A/N: For a a pair of my favorite Role Players - JerkWinchester and BlondeHarvelle - who unwittingly prompted this little plot bunny. Thanks for the inspiration!
And for stephaniew...who thankfully puts up with my antics - even when they shock her! Nice to know I can occasionally still surprise you!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Jo Harvelle walks through the backdoor of the club and into the alley behind it. With a frustrated sigh, she heaves the trash into the dumpster - a monstrous task given the height of the heels she teeters on.
The case she's been investigating was a bust. Nothing supernatural. Just a bunch of second rate strippers and Johns who thought getting handsy with the help got them out of paying for lap dances.
A smile crosses her face as she thinks of the drink she accidently dumped in a customer's lap. Not that he learned anything from his liquor shower, drunken hands still reaching for her. She was lucky Ernie hadn't fired her on the spot. Instead, the crusty old manager just laughed and said, "Give 'im hell, kid! I like your fire!"
Dean Winchester stands in the dark watching her in her ridiculous outfit. The sway of her hips is intoxicating. The curve of her bottom sends a shock of electricity straight to his groin. And the thought of all the other men that have been staring at her all night? It sets his teeth on edge and makes him want to kill something.
Seeing the shadowy figure stalking toward Jo, he mumbles under his breath before launching into action. The rookie hunter doesn't see a thing, nearly tripping over the ridiculous stiletto shoes on her feet. It angers him. Makes him mad as hell. If he didn't know better, he'd swear smoke was pouring from his ears like in a Saturday morning cartoon. And with good reason...though Jo would never admit she was wrong.
Dean pulls the dagger from his coat and thrusts it into the lust demon's rib cage. Red light glows and explodes from the vessel's eyes, the body falling limp to the pavement in a lifeless heap.
Jo gasps as she watches the hunter's movements, shocked that she didn't recognize the flicker of the customer's eyes from the spilled drink. He had been right in front of me...
She's so lost, she doesn't notice him advancing until it's too late. He gets in her face, shielding her body from the street with his own as he backs her against the brick wall. The long fingers of one hand tangle in the loose waves of blonde hair floating over her shoulders forcing her to look at him; the other flexes against the wall to support his weight. His mouth hovers mere centimeters from hers.
"Are you out of your damn mind?" he asks sharply, concern and the need to protect creeping into his tone. "You could've been killed."
She doesn't look at him. Doesn't make eye contact. Her gaze remains fixed on the flannel peeking from between the sides of his leather jacket, she gulps. She can smell the whiskey on his breath.
He's trouble. Dangerous. Everything her mother warned her about. She knows she should stay away, yet she's drawn to him like a budding leaf curling and stretching toward the sun.
Dean's thumb strokes roughly along her jawline, forcing Jo's gaze to meet his own. Brown eyes puddle with liquid defiance. He feels her shiver and suddenly remembers he's assaulting her in the cold. Remembers how she's dressed.
Fishnet stockings clinging to her legs like a second skin. Tight, satin shorts cupping her rounded bottom and making him long to mold his fingers to her curves. A pink bustier top with it's black lace edging thrusting her small breasts upward, putting them on display.
Jo grits her teeth, preparing for the lecture. Preparing to have to defend herself to Dean one more time. But she's startled by the desire pooling in his eyes. They're a deep, dark shade of green that flickers with possession as he stares down at her tiny costume.
She'd only been waiting tables, but that doesn't matter now. She might as well have been stripping right along side Candy and Bliss the way Dean is undressing her with his eyes.
"Dean, I..." she starts.
He cuts her off with a searing kiss. His mouth slants over hers, warm and slightly chapped, as his hand slides down to cup her thigh and drag it around his waist. He rocks against her, tongue caressing between her lips when she whimpers.
Jo's head swims. He tastes like bourbon and smells like soap and leather. His big hands are rough but his touch is tender.
She'd be lying if she said she'd never thought about being with him in a moment like this. But the reality of it all? Of feeling him bulging against her core? Kissing him like there's no tomorrow? Her fantasies hadn't even come close.
She shudders when he nips at her lips with his teeth. He growls when her fingers dig into his hair, pulling him closer. She's pliant, her body betraying her even as she longs to push him away and free herself. His actions are punishing, yet gentle; primal, yet passionate.
Releasing her, Dean's hands slide down over her arms. Feeling goosebumps, he quickly strips off his jacket and yanks her away from the wall to slip it around her shoulders. Her kisses her forehead before using his jacket to drag her close again as his lips seek hers.
"We're getting out of here," he commands. He takes her wrist, pulling her behind him toward the Impala. Feeling her stall, he spins around to look at her and growls a single word, "Jo."
Twisting out of his grip, she yanks his jacket from her shoulders and throws it at him. "I got it, Princess. You saved my ass. Again," she barks in his direction, crossing her arms against the chill.
Dean's jaw tightens. "Do I need to throw you over my shoulder, Harvelle?" he asks darkly. "We both know I will."
His cell phone rings and his eyes don't leave her as he answers it. "Yeah, Sam. I found her." He shakes his head, his tongue flickering out over his lower lip. "Yeah, she's safe all right. Not by much though, stubborn blonde," he mutters. Pausing for a moment, he answers, "Alright. Tell Ellen I'm hauling Jo's ass back to the motel. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
Flipping it closed, his mouth forms a tight line as he eyes her like a wounded animal. "What's it gonna be, Jo? You coming willingly, or do I need to use force?"
She answers his taunt with a glare. Surely he wasn't serious. She was a grown woman. She could take care of herself, even if the events of the night seemed to prove otherwise.
Dean smirks and takes the steps necessary to close the gap between them. Bending at the knee, he wraps his arms around her legs and presses his shoulder to her hips. "Suit yourself then."
Jo kicks at him, wiggling and trying to get loose. Reaching down, she smacks her hand across his backside. "Put me down, damn you!" she cries out, blowing the hair out of her face. "Dean!"
The smile in his voice grates on her already fraying nerves. "Careful, sweetheart, you're turning me on."
She thrashes in his tightening grip, grinding her teeth. Pounding her fists against his back, she growls, "I swear to God if you don't put me down..."
"You'll what?" he asks, shifting her slightly to open the car door. "Tell your mother? I'm not the one who should be afraid. Ellen'd be on my side for this one."
Deposited in the passenger seat, she flinches when he slams the door behind her. Unsure of his state of mind, she pulls the seat belt on. She braces herself, clinging to the handle and tensing against the leather seat as he steers the car out of the parking lot. The scenery is a blur as the car careens with bullet-like speed down the empty roadway.
They drive in silence, Dean's elbow resting on the door frame as he rubs his brow. His grip on the wheel is tight and his posture is tense. The question burns in his mouth before finally erupting on a ragged breath.
"How could you have been so stupid?"
For a moment, it hangs in the air unanswered. Jo opens her mouth and closes it several times as she tries to find an explanation that will satisfy the man beside her. "I'm not some school girl, Deano. I had it under control."
He glares at her as they stop at a red light, brows raising almost to his hairline. "School girl? No, you're right. You aren't some school girl. You're worse than that. Going off half cocked without backup and..."
"Fuck you," she spits. "Like you wouldn't have done the same thing."
Dean punches the gas angrily and the tires squeal as the car launches forward. "The difference is I've been hunting a hell of a lot longer than you," he bites back. "And I don't fit the goddamn profile!"
Jo bites her lip to keep from responding. He's right on both counts. She has no comeback for that one. As the car jerks to a halt in front of her motel room, she's fortunate enough not to need one.
So she thinks. He's on her heals like a small dog from the moment she gets out of the car. She tries to close the door in his face, but he blocks her and advances into the room.
"Oh, don't think you're getting outta this that easy, babe," he says, tossing his jacket onto a chair.
"Why do you even care?" she barks at him, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
Not wanting to get hit, Dean presses Jo's back against the cool steel of the door. Hands drifting down from her shoulders to circle her wrists, he raises her arms over her head. She arches deliciously into him and he stares down at her, the heels almost bringing her fully to his height. "There are people who care about you."
"I know Mom doesn't want me to hunt," she spits. "Spare me the lecture. I get it once a week."
Shifting his grip, he brings a single finger to trace the line of her corseted top. The lace scrapes sinfully against his fingers and contrasts with the silky feel of her heaving breasts. She gasps, her only movement being to look away from his gaze.
The heat of his breath and hands bring goosebumps as he caresses her. He presses his lips to her throat, nibbling gently. "Dressing like this is a mistake, Harvelle," he husks, his hand smoothing over the satin separating his touch from her bare skin. "It makes a man want."
She stills, her eyes wide as he steps back and releases her. She wishes she could control her breathing. That she could somehow hide the effect he had on her.
Dean observes her carefully, watches her wait for his next move. He smirks at her, noting the rise and fall of her chest. He'd help her with that. Soon. "You're a nice girl, Jo," he clucks.
She scowls and huffs a breath. Leaning back, she kicks the shoes from her feet. "How would you know what kind of girl I am?"
His fingers follow the boning of her top, fanning out over her breasts before coming back together at her cleavage. "Nice girls don't wear things like this..." His hands grip the front of the bustier and he jerks outward, tearing the fastenings and hooks apart.
Satin rips like paper, easily shredding and releasing her from the confines of its hold. The first deep breath she's taken in hours is dizzying as it fills her starved lungs. Finally able to appreciate air, she doesn't notice Dean's movements until it's too late.
His lips close over one puckered nipple as his fingers deftly manipulate the other.
"Good boys don't sneak up on girls like that..." she whimpers.
The flicker of his tongue flickering against the aching bud earns a throaty moan. "I've never been accused of being good," he taunts, his lips attaching to her other breast and giving it equal attention.
Jo feels the hum of every cell in her body as she responds to his touch. She moans as his hand drifts lower and he settles into the cradle of her hips. His palm cups her bottom, he hitches her leg around his waist. In a voice honey thick with desire, she purrs, "What do you want, Dean?"
Rather than replying, his hands push the tattered top from her shoulders and move quickly to her waist. His hands quickly strip her of her shorts, pushing them over her hips. There was no point in hiding it anymore. There was no point in denying it.
She arcs into his touch, unable to resist the feel of his rough hands on her soft skin. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be arguing. But, she wants him. She's wanted him from the moment she punched him in the face.
"You, Jo" he rasps, his eyes finding hers as he frees the knife from his belt. He tugs the stockings away from her body and slices them at her waist. The silk gives with little protest as he yanks it apart in his impatience.
Dean grins boyishly when he discovers her tiny panties are made from the same satin and lace as her bustier. His mouth joins with hers, his lapping hungrily at the sweetness of her mouth. "I want you."
He carries her to the bed, trailing open-mouthed kisses and nipping his way over her throat and shoulders. He overpowers, seizing control and making her squirm as he straddles her and removes his shirt.
Warmth pools between her thighs and she knows she's his for the taking. Blood pounds in her ears, drowning out everything but the sound of her own heartbeat.
He kisses her ankle, sliding her calf over his shoulder and nibbling his way along her inner thigh. Pausing, his eyes bore into hers intently. "It made me crazy, the way they looked at you," he growls. His nose nuzzles at the scrap of fabric still covering her and he places a tormenting kiss in a spot that makes her toes curl.
Dean's lips dust over Jo's abdomen, her muscles tensing as his thumbs hook into the sides of her panties. He holds his breath waiting for some sign - some clue - she really wants this. No promises, no regrets. He won't say it. He doesn't have to.
Jo tilts her hips off the bed and bites her lip. Swallowing, she threatens, "Stop now and I swear I'll shoot you."
A smile quirks at his mouth. "You wouldn't," he answers.
"Try me," she challenges.
His mouth moves swiftly against her hip, his teeth scoring over the ridge of the bone beneath the surface of her skin. "But then I couldn't do this..."
He strokes her and she bucks against his hand. His fingers and tongue tease at her core, her fingers tangling in his hair. Her body aches with need even as it clamps around his fingers.
"Oh, God!" Jo screams, her fingers clutching the comforter violently. Feeling Dean's weight leave the bed, she whimpers at the loss of his touch.
He admires her for a moment, her skin flushed and body twitching as she rides out the aftermath of her climax. Quickly stripping off his clothing, he digs into his wallet for protection. Sliding over her, he kisses his way up her chest. Skin on skin, their bodies rub together with torturous friction.
Green eyes connect with chocolate and hold firmly. "Tell me," his tone is rough, his breath scorches over her lips as he hovers a kiss away. "Tell me you want to feel me inside you."
She struggles to breathe, let alone find the words. She stares into his smoldering eyes. A puff of air escapes her in a whine. She won't beg.
He licks his lips, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Tell me, Jo," he moans, shifting against her just enough for her to feel his length poised against her.
Jo's hands find his hips and she shifts beneath him. Wrapping a lean leg around his waist, she offers herself completely. "Yes," she whispers, her voice hoarse with desire. "I want you, okay?" she confesses. "I want to feel every inch. From your nose to..."
Dean pushes forward, falling against her as she takes him in. His mouth finds hers as they both take time to acclimate.
Jo moves first, her nails scraping temptingly against Dean's back. They cling to one another, tension between them growing with every shift.
"Jesus," he groans, the fingers of one hand tangling into her hair as he takes her lips again. She arches wickedly against him, causing him to thrust more deeply. "The way you fit around me..."
"Yes!" she screams, her hands pulling him closer as pleasure ripples through her. "Mmm," she moans. "Harder..."
He smirks, burying his face against the crook of her neck, his teeth scraping against her pulse point. He hitches her leg tighter, increasing the angle of his thrusts. His mouth tugs at her earlobe as she tightens around him.
Dean isn't ready for it to be over. Jo's body quakes, fluttering around his. He changes rhythm to delay his own orgasm.
"Dean..." she keens, shuddering beneath him. "Oh..."
"So good," he husks, his palm drifting from her thigh up to her hip. "So damn good..." The pressure builds within him and spreads down to his toes. His control wains and the pace of his hips quickens relentlessly.
Her lips brush softly over the tattoo on his chest. His forehead drops to hers. "Jo..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jo awakens to an empty bed, the sheet tangled around her body and her hair a hot mess. Pushing the blonde locks out of her eyes and sitting up, she surveys the damage of the room. Definitely not a dream. If the delicious ache of her body wasn't enough to prove that, her damaged clothing certainly was.
She had expected to wake up alone. What she hadn't expected was how it would make her feel. Stretching, she climbs from bed. The sound of a key in the lock sends her stumbling over the sheet for the closest weapon. Her shotgun.
Dean shakes his head. Tossing a pastry bag on the table next to the door, he sets down the coffee cups. "Least this time I know it's a rifle," he teases. "From the sounds you were making, I'm pretty sure I don't deserve to get shot."
Rolling her eyes, Jo lowers the weapon. "Unless you brought me a bear claw, I might still sock you."
Feigning concern, he holds his hands up and gestures toward the bag. "See for yourself."
They have coffee and donuts. It's almost...normal. At least until he looks at his watch.
"I gotta head out," he tells her.
She nods. She's already gotten more from him than she expected.
"Hey, Jo," he says, calling her attention back to his face. "Next time you get a case like this, call before tackling it on your own."
"I'm not promising..." she begins.
Reaching out, Dean pulls her into his lap. A big hand slips through her wayward curls and comes to rest on her neck as he draws her to his mouth. He kisses her - long, soft, deep and wet. When they part, both are left breathless. "Promise me."
"Fine," she whispers, crossing her fingers behind her back.
"I will come for you," he says seriously.
Jo raises a brow, her tongue poking saucily against her cheek. "Quite literally apparently." Before he can catch her, she's out of his arms and hurrying to gather up her clothes.
Grinning, he snatches up the discarded panties just as her fingers narrowly miss them. "Uh-uh, Harvelle," he taunts, tucking the garment in his pocket. "These are mine."
Jo snickers. "Gee, Deano, I didn't know they were your style."
Dean walks toward the door, his fingers curling around the knob. "Call me," he taunts as he opens it. "See ya around, sweetheart."
With a sigh, she collapses onto the bed. Blowing at a stray curl that falls across her face, she shakes her head and makes a mental note to herself.
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