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Apr. 16th, 2020 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dugindeepTitle: Like a Rolling Stone
Pairing: Dean/Jo Harvelle
Rating/Warning: NC-17/dubious consent
Words:
Summary:Written for SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020 for the prompt: One night at the Roadhouse Jo sneaks into Dean's room and blows him. Originally posted here.
Read on AO3
She’s quiet with a held breath and tiptoeing with precision. The kind she uses to sneak downstairs and steal a bottle from behind the bar in the middle of the night.
Still, Dean Winchester sleeps with one eye open and a hand on his gun, and that Colt .45 is aimed right at her.
The lights are out in the guestroom, just a sliver of moonlight through the window, but Jo has keen senses. She had to pick them up real quick growing up around hunters, so she can see the shape of Dean’s head, his shoulders scrunched in as he holds the gun up with both hands, and the silver of the handgun glinting in a warning.
“Joanna Beth,” he growls.
And fuck if the sound of his voice, dark and threatening, doesn’t make her wet. Wetter than she was when she snuck out of her room and decided to finally take aim on her target.
She puts her hands up and smirks, even if she knows he can’t see it. Hell, with his skills, a lifetime of training under the one and only John Winchester, maybe he can. “Well, now, Dean. You’re sounding more and more like my daddy every day.”
“You come to steal something, I’ll give you another kind of steel to deal with.”
Jo rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling at him. “You really gonna shoot a nice, young lady in the middle of the night?”
He’s about to say something, but pauses. She can see the white of his teeth appear when he grinds his jaw in frustration. “Define nice.”
She stalks to the bed, slow and careful, like she’s about to spook a wild animal. And maybe she is, but she’s had more than her share of Maker’s and finally convinced herself now was as good a time as any. “Just trying to be a good host. Mama wouldn’t want you to go without, when sleeping under her roof.”
His gun lowers the closer she gets and then she can reach for it and bring his hands down to his lap, all while keeping her eyes right on his. He doesn’t flinch when she slips the gun from his hands and sets it on the nightstand, and her heart skips a beat for the victory.
“Jo-” he starts, but she shushes him while pulling the sheets off him. “Nothing good happens after 2am.”
It sounds a little like a warning, but a whole lot like he’s trying to convince himself, too.
She would grin, if she didn’t think it would scare him off, so she offers him a little shrug instead. “Too bad I’m not that good.”
It’s quick to climb onto the bed, straddle his knees, and pull his sleep pants down. She’s got her hand around his dick before he can make a peep, and then she drops down to mouth at the head, listening for his moans, the thump of his fist on the bed as if he’s given up the fight.
As if he even tried …
Jo takes him deeper and sucks at his heated skin, laving at his shaft with her tongue, and fists what she can’t fit inside. She’s efficient with her mouth, just like she’s learned over the years. Hunters can teach more than firearms and exorcisms.
She may be young, be she ain’t dumb; she’s learned to pick up on all the right sounds to know what hits home and what doesn’t. When she reaches down to palm his balls, Dean groans deep and heady, reaches out a hand to stroke through her hair. He tugs and pushes her down, but when she whimpers, he loosens his fingers to stroke gently through the strands.
Too bad he doesn’t know her sounds. He doesn’t know that she wants him to grab hold of her and assault her mouth. She shows him as much by running her hand up his arm, pulling it down to her head, and dropping lower on his dick. Spit spills everywhere and she gags just enough to make her pussy throb and her panties even wetter than when she first stepped across the threshold.
She eggs him on by tugging his arm down to her head again. Dean must have other ideas, because he reaches down for her hips and yanks her up to his lap. He pushes her long tee up to palm her breasts and drags his other hand down between her legs, moaning when his fingers slide in her wetness.
“Damn, Jo.”
“That a good damn or a bad damn?” She’s grinning as his fingers play at her clit, sending shocks through her body, and he pushes up against her, his hard dick skimming her ass.
Dean clears his throat and his hands go still on her breast and against her clit. “You said you weren’t that good …”
Jo licks her lips and takes the reins once again, putting one hand on Dean’s shoulder, the other pulling her panties to the side as she rises to her knees. She scoots forward and hovers over his dick to show him just what kind of girl she is. “Gotta make up your mind, Dean. You want a good girl?”
His breath catches in the quiet, body held eerily still. As if he’s using all his willpower to not make the move. “Or what?”
“Or you want me?” His hand clenches around her breast and that’s all the answer she needs. Jo sinks down on his dick before immediately lifting up just to fall again.
Her hands rest on his chest, his on her hips, and she’s the one with all the power, all the strength in her legs to rise and fall, fucking herself on his dick at a steady pace. He holds onto her waist, but otherwise, she watches him shut his eyes, bite his lips, and stay mostly still as she takes exactly what she needs.
Jo’s used to washed-up hunters getting hard for a fresh face, but Dean’s been a tough nut to crack. His smooth smile and hard façade, tempered by a soft soul and pained eyes left a stamp on her heart.
It was the first time she wanted a constant in her life. She’s tried his favorite songs on the jukebox, chased him down to break a case together, even played hard to get, and it got her nowhere.
So, she wrote him off … until he and Sam returned to the Roadhouse tonight, looking for a place to lay their head.
As Jo had stretched out in bed just an hour ago, restless and thrumming with anticipation, her daddy’s voice rang through her head. His favorite Stones song never felt so right.
You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well you might find, you get what you need.
Pairing: Dean/Jo Harvelle
Rating/Warning: NC-17/dubious consent
Words:
Summary:Written for SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020 for the prompt: One night at the Roadhouse Jo sneaks into Dean's room and blows him. Originally posted here.
Read on AO3
She’s quiet with a held breath and tiptoeing with precision. The kind she uses to sneak downstairs and steal a bottle from behind the bar in the middle of the night.
Still, Dean Winchester sleeps with one eye open and a hand on his gun, and that Colt .45 is aimed right at her.
The lights are out in the guestroom, just a sliver of moonlight through the window, but Jo has keen senses. She had to pick them up real quick growing up around hunters, so she can see the shape of Dean’s head, his shoulders scrunched in as he holds the gun up with both hands, and the silver of the handgun glinting in a warning.
“Joanna Beth,” he growls.
And fuck if the sound of his voice, dark and threatening, doesn’t make her wet. Wetter than she was when she snuck out of her room and decided to finally take aim on her target.
She puts her hands up and smirks, even if she knows he can’t see it. Hell, with his skills, a lifetime of training under the one and only John Winchester, maybe he can. “Well, now, Dean. You’re sounding more and more like my daddy every day.”
“You come to steal something, I’ll give you another kind of steel to deal with.”
Jo rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling at him. “You really gonna shoot a nice, young lady in the middle of the night?”
He’s about to say something, but pauses. She can see the white of his teeth appear when he grinds his jaw in frustration. “Define nice.”
She stalks to the bed, slow and careful, like she’s about to spook a wild animal. And maybe she is, but she’s had more than her share of Maker’s and finally convinced herself now was as good a time as any. “Just trying to be a good host. Mama wouldn’t want you to go without, when sleeping under her roof.”
His gun lowers the closer she gets and then she can reach for it and bring his hands down to his lap, all while keeping her eyes right on his. He doesn’t flinch when she slips the gun from his hands and sets it on the nightstand, and her heart skips a beat for the victory.
“Jo-” he starts, but she shushes him while pulling the sheets off him. “Nothing good happens after 2am.”
It sounds a little like a warning, but a whole lot like he’s trying to convince himself, too.
She would grin, if she didn’t think it would scare him off, so she offers him a little shrug instead. “Too bad I’m not that good.”
It’s quick to climb onto the bed, straddle his knees, and pull his sleep pants down. She’s got her hand around his dick before he can make a peep, and then she drops down to mouth at the head, listening for his moans, the thump of his fist on the bed as if he’s given up the fight.
As if he even tried …
Jo takes him deeper and sucks at his heated skin, laving at his shaft with her tongue, and fists what she can’t fit inside. She’s efficient with her mouth, just like she’s learned over the years. Hunters can teach more than firearms and exorcisms.
She may be young, be she ain’t dumb; she’s learned to pick up on all the right sounds to know what hits home and what doesn’t. When she reaches down to palm his balls, Dean groans deep and heady, reaches out a hand to stroke through her hair. He tugs and pushes her down, but when she whimpers, he loosens his fingers to stroke gently through the strands.
Too bad he doesn’t know her sounds. He doesn’t know that she wants him to grab hold of her and assault her mouth. She shows him as much by running her hand up his arm, pulling it down to her head, and dropping lower on his dick. Spit spills everywhere and she gags just enough to make her pussy throb and her panties even wetter than when she first stepped across the threshold.
She eggs him on by tugging his arm down to her head again. Dean must have other ideas, because he reaches down for her hips and yanks her up to his lap. He pushes her long tee up to palm her breasts and drags his other hand down between her legs, moaning when his fingers slide in her wetness.
“Damn, Jo.”
“That a good damn or a bad damn?” She’s grinning as his fingers play at her clit, sending shocks through her body, and he pushes up against her, his hard dick skimming her ass.
Dean clears his throat and his hands go still on her breast and against her clit. “You said you weren’t that good …”
Jo licks her lips and takes the reins once again, putting one hand on Dean’s shoulder, the other pulling her panties to the side as she rises to her knees. She scoots forward and hovers over his dick to show him just what kind of girl she is. “Gotta make up your mind, Dean. You want a good girl?”
His breath catches in the quiet, body held eerily still. As if he’s using all his willpower to not make the move. “Or what?”
“Or you want me?” His hand clenches around her breast and that’s all the answer she needs. Jo sinks down on his dick before immediately lifting up just to fall again.
Her hands rest on his chest, his on her hips, and she’s the one with all the power, all the strength in her legs to rise and fall, fucking herself on his dick at a steady pace. He holds onto her waist, but otherwise, she watches him shut his eyes, bite his lips, and stay mostly still as she takes exactly what she needs.
Jo’s used to washed-up hunters getting hard for a fresh face, but Dean’s been a tough nut to crack. His smooth smile and hard façade, tempered by a soft soul and pained eyes left a stamp on her heart.
It was the first time she wanted a constant in her life. She’s tried his favorite songs on the jukebox, chased him down to break a case together, even played hard to get, and it got her nowhere.
So, she wrote him off … until he and Sam returned to the Roadhouse tonight, looking for a place to lay their head.
As Jo had stretched out in bed just an hour ago, restless and thrumming with anticipation, her daddy’s voice rang through her head. His favorite Stones song never felt so right.
You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well you might find, you get what you need.
