begs.

It's his turn to laugh. The throaty growl only arouses her further. "Please what?" he teases. He licks his lips.

Jo growls and shoots daggers at him. The action only makes his smile grow wider.

"You only think you want me to stop," he tells her, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic. "Your body says it wants more," he slips his fingers into her and strokes smoothly. "So much more..."

"Dean..." she moans, trying to keep her eyes open. Trying to stay focused. Trying to think about anything but the feel of his hand and the sound of his voice as he continues to assault her senses.

"Come on. You can handle it," he says with a raised brow. "It's not like you haven't distracted me while I was driving..."

She sucks in air as his touch consumes her. "Dean..." it's both a plea and a warning. Without looking, she knows his eyes are the color they are in the bedroom. That deep, dark green - a forest you longed to get lost in.

"It's not like we're in the Impala. It's a two door coupe and all our junk is in the back seat," she attempts to reason. "We can't just pull over and..." She can't think. She can't breathe. She can barely drive and she's still not sure how she's managing that task. "We're almost...there..." she pants.

He grins. "Yeah," he agrees, "Actually you are..." She squirms under his caress. He feels her practically grinding against his fingers. "Mmm," his voice is as silky as his touch. "So wet..."

And when he knows she's not expecting it is when he does it. He removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth. He smiles devilishly. "Sweeter than pie," he teases. "Motel's just off the next exit."

She pouts at the loss of the orgasm that so close, but only for a moment. She can't help but smile and shake her head when he says, "Prepare to become an All-I-Can-Eat Buffet..."

~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~

She doesn't remember the block from the highway to the motel. Doesn't remember how they got the room key or got out of the car. All she knows is that, right now, at this very moment, she's pressed between Dean Winchester and the door - and that there's nowhere else she'd rather be. Feeling his touch and the pressure of his mouth - the slick heat of his tongue - as he devours her.

She feels sexy. So hot she could catch fire under the artful friction created by his calloused hands sliding up her arms. And the thought that he can't get enough of her? It makes her melt. Makes her wild and restless. Causes her to do things and think things in ways she's never imagined.

One hand slides into the messy bun at her neck, better angling her lips beneath his. The other slips down to her thigh where it bunches in the skirt of her dress and slowly pulls upward. The heat of it when it opens and slips across her bare skin is almost unbearable. Especially when he hitches her leg around him, sliding his open palm all the way to her hip as he grinds against her.

"You make me crazy," he growls, nuzzling at her throat as he pushes one strap off her shoulder. He squeezes her thigh, massaging it as he leans even closer.

"You say that," Jo pants, her own hands clinging to his shoulders for support. "Like it's a..." she sucks in air as he begins releasing the buttons on her dress. "A bad thing."

Dean's eyes burn into hers as he takes her mouth again. Drawing slightly away, he takes in the vision in front of him: kiss swollen mouth, flush of pink on her skin, rise of her chest, dress spilling open, long leg wrapped around him. "The only bad thing is that you're still dressed," he growls, releasing her.

He turns her, backing her toward the bed as deft fingers unbutton the fastenings necessary to push the dress to the floor. Then she's on her back, caught between a throaty laugh and a moan, as he removes his t-shirt. She loves watching him strip; seeing the flex of his muscles, the cocky look in his eyes.

He draws her panties down, caressing her legs as he spreads them. He kisses her knee, his fingers stroking feather-light over her outer thighs as he kneels at the edge of the bed. He gives her a smoldering look and grabs a pillow. He winks at her, slipping it beneath her to angle her hips.

His hot breath on her overheated skin makes tremble. She can't stop the moan that escapes at the first teasing scrape of his tongue. Her eyes roll back as he uses it to tickle her sweet spot, sucking at it as his fingers brush over her thighs. She whimpers softly, struggles to remember to breathe as he feasts on her. The pleasure is almost too intense, but he holds her steady - holds her firmly to his mouth - as she writhes in the delicious tension he creates in her body with his touch.

She can't help but steal a look at his eyes, at the glowing intensity of them as he spins her tighter, taking her one notch higher - one step closer - to tumbling over the edge.

Her eyes slam shut, her back arches and her hands fist in the bed linens. She purrs his name - at least she thinks it's his name - as her orgasm ripples over her. Her toes curl as he continues, his tongue lapping lazily as she rides the crest building her up to another before she can crash. Her fingers tangle in his hair. "Please..." she murmurs. "Please, Dean...I need..."

"Mmm, you need what, babe?" he hums against her. He kisses her inner thigh, already knowing the answer.

"You," she moans, "Need you... Want you..." her body jerks up with need and her voice trails off in a tiny moan.

He shucks his remaining clothes and joins her. Skin on skin, they come together. Moving and sliding together like the puzzle pieces they are. They fit - perfectly and completely - moaning together as they join.

"So good," she tells him, pulling him closer.

"So damn good..." he repeats, kissing her as he cradles her head. He loves looking into her eyes in moments like this. Seeing the fire; the blaze of heat, colors and emotions she shows so freely. They mirror everything he feels, voicing all the things he can't say because he's not sure how.

He entwines his fingers with hers as though they need to be closer, as if that would somehow fuse them together even more. He feels it, tries to push it back and hold it in, but it escapes anyway. One perfect tear.

She sees it and licks the tiny droplet away in a moment of tenderness and understanding. She goes on to kiss his eyelids and his nose. Holding his face between her hands, she draws his mouth to hers as he hovers over her, within her. She shifts her hips, encouraging him to move again. she meets him stroke for stroke, peppering kisses over his face and shoulders. "Oh..." her breath comes out in a rush. "Dean...don't stop...please..." her nails dig into his shoulders.

He quickens his movements, thrusting until they both go limp together. He leans in, thinks about pressing one last kiss to her lips, but rolls away. They both labor to catch their breath.

It's awkward. The kind of awkward it used to feel when he considered leaving a woman's bed. The kind of awkward he hasn't felt in months. Not even the first time they were together. It's never been this way with her.

She feels the tension in him and holds her breath. She wonders what he's thinking but doesn't dare ask. It's not worth the risk. She thinks about what happened, going over every detail in her mind and wondering if she slipped. Wondering if in the thick of things she'd spilled her feelings, she grows still.

That wasn't it. She's always careful not to spook him. She doesn't know how long she can make this last - how long she can keep him interested - but she does know that he's got to set the pace. That any confession of feelings will have to fall from his lips first. She knows he's got her heart - hell, he's had it for a while - and she knows there's a good chance it'll get broken, but she's never been a quitter. She's never been one to back down.

She turns toward him just in time to see him climbing out of the bed. His muscles are taut as he bends down to grab his boxer briefs from the floor. The woman in her, the creature that is capable of admiring her man - because he is hers - licks her lips at the view of his firm rear end and watches shamelessly as he pulls on some clothing.

"Dean..." she breathes, pulling the sheet up around her chest.

He stiffens but doesn't turn around. "Jo, I..."

She can almost hear him shutting down. She blows out a breath and moves to stand behind him, the sheet wrapped around her body. Leaning her cheek against his shoulder blade, she whisper, "You don't have to hide from me."

He exhales, his arms wrapping over hers. "I don't know how to do this..." he confesses.

She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against his back and warming him. "I don't either," she answers.

Turning to face her, he slips his fingers into her hair and tilts her face up to his. "I... Jo, I mean, I..."

"Shh," she whispers. "It's okay."

"No, dammit. It's not okay," he says, his brow furrowing. "I care about you - so much that it scares me sometimes - and I just...I'm not good at, ya know..."

"The chick-flick stuff," she finishes with a serious nod. She strokes her fingers against his chest, contemplating the best way to handle this. She smiles as it comes to her. "Good news though, Dean-O," she says with a playful punch to his arm. "I've always been more of an action movie kind of girl."

Dean licks his lips. His face grows almost stern and she bites back a laugh. "So, we're good then?" he asks.

"Yeah," she answers. And it's the truth. They've got something magic. Something worth holding onto. Something worth waiting for. "We're good. We're better than good."