A/N: One of my favorite movies is Bull Durham. There's something so sexy about Kevin Costner painting Susan Sarandon's toenails. It didn't quite end up being what I was expecting...but I think it's pretty steamy.
The idea has been sitting on my computer a while. I grabbed stephaniew months ago and asked her if I was out of my mind. Either she likes my craziness (and inflicting it on the rest of you) or this really is as good an idea as I thought...
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural...good thing, too, because Dean would find himself in chick-flick hell. ;)
60 Minute Man
Dean Winchester was a womanizing asshat. For years, he perfected the art of getting into and out of women's beds quickly. He doesn't do sleepovers or breakfast. Hell, most women were lucky if he bothered waiting for them to fall asleep before he left.
For a while, he was all about lovin' and leavin' 'em. There was a time when he just got on with the show. Foreplay? What was that? And falling asleep? Forget it!
That was before he met Joanna Beth Harvelle. They say the certain people change your life. It may be for the best, it may be for the worst...but for the most part, they just do. You meet them when you least expect it. At the grocery store or at school. Sometimes at a restaurant or a bar. In this case, her mother's bar...
This isn't the first time he's come by to see her and he knows it won't be the last. He waited until the coast was clear before moving from a table in the darkened corner of the Roadhouse to the bar itself. Ellen was gone. She'd been gone for 20 minutes. The last of the customers was shuffling out the door.
A calloused hand strokes over her forearm as she leans in to talk to him. He pushes a stray honey blonde curl behind her ear with the other and trails his fingers down the line of her jaw. He kisses her, slow and deep, grunting at the counter between them and the way it keeps him from pressing her body fully against his own.
"Let's go upstairs," he murmurs over her lips.
Jo hears "Let's have sex." Not like she hasn't thought about it. Not like she hasn't known from the moment he walked through her door that this was where things were heading. Still, she nods and locks up.
He takes her hand, smiling as he leads her to the room he knows is hers and making her gasp as his fingers slip into her hair and tilt her mouth up to his in the moonlit hallway. "Do you trust me?"
Do you trust me? That was laughable. Did she trust that he was a good hunter - perhaps even the best? - yes. Without question. Did she trust him not to break her heart? No. But she wasn't willing to turn him away because of it.
She nods and kisses him quickly before she can change her mind.
"Close your eyes," he says softly.
Jo's lids drop obediently. She fights the urge to crack them open as she feels something soft tighten around her face. "Dean? What...?"
He peppers her face with kisses. Her lips. Her jaw. The tip of her nose. "Shh..." he soothes her.
Jo feels her feet leave the floor as Dean sweeps her into his arms. He carries her into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them, and sets her down, slowly stripping her out of her clothes without removing the blindfold.
Her senses are heightened. She feels each caress tenfold. The brush of his lips over bare skin. The tease of rough fingers over a firm breast and its stiff nipple. The taste of his tongue. The sound of his breathing.
"Dean..." she whimpers, reaching for him and longing to see the desire in his eyes. She knows it's there. She can feel it. Taste it in the way he kisses her. "Please..."
He lowers her, warm and naked, to the bed. She feels his skin pressing against hers and tries to push closer to the hard heat of him. His hands close around her wrists and she feels a silken cording looping around them.
For a brief second, she panics. Sam tied her up when he was possessed. Was Dean driven by an unspeakable force? She struggles slightly, biting her lip and trying not to cry out. She's too proud to beg. Too scared to ask what's going on.
His breath scorches her throat as he hovers over her. As if sensing her insecurity, voice husky, he says, "I'll stop if you want me to..."
The sincerity in his words - the tenderness and uncertainty - fillet her. It opens her heart and her body. Fills her with desire and want. Swallowing, she nods in answer.
Dean's big hands map the curves of Jo's body. They drag over her in tantalizing strokes ranging from barely there whispers to heavy handed groping. He grows drunk on the way his name escapes her parted lips as her body arches into his touch. He's damn sure going to take his time. Going to remember every minute. Going to have something to take with him when he goes back on the road.
His mouth follows his hands. Gentle flicks of his tongue. Nibbles not quite hard enough to leave marks. Kisses and suckling from her lips to her tiny ankles. He torments her, making her wait until her pleas become breathy.
Sliding over her, a fine mist of sweat coating them both as they fight to hold back, he peels the blindfold away. He wants to see her eyes when he enters her. Wants to feel the connection he's only ever had with her.
Tight and white hot, she consumes him. Her body greedily sucks him in, squeezing as he rocks into her. He steadies her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist and driving deeper, causing them both to moan.
He doesn't release her hands. He couldn't handle the added sensation of her touch. This is new. Different. And, as he watches the way she grips the bonds for leverage, he knows he's not the only one enjoying it.
Flexing his abs and changing the angle again, his fingers dig into her hips. He scrapes his lightly stubbled jaw against hers and breath catches in both of their throats.
They tumble into the abyss together, their bodies jerking together in a tangled mess as Dean tugs Jo free to feel the dig of her nails on his shoulders as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.
Kissing her shoulder, he crumbles, "Jo. God, Jo..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dean startles awake to the feel of Jo's soft mouth teasing across his lower abdomen. He licks his lips at the delicious sensations she creates and moves to run his fingers through her hair only to find himself tethered to the headboard with the silk ties he'd used on her earlier in the evening.
Her tongue testing his nipple before circling his tattoo, she hovers over him. Mischief coloring her smile and eyes sparkling, she asks, "You want me to stop, Deano?"
And miss this moment? Hell no. He shakes his head.
Delicate fingers wrap around his shaft and she tugs gently, earning a moan. She pumps him slowly and deliberately before straddling his hips and sinking onto him.
He watches her ride him, the gentle sway of her breasts mesmerizing in the pale moonlight streaming through the bedroom window. He relishes seeing her take control and letting her set the pace. It's not often he gives in and gives himself over this way. It's special. Different.
Leaning down, Jo snares Dean's mouth with her own. The change in angle - the added stimulation to the bundle of nerves nestled between her thighs - makes her shiver. "Dean..." she keens.
"Mmm," he hums encouragingly. "That's it, baby," he tells her. "Take what you need."
She whimpers, her hands on his shoulders as she quickens her pace. The pattern of her undulating hips is slightly erratic and he leans up to catch her mouth. The clench of her body around his makes him yank until he slips one of his wrists free.
Shifting her beneath him, he makes her scream his name as he strokes mercilessly into her. Over and over. Hard and fast.
"Dean... Oh, God..."
They collapse together. Hearts pounding and breathing labored. For a change, he doesn't move when she snuggles close. Instead, he draws her thigh across his and tucks the sheet around them both.
"That was..." she starts.
He smirks, more than satisfied and wondering how long he can keep Jo from getting out of bed. "Oh, yeah..."
Seven Minutes in Heaven may work for the teenage set, but 60+ minutes in the heaven of Jo Harvelle's body? That would never be enough..