Grasping in the dark

JC/OFC One-shot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the dirty thoughts in my head, and even then it's a tenuous grasp on ownership.

*

He moved to punch her, his right fist swinging towards her face in an almost graceful arc. She grabbed it, using his own momentum to push his body forwards whilst she pinned his arm up his back, but he was ready for this and kicked out, making her stumble and lose her balance.
She jumped backwards just in time, feeling the whisper of air as his fist grazed her stomach, just missing her. She lashed out, aiming for his throat, but he was still focused on sweeping her legs out from under her, and this time he made contact with the back of her right knee. It buckled, and she allowed herself to fall, ducking under his oncoming attack and rolling across the ground before standing up and doing a spinning kick. Which he caught. Damn.

“Jo, what the hell are you doing? You aren’t Buffy the goddamn vampire slayer.”

The young woman yanked her foot from the man’s grasp and scowled at him.
“That was a perfectly acceptable move considering the situation, John.”
He shook his head. “It was showy and you know it. We’re not here to look good, we’re here to hunt. To be on the top of our game.”
She tossed the dark bangs from her eyes and snorted. “We’re here to hunt, huh? That’s rich considering we haven’t done anything but train and sit around goddamn moping in weeks.”

John Winchester raised a warning hand, his rough voice dropping lower in his anger, sounding almost like a growl.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Jo. You’re here as a favour, nothing more.”
Jo stared at him in incredulous shock for a moment, before turning away, her shoulders hunched in anger, her hands trembling slightly as she ripped at the safety tape on her hands.
“Yeah, I’m just such a fucking nuisance, huh? Such a huge waste of your time?”
She finally had all the tape off, and threw it in one crumpled pile to the ground, spinning around and glaring at the dark-haired man before her.
“Well, fuck you, John Winchester. I’m sick of being treated like your goddamn lacky; of being criticised day in and day out. Training me to hunt? That’s laughable considering your behaviour lately. Without me, you’d just sit around feeling sorry for yourself all day whilst your boys, who you claim to love so much, could be out there getting killed.”

John’s eyes darkened and he strode towards her angrily. Despite being taller than her by a good six inches, she refused to back down, glaring back at him with just as much frustrated rage.
“Don’t you talk about them.” It was a snarl. He was so close to her now that she could feel his breath on her face, and see the individual whiskers that made up the days old stubble on his chin and cheeks.
“I heard the message from Sam, John. Dean was dying and where were you, huh? Where were you!” She couldn’t help but the yell the last part at him, and his hand came up, palm open, ready to hit her. She started to flinch but caught herself just in time.
Pulling herself up to her full height, she squared her shoulders and turned away from him.
“Forget it, John. Forget me. I’m done here.”
With a disgusted shake of her head, she grabbed her duffel bag from off the hard ground and started striding towards the road she could just make out in the distance.

*

She caught a lift to the nearest bar, putting up with the driver leering at her despite how much it just fuelled her rage and made her want to lash out senselessly. Now seated at the dreary bar, idly twirling her cheap beer bottle with long, pale fingers she wondered when it was exactly that she had fallen in love with John Winchester. He was at least ten years her senior and definitely not at all personable. It had taken her quite some time to persuade him to help her, and even then he only acquiesced when a mutual friend spoke on her behalf.

Jo sighed and reached a hand behind her head to undo her ponytail, letting her long dark hair fall across her back and shoulders. It helped to ease the tension headache threatening to explode in her temples any second. The barman brought her a fresh beer bottle unheeded, and she nodded her thanks, staring gloomily at its green glass and the foam-topped liquid within.

She’d thought she already knew how to fight before she met John, but within minutes he had made her feel so uncertain. He had been hostile initially, as if he resented her intrusion into his life, but slowly he had loosened up. Either that, or Jo had simply become accustomed to his brusqueness. She still remembered the first time they shared a beer together because it had felt like such a victory. Smiling into his dark brown eyes she’d actually seen a personality hiding away in their depths, something far more complex and alive than the military persona he seemed to adopt as perfectly as a custom-made jumpsuit. It was hard sometimes to know where the persona ended and the real John began.

Jo sighed. She shouldn’t have brought up his kids like that, but she wanted to hurt him. Hell, she hated when he discussed the boys because it reminded her all too clearly of what a child she was in his eyes. Sometimes the desire to force him to see her as the capable woman she is was almost tangible, filling her mouth and making her heart pound. Some days she felt like she would kill to see him smile at her and mean it, like the way he smiled at his remaining friends. They were equals to him, whilst she was inferior: a trainee, a student, a child.

Four beers down and Jo started to wonder whether she was leaving this time for good. She’d never threatened it before, she’d always just left. But then she’d always returned then, too. Now, well, now things felt different. There was the scent of change in the air, and it was oddly unnerving. She was just about to order some whiskey in a bid to really drown her sorrows when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

John slid into the stool next to her, waved at the bartender for his own bottle of beer, and turned his head to look at Jo whilst she stared fixedly ahead. She heard him run his hands through his dark, messy hair and scratch the stubble of his cheeks. She wondered if he was fidgeting because he was still angry at her and was trying to control himself, or because he was uncomfortable and unsure of what to say.

Hating herself for being so weak, the warmth of his body next to her and the faint brush of his jacket against her arm making her anger slowly diffuse, she spoke softly, “I’m sorry for what I said about the boys. It was out of line.”
John sighed. “No, it wasn’t.”

Jo turned to him in shock. “It wasn’t?”

“No. You were right. I wasn’t there because I’ve been hiding. For a while I just lost myself in the hunt for this son of a bitch, but recently,” he sighed, “recently I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself.”
He looked into her eyes, and the lines on his face seemed deepened due to his sadness.
“Since Mary died, I guess I’ve been running. What happened the last time I saw the boys, watching them be hurt like that. . . It made me stop and think for the first time in a long while.”

Jo placed a tentative hand over John’s. “You can’t run forever. Those are your words, John.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I know, Jo. God, I know, but I want to. I’m more afraid of what happens when this is all over than the chase.”
She looked away, whilst her fingers absentmindedly stroked the back of his hand.
“When my parents were killed, I spent a long time being angry. It’s a great motivator, still is in fact. But anger isn’t enough to keep you going forever, and as bittersweet as it was to learn that, I’m glad I did.” She looked at him. “Because the day I realised there was something else that could keep me going was when I met people like you, John; people who know what’s out there and work together to fight it.”
She waved her free hand. “When all this is over, John, you’ll still have a family. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

She didn’t know if it was the booze or not but tears stung the back of her eyes, and she turned her face away, lip threatening to tremble. He lent towards her, his eyes on her face, but she rose from the barstool and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Take me home?”

*

Jo walked into the small cabin they had been calling ‘home’ for the past month, and started turning the lamps on low before falling onto the old sofa and stretching luxuriously.
“Oh man, I am so tired. And kinda drunk.”
Silently, John went to the tiny kitchen and Jo heard the rush of water as the old taps were turned on. He returned with a tall glass of water that Jo took gratefully. After downing half the glass, she rested it on her knee and turned thoughtful eyes to John’s.
“I think I really mean it this time, John; about leaving. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I wish I could come with you to help you kill the monster that took your wife from you, but I know you have to go it alone. It’s a family issue.”

She smiled bitterly and shook her head. “And I have to face my monster alone.”
John took her hand, and she looked at him in surprise. He never initiated contact with her.
“Not necessarily. I’ll come with you, or you can meet up with the boys whilst I finish up here. I can tell them to help you.”
She barked a laugh. “You mean order them? No, John. That’s not going to happen.” Sighing, she sank further back into the sofa cushions. “You three need to be together for this one, to work as a team.” Seeing that he was about to argue, she raised an eyebrow. “Even if it takes you a while to realise it. And I. . . well, I started this journey alone, and that’s how I’ll finish it.”

Jo looked down into her glass, feeling melancholy settle around her like a shroud. She wanted to blame the alcohol but she knew it was more than that.
“I dream about them, my parents, sometimes, which is so stupid because I never even had a chance to know them. But when I dream, I recognise their faces and their touch. It’s as if I actually know them instead of just knowing of them.”
The tears that had threatened to come earlier spilled from her eyes, and she swiped at them angrily.
“It just doesn’t seem fair to dream about something I can never have.”

She felt his arms go around her, and she leaned into him tiredly. Her face was already dry when she laid her cheek on his shoulder, her nose pressed to his neck, the familiar scent of him filling her nostrils.
She brought her hand up to rest on his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath the thin t-shirt he wore. Slowly she ran her hand under his jacket, pushing it from his shoulder as she lent forward slightly to brush her lips across his neck. She felt him stiffen and pulled away to look at him, touching his cheek with her fingertips.

His voice was rough, “Jo, you’re drunk.”
She shook her head. “Maybe but I’m thinking clearly.”

Moving to straddle his lap, she brushed her lips against his own before pulling back to gage his reaction. Wide, brown eyes gazed back at her, confusion in their depths. Hooking her fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, Jo started to remove it when John’s strong hands closed over her own.
“Jo, please. Do you know what you’re doing?”
She gazed at him defiantly. “Yes. I’m not a little girl, John.”

Staring into her eyes intensely, his fingers finally loosened on her own and she pulled the shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly, his large hands slid up her sides and round to her back as he watched her face. She shivered, closing her eyes as the touch of his rough fingers made the flesh on her arms rise. Meeting the resistance of her bra, he quickly unclasped the back and pulled the straps down her arms. As it fell away, baring her breasts, his eyes grew darker and leaning forwards he took her right nipple into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth before sucking, his tongue massaging her tender flesh. Jo gasped, lacing her fingers through his hair and arching into his touch.

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses all over her breasts and chest, John pushed his hips up into Jo’s, making her buck against him with need, her breath starting to come in short, excited pants. Rising up, he pressed his mouth to hers hungrily, his hot breath mingling with hers as his tongue grazed the sensitive inside of her lips. With a growl, he lifted and flipped her, dropping her down on the sofa and making her laugh with delight. The laughter died in her throat when she saw the hunger in her eyes, and as he reached to undo her jeans, she helped him with fingers that trembled with arousal.

Pulling them down her hips, he lowered his head to kiss the indents beneath her hipbones, and Jo resisted the urge to squirm beneath him. Her fingers laced with his, they both greedily pushed her blue jeans down her thighs, before John finally pulled them free. Kneeling between her legs, his eyes on her face, he ran a single finger along the edge of her panties, causing Jo’s knees to move apart in response.

“Yes. . .” She breathed, her eyes closing as she focused on the sensation of his touch so very close to her sex.

Slowly, he ran his fingers up against the warmth of her, pushing against her opening gently and rubbing the increasingly wet material between him and her hot flesh. She bit her lip, trying not to whimper as he trailed his fingers upwards, pausing just beneath her swollen clitoris. When he lowered his mouth onto her, she moaned aloud and pressed her hips against him. Even with the flimsy material of her panties between them, it felt so damn good. . ..

As he teased her with his mouth, he slipped two fingers beneath the crotch of her panties and gently probed her wet opening, her juices coating his fingertips in seconds and making his erection throb almost painfully. Pulling back to remove the offending article, Jo sat up, grabbing at his clothes as she pressed desperate kisses to his neck, cheek, mouth.

“Take them off. God, please. . . I want to see you.”

Her voice was gruff with lust and he pulled her to him roughly, kissing her with force before impatiently tugging off his clothes. As he lowered his own jeans, the sight of his cock pressing against the thin material of his briefs was too much for Jo to bear, and she slipped a hand between her legs so she could touch herself, her long fingers sliding easily between her wet labia before pushing inside her desperately. John was just removing his last remaining item of clothing when he noticed Jo’s actions. The sight of her sprawled on the sofa, legs wide, dark hair fanned out across her shoulders, her eyes heavy-lidded and hungry as she touched herself broke away the last of his restraint, and he fell upon her. Knocking her hand away, he pushed the tip of his achingly-hard cock to her wetness, breathing hard as he stared down at her. He wanted to see her expression as he took her.

She gazed back at him, eyes wide, open, inviting. It occurred to John suddenly that she’d always been open to him, always honest, whilst he’d hidden from her and anyone else who dared to desire closeness with him. Refusing to let the chill of this realisation ruin the passion of the moment, he trailed a line of hot kisses across her throat, her every gasp and moan only fuelling his desire. Bracing one arm on the couch, the other touching her face tenderly, John pushed forwards, sliding himself inside the warm, welcoming tightness of Jo’s sex.
She gasped, her pussy clenching at him with desire as she wrapped her legs tight about his hips; her entire body arching into him as if his every touch were electrifying.

Deep in the pit of his stomach, a knot was building. With every thrust, the molten desire at his core grew more intense, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer with her moaning beneath him, begging him for more, as she pulled him in deeper, clinging to him as if she were drowning in sensation and he was the only real thing in her world. Unable, and unwilling, to hold back he slid his hands beneath her ample ass and held her to him as he increased his rhythm; relentlessly slamming his cock into her again and again.

Jo was gasping now, her arms and legs wrapped so tight around him that she felt like she could never let go. Every single time he slammed into her, she raised her hips to meet him. It had been a long time since she’d taken a lover, and his roughness with her made the pleasure mingle with pain. It was exquisite.
Throwing her head back, hair sliding down her back, she started to cry out as that familiar, spine-melting sensation began to build inside her.

“Oh, John, fuck yes. . . Yes!”

Grasping at him desperately, hips grinding irregularly as her climax grew, Jo started to come, nails raking down John’s strong back as she cried out with pleasure. With a moan that rang with exquisite pain and complete pleasure, John buried his face in her neck, his messy hair tickling her skin, as he came; spurting inside her as his body shuddered violently.

*

Later, when their heavy, irregular breathing had returned to normal, and their sweat-drenched skin was chill from the night air, Jo stroked John’s hair as his head rested on her bare breast. Gazing at the rough attractiveness of his face and the seductive swell of his mouth, a familiar feeling rose in her chest.
“I’m still leaving, John. Tomorrow.”
He didn’t move, only closed his eyes, dark eyelashes making shadows on his cheeks.
“Goodbye then.”

*

Jo didn’t know when she had fallen in love with John Winchester, but she knew when she began to hate him.