That Shit Must Hurt Real Bad
Title: Fakin' What you Wish you Had
Summary: Meg wants to finish what she started with Jo.
Word count: 1,900
Rated: NC-17 (Sexuality, violence)
Notes: Set S5; Spoilers for "Bad Day at Black Rock"
Warnings: Dub-con, knife-play, general twisted-ness
Genre: Femslash, pwp, dark
Characters: Meg/Jo
Disclaimer: Not Kripke, don't own, no financial incentive to do this.
A/N: For melanth0 and the "five acts" meme, title from Santogold's "Creator"
***
“You should be more careful,” Jo says, and though she’s aiming for casually tough it’s hard to say if she hits it. The woman she saved in the shadowy alley near her motel looks a couple years older than her, for one, and perhaps more importantly she’s distractingly gorgeous, with a long dark hair and a lisp that thickens her words. The way she talks makes Jo imagine filling that plump red mouth with her own fingers or tongue.
“I can’t believe you killed that thing. What was it?” the woman asks, pressing a hand to her thigh where the creature’s claw caught her before Jo could slit its throat.
Jo smiles a little. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Here’s my room, I’ll clean those cuts up for you and we can call a cab.”
“I’ve never seen a girl use a knife like that,” the woman says, with enough admiration that Jo flushes unseen as she fumbles the key into the doorknob and unlocks it. “Your daddy teach you?” she finishes, with an edge. Jo turns to answer and the woman’s eyes flick black, turning her playful expression sinister.
Jo’s knife is in her hands and ready, but it’s all she has on her; no holy water, nothing that’ll stop a demon. She curses herself for being unprepared and sloppy, like some cock-sure newbie. The woman, the demon, saunters closer. Jo’s back fetches up against the doorjamb.
“Remember me?” the demon asks. “We got a little, mm, intimate before we were interrupted in that shitty little bar you were working. Oh, and I was wearing Sam’s meat.”
“Meg,” Jo spits. The taste of old cloth in her mouth, the glint of a knife much to close to her face. “Bobby told me they sent your sorry ass back to hell.” Panic, fear, helplessness
Meg’s eyes tighten for a second. “Well, I got out.” She cocks her head, regaining composure. Jo flattens herself back into the door, not liking the smile on Meg’s face at all. “Now, I got some Winchesters to see about,” the demon drawls, “But I thought I’d have a little fun, first. Celebrate getting back topside.”
Jo fights the impulse to run; she knows there’s no escape that way. Instead she waits for the demon to get within arm’s-reach and drives her weapon for the demon’s throat. Meg’s too quick; she wrenches the knife out of Jo’s hand with superhuman strength and takes another step closer, close enough that a deep breath on either side would make their breasts brush together.
“We were on the clock last time, but Dean’s not coming save you now.” She drags the blade down the side of Jo’s face and simpers, “never did call, once he’d got Sam. Did he?” Jo turns her head away, fumbling for the doorknob behind her. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” Meg sighs. Jo shudders as the demon runs the tip of the blade down her neck, and followed the line of sensation with her lips.
Jo’s hand tightens around the doorknob, finally, but she hesitates. Meg’s mouth is still pressed to her neck, her free hand pinning Jo’s wrist while she digs the point of the knife into her chest just hard enough to break the skin. A small whine escapes Jo’s throat as Meg draws the blade down, splitting her worn shirt and leaving a thin trail of red. The demon pulls back to look her in the eye as she splits the fabric of Jo’s bra and pushes it aside, leaving her exposed.
“You have such nice tits,” she says cruelly, releasing Jo’s wrist to twist her nipple viciously.
Jo wrenches the door open and stumbles backwards, clambering onto the bed.
“Damn,” Meg curses under her breath, following. Jo crawls backwards off the mattress as Meg walks up to it and kneels on the edge. Inscrutable eyes follow each movement Jo makes along the wall. “Here, pussy, pussy,” the demon croons. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easy, do you?
“Maybe,” Jo says. She takes a couple small steps towards the still-open door. Meg sniffs derisively and lunges for her--- only to rebound off an invisible wall back onto the bed. Her fall pulls the comforter askew, and the barest edge of a devil’s trap is visible under the frame.
Meg snarls, eyes black, and the illusion of her humanity crumbles. Jo’s eyes are steady as she shuts the door and locks it.
The demon calms herself with an effort. She sits back on the bed, chin held high, and adjusts herself against the headboard. Her jaw is still tight and her eyes keep flicking around the room like she might find a way out written on the ceiling, but she forces out a laugh. “Cute. You have demons in your bed frequently?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Jo answers. Her heart is still tapping out an uneven staccato rhythm, and the line down her chest stings. She fights the urge to clasp the edges of shirt to her body, to hide. She won’t give Meg that satisfaction. She’s a hunter, now, a damn good one. This demon bitch can’t make her feel that way ever again.
“Exorcizamus te,” she reads from the book Bobby gave her. She likes the feel of the words in her mouth almost as much as Meg’s helpless little moan. “Omnis immundus spiritus…”
“Please, not that,” Meg whimpers. “Don’t send me back there. I’ll do anything.”
Jo pauses, closes the book halfway with her finger still marking the spot. “You’re really scared, aren’t you? You pathetic bitch.” She presses her tongue to the back of her teeth, considering “anything” and hating herself for it a little less than she’d have thought. She lets her finger slip out from between the pages.
Meg breaths more easily when Jo’s sets the book down on the table. With a knowing smile, she looks up at her captor, pops her fly open and starts to squirm out of her jeans. “Maybe we should take a look at this cut after all,” she says. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She tosses the pants carelessly outside the circle and stretches out on the mattress.
“But you’d like it too, and that’s not the point,” Jo says. Meg’s smirk slips.
Jo walks to the bed slowly, flicking her eyes up and down the body before her. Meg angles herself up on one elbow. “You gonna take a picture?” she asks, aiming again at flip though less successfully than before.
“You know, I have to exorcise you if that girl’s still alive,” Jo says.
“She died days ago. Nobody in here but me,” Meg says quickly.
“Good,” Jo says, slicing a deep cut into Meg’s chest. “For before,” she clarifies.
Meg clutches at the wound, her expression shocked and angry. “You fucking whore, I…”
Jo pushes two fingers into her mouth to shut her up. “Bite and the deal’s off.” The demon looks like she wants to do it anyways, but she controls herself enough to sit still.
“Take away those fancy demon tricks and you’re all talk,” Jo says. “Just a scared little girl under all that posturing, aren’t you? Oh, I know the type. I used to be one.” She stresses the past tense with another cut on Meg’s breast. She can feel the vibration of Meg’s indignant yelp against her fingertips.
“Want out? Convince me,” Jo prompts, pressing her fingers against Meg’s tongue as she straddles the other woman. Her other hand is holding the edge of the knife snug against Meg’s jaw, angled towards her jugular.
Once she gets the idea, she’s not half bad. She sucks Jo‘s fingers into her mouth hard, uses her teeth just enough. Her tongue is slick and hot as she licks wide strokes up to the tips and then works slowly between them down to where they meet at the palm. When she starts looking too pleased with herself, Jo shoves her fingers in just a little farther, doesn’t let up until her prisoner’s gagging, trying to twist away with tears on her cheeks.
“Fuck you,” Meg hisses when Jo pulls her fingers out.
“Better than Hell, isn’t it?” Jo asks. Meg presses her lips together, looks away. “And unless you want to go back there, you’d better think what else you can do for me.”
Meg reaches for Jo’s fly tentatively and the hunter smiles. When Meg works her pants down to her knees, though, she cuts a long line across her belly. Meg’s hands jerk away at the pain, but Jo shakes her head. “I didn’t say stop. That was for possessing Sam.”
Meg swallows. Jo can feel the demon’s fingers trembling against her inner thigh as Meg hooks her middle finger under the elastic and pulls the fabric aside. Jo bites her lip- hard- at the first grazing of nails against tender flesh.
Another cut, on the inside of Meg’s thigh this time. “For shooting Dean.”
The demon hisses, and pushes three fingers into Jo, using her thumb to stroke the same rhythm. Jo’s eyes flutter shut as she rocks into the other woman’s hand.
She can’t help the bitten-off gasps that accent every thrust, and as the pressure builds between her legs she moves the hand with the knife between the demon’s. Meg must be just as twisted as she is, because the body she’s wearing is wet before Jo even touches her.
Because she’s feeling very kind, it’s the hilt of the knife that the forces into Meg, only half-aware of the pained-aroused mewling the action inspires. “That was for pinning me down and playing with me, and making me feel helpless,” Jo snarls, as the pressure crests and rolls through her. She rides the waves of it out, clutching convulsively at the sheets with the one hand supporting her. Meg writhes under her, straining into and away from the knife.
When it’s over, Jo refastens her pants and gets up. Walks to the table.
“What are you doing?” Meg asks.
“This has been nice,” Jo explains, taking Bobby’s book in hand. “But we both know I was never going to let you go.”
The demon’s desperately searching eyes catch on something, and a second too late Jo sees her mistake- she pulled the nightstand too close. It’s inside the circle. Meg pushes it, down and away, and the painted circle keeping her confined chips.
Meg darts out of the broken trap, to the opposite end of the room. Jo tenses. No telling who’d come out on top, this time. Even though there’s holy water and a gun on the table within reach, Meg’s still much stronger and faster. But the demon looks just as wary as Jo feels; her legs are visibly unsteady- from the pain or the pleasure Jo can’t say. Either way, Meg slinks backward to the door.
“This isn’t over,” she says. “No holds barred when I see you next.” And she’s gone into the night, leaving Jo alone to put a finger in her mouth thoughtfully, run her tongue over it and taste.
***
Coda: Out in the parking lot, Meg looked down. “Goddamn,” she cursed, “I forgot my pants.”
Summary: Meg wants to finish what she started with Jo.
Word count: 1,900
Rated: NC-17 (Sexuality, violence)
Notes: Set S5; Spoilers for "Bad Day at Black Rock"
Warnings: Dub-con, knife-play, general twisted-ness
Genre: Femslash, pwp, dark
Characters: Meg/Jo
Disclaimer: Not Kripke, don't own, no financial incentive to do this.
A/N: For melanth0 and the "five acts" meme, title from Santogold's "Creator"
***
“You should be more careful,” Jo says, and though she’s aiming for casually tough it’s hard to say if she hits it. The woman she saved in the shadowy alley near her motel looks a couple years older than her, for one, and perhaps more importantly she’s distractingly gorgeous, with a long dark hair and a lisp that thickens her words. The way she talks makes Jo imagine filling that plump red mouth with her own fingers or tongue.
“I can’t believe you killed that thing. What was it?” the woman asks, pressing a hand to her thigh where the creature’s claw caught her before Jo could slit its throat.
Jo smiles a little. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Here’s my room, I’ll clean those cuts up for you and we can call a cab.”
“I’ve never seen a girl use a knife like that,” the woman says, with enough admiration that Jo flushes unseen as she fumbles the key into the doorknob and unlocks it. “Your daddy teach you?” she finishes, with an edge. Jo turns to answer and the woman’s eyes flick black, turning her playful expression sinister.
Jo’s knife is in her hands and ready, but it’s all she has on her; no holy water, nothing that’ll stop a demon. She curses herself for being unprepared and sloppy, like some cock-sure newbie. The woman, the demon, saunters closer. Jo’s back fetches up against the doorjamb.
“Remember me?” the demon asks. “We got a little, mm, intimate before we were interrupted in that shitty little bar you were working. Oh, and I was wearing Sam’s meat.”
“Meg,” Jo spits. The taste of old cloth in her mouth, the glint of a knife much to close to her face. “Bobby told me they sent your sorry ass back to hell.” Panic, fear, helplessness
Meg’s eyes tighten for a second. “Well, I got out.” She cocks her head, regaining composure. Jo flattens herself back into the door, not liking the smile on Meg’s face at all. “Now, I got some Winchesters to see about,” the demon drawls, “But I thought I’d have a little fun, first. Celebrate getting back topside.”
Jo fights the impulse to run; she knows there’s no escape that way. Instead she waits for the demon to get within arm’s-reach and drives her weapon for the demon’s throat. Meg’s too quick; she wrenches the knife out of Jo’s hand with superhuman strength and takes another step closer, close enough that a deep breath on either side would make their breasts brush together.
“We were on the clock last time, but Dean’s not coming save you now.” She drags the blade down the side of Jo’s face and simpers, “never did call, once he’d got Sam. Did he?” Jo turns her head away, fumbling for the doorknob behind her. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” Meg sighs. Jo shudders as the demon runs the tip of the blade down her neck, and followed the line of sensation with her lips.
Jo’s hand tightens around the doorknob, finally, but she hesitates. Meg’s mouth is still pressed to her neck, her free hand pinning Jo’s wrist while she digs the point of the knife into her chest just hard enough to break the skin. A small whine escapes Jo’s throat as Meg draws the blade down, splitting her worn shirt and leaving a thin trail of red. The demon pulls back to look her in the eye as she splits the fabric of Jo’s bra and pushes it aside, leaving her exposed.
“You have such nice tits,” she says cruelly, releasing Jo’s wrist to twist her nipple viciously.
Jo wrenches the door open and stumbles backwards, clambering onto the bed.
“Damn,” Meg curses under her breath, following. Jo crawls backwards off the mattress as Meg walks up to it and kneels on the edge. Inscrutable eyes follow each movement Jo makes along the wall. “Here, pussy, pussy,” the demon croons. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easy, do you?
“Maybe,” Jo says. She takes a couple small steps towards the still-open door. Meg sniffs derisively and lunges for her--- only to rebound off an invisible wall back onto the bed. Her fall pulls the comforter askew, and the barest edge of a devil’s trap is visible under the frame.
Meg snarls, eyes black, and the illusion of her humanity crumbles. Jo’s eyes are steady as she shuts the door and locks it.
The demon calms herself with an effort. She sits back on the bed, chin held high, and adjusts herself against the headboard. Her jaw is still tight and her eyes keep flicking around the room like she might find a way out written on the ceiling, but she forces out a laugh. “Cute. You have demons in your bed frequently?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Jo answers. Her heart is still tapping out an uneven staccato rhythm, and the line down her chest stings. She fights the urge to clasp the edges of shirt to her body, to hide. She won’t give Meg that satisfaction. She’s a hunter, now, a damn good one. This demon bitch can’t make her feel that way ever again.
“Exorcizamus te,” she reads from the book Bobby gave her. She likes the feel of the words in her mouth almost as much as Meg’s helpless little moan. “Omnis immundus spiritus…”
“Please, not that,” Meg whimpers. “Don’t send me back there. I’ll do anything.”
Jo pauses, closes the book halfway with her finger still marking the spot. “You’re really scared, aren’t you? You pathetic bitch.” She presses her tongue to the back of her teeth, considering “anything” and hating herself for it a little less than she’d have thought. She lets her finger slip out from between the pages.
Meg breaths more easily when Jo’s sets the book down on the table. With a knowing smile, she looks up at her captor, pops her fly open and starts to squirm out of her jeans. “Maybe we should take a look at this cut after all,” she says. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She tosses the pants carelessly outside the circle and stretches out on the mattress.
“But you’d like it too, and that’s not the point,” Jo says. Meg’s smirk slips.
Jo walks to the bed slowly, flicking her eyes up and down the body before her. Meg angles herself up on one elbow. “You gonna take a picture?” she asks, aiming again at flip though less successfully than before.
“You know, I have to exorcise you if that girl’s still alive,” Jo says.
“She died days ago. Nobody in here but me,” Meg says quickly.
“Good,” Jo says, slicing a deep cut into Meg’s chest. “For before,” she clarifies.
Meg clutches at the wound, her expression shocked and angry. “You fucking whore, I…”
Jo pushes two fingers into her mouth to shut her up. “Bite and the deal’s off.” The demon looks like she wants to do it anyways, but she controls herself enough to sit still.
“Take away those fancy demon tricks and you’re all talk,” Jo says. “Just a scared little girl under all that posturing, aren’t you? Oh, I know the type. I used to be one.” She stresses the past tense with another cut on Meg’s breast. She can feel the vibration of Meg’s indignant yelp against her fingertips.
“Want out? Convince me,” Jo prompts, pressing her fingers against Meg’s tongue as she straddles the other woman. Her other hand is holding the edge of the knife snug against Meg’s jaw, angled towards her jugular.
Once she gets the idea, she’s not half bad. She sucks Jo‘s fingers into her mouth hard, uses her teeth just enough. Her tongue is slick and hot as she licks wide strokes up to the tips and then works slowly between them down to where they meet at the palm. When she starts looking too pleased with herself, Jo shoves her fingers in just a little farther, doesn’t let up until her prisoner’s gagging, trying to twist away with tears on her cheeks.
“Fuck you,” Meg hisses when Jo pulls her fingers out.
“Better than Hell, isn’t it?” Jo asks. Meg presses her lips together, looks away. “And unless you want to go back there, you’d better think what else you can do for me.”
Meg reaches for Jo’s fly tentatively and the hunter smiles. When Meg works her pants down to her knees, though, she cuts a long line across her belly. Meg’s hands jerk away at the pain, but Jo shakes her head. “I didn’t say stop. That was for possessing Sam.”
Meg swallows. Jo can feel the demon’s fingers trembling against her inner thigh as Meg hooks her middle finger under the elastic and pulls the fabric aside. Jo bites her lip- hard- at the first grazing of nails against tender flesh.
Another cut, on the inside of Meg’s thigh this time. “For shooting Dean.”
The demon hisses, and pushes three fingers into Jo, using her thumb to stroke the same rhythm. Jo’s eyes flutter shut as she rocks into the other woman’s hand.
She can’t help the bitten-off gasps that accent every thrust, and as the pressure builds between her legs she moves the hand with the knife between the demon’s. Meg must be just as twisted as she is, because the body she’s wearing is wet before Jo even touches her.
Because she’s feeling very kind, it’s the hilt of the knife that the forces into Meg, only half-aware of the pained-aroused mewling the action inspires. “That was for pinning me down and playing with me, and making me feel helpless,” Jo snarls, as the pressure crests and rolls through her. She rides the waves of it out, clutching convulsively at the sheets with the one hand supporting her. Meg writhes under her, straining into and away from the knife.
When it’s over, Jo refastens her pants and gets up. Walks to the table.
“What are you doing?” Meg asks.
“This has been nice,” Jo explains, taking Bobby’s book in hand. “But we both know I was never going to let you go.”
The demon’s desperately searching eyes catch on something, and a second too late Jo sees her mistake- she pulled the nightstand too close. It’s inside the circle. Meg pushes it, down and away, and the painted circle keeping her confined chips.
Meg darts out of the broken trap, to the opposite end of the room. Jo tenses. No telling who’d come out on top, this time. Even though there’s holy water and a gun on the table within reach, Meg’s still much stronger and faster. But the demon looks just as wary as Jo feels; her legs are visibly unsteady- from the pain or the pleasure Jo can’t say. Either way, Meg slinks backward to the door.
“This isn’t over,” she says. “No holds barred when I see you next.” And she’s gone into the night, leaving Jo alone to put a finger in her mouth thoughtfully, run her tongue over it and taste.
***
Coda: Out in the parking lot, Meg looked down. “Goddamn,” she cursed, “I forgot my pants.”