Fic: Criminal Minds/Supernatural
Title: demons at the door
Fandom: Criminal Minds/Supernatural
Pairing: JJ/Dean Winchester
Rating: uh, NC-17.
Spoilers: season 4 of CM and season 2 for SPN, I guess.
A/N: From the kink meme. Soundtrack for this one is "Joy Ride" by the Killers.
JJ doesn't cry the first time Henry calls Dean "Dada." She smiles, slow and sweet and so incredibly grateful that Henry is too young to remember his real father, and the way Will died.
She knows, now, what it's like to watch someone burn. She doesn't want her son to have that memory.
Henry was only six months old when Will died, when the Winchester brothers crashed through her front door in the middle of the night and pulled her and Henry from her burning home, not even time to grab a go bag. She'd almost shot them, gun steady in her hands as she faced down the yellow-eyed man standing over her baby's crib.
Will was already pinned to the ceiling by then, fire swallowing him whole as he gasped out her name.
She shot twice, once in the head, once in the heart, and she knows her aim was true. The yellow-eyed man smiled at her, and she felt her back slam against the wall, a gash opening across her belly. She glanced down, one hand coming down from the gun to gingerly touch the wound, and when she glanced up, the intruder was gone, and two other men were barreling into the room.
Her hand squeezed the trigger once, automatic, and then the taller of the two men was beside her, easing the gun from her grip and pulling her off the wall. "Henry," she hissed, one hand pressed to her belly, and the man shook his head.
"Dean's got him; we have to go!"
And then they were outside, cold air on her face, and the house exploded behind Dean, who held Henry close, meeting her eyes across the yard.
"I'm sorry," he said, and JJ reached for her son.
"Did you do this?" she asked, and Dean shook his head. "Then don't apologize."
They explained what they could in the car. Sam kept sneaking her wary glances, like he wanted her gone, but she was damned if she'd let some son of a bitch get away with murdering her husband just because demons were out of the FBI's jurisdiction.
And it's not like she can go home. Not with the yellow-eyed demon still out there, waiting. Not that there's a home to go to.
She misses the little things, because it hurts too much to miss Will. She misses pedicures with Prentiss and Garcia, girls nights out and gossip. She misses the team, but she's got a new team, albeit one that's slow to accept her. Sam clearly begrudges her every inch of space in the back seat of the Impala, and he's uncomfortable with Henry until Dean, exasperated, takes him aside and has a hushed chat with him about how babies are just very tiny people. People with diapers who spit up on you sometimes, and Sam should just cut his hair if it's that big a deal.
"You know what I miss?" she says to Dean one day. It's exactly the kind of conversation Dean hates, and she smirks at him, pushing a few stray strands of blonde hair behind one ear.
"What?" Dean says, without looking up from the sawed-off he's cleaning, leaning back against the hood of the Impala. Sam's in the latest cheap motel room with Henry, doing research for their latest hunt while Henry naps.
"I miss sex," JJ announces, and sidles closer to Dean, just far enough away that her legs don't touch his even though she's straddling his outstretched feet.
Dean's gaze shoots up, but he finishes cleaning the sawed-off before he leans down to set the gun on the ground, his breath huffing across her side on the way back up. His hands come up to settle on her hips, thumbs edging under her shirt.
"That so?" he drawls, and she shifts just close enough for their legs to finally touch, resting her hands on his shoulders and swaying forward until she can kiss him, sweet and mostly-chaste.
"What do you say?" she asks, pulling back, and he raises an eyebrow. It's almost dusk, and they're parked around back of the mostly-vacant motel off a deserted stretch of highway.
Dean leans back against the Impala's hood, pulling JJ until she kneels up over him, straddling his waist. They're both wearing jeans, and she slides off him momentarily to pull hers off, underwear and all, then slides back on top of him in nothing but her shirt, button-down flannel in faded red plaid.
She thumbs open the waistband of Dean's jeans and pulls down the zipper, slipping her hand inside to cup him through his boxer-briefs. He's already half-hard, and his hands trace warm patterns up the skin of her back, under her shirt, then slide down to cradle her ass. He pulls her forward even more until she is straddling his chest, her knees bracketing his head.
"I want to taste you," he murmurs, and her breath catches in her throat.
She inches up, then lowers herself over his mouth. His tongue darts up to lash at her clit, and then his hands come up to press down on her thighs, pulling her down until his tongue can slip inside her. She grinds down, wetness pooling on his chin, and eases back so that his tongue is over her clit once more.
Dean keeps one hand on her leg, fingers stretched open and broad across her skin, while the other hand moves up between her legs, one finger edging behind his tongue to open her up. He uses his middle finger, pushes it straight in all the way to the knuckle, and she bites back a moan, arching her back. He crooks his finger inside her, pressing the tip against her g-spot while his tongue keeps moving in strong, clever licks.
"More," she gasps out, and stifles a cry when he removes his middle finger only to push it right back in along with a companion. She clenches tight and slick around him, grinding down as he rubs against her g-spot, his knuckles hard against the outside of her dripping cunt. He flattens his tongue against her clit, pressing hard, and she comes, soaking his face and hand, her head tilted back and eyes on the darkening sky.
"Jay," he says as her breathing slows. "You wanna give me a hand here?"
She smiles, slithering easy and boneless down his chest until she's straddling his waist once more. He's hard, pre-come beading on the tip of his cock when she pull him out of his pants and sinks down on him right there. She rides him slow, adding a twist to her hips every time she comes back down, her knees just starting to ache where they're pressed against the Impala's hood.
One of his hands is still clutching her thigh, and the other slides under her shirt to brush against the scar on her belly. He flattens his palm against her skin as he comes, hips rising to meet her, and it's good, so good, the heat and girth of him inside her.
They rest there for a minute, and JJ winces, unusually stiff, when she rolls off of him. "I should go check on Henry," she says, and Dean smiles lazily at her from where he's still lying on the black metal surface.
"You do that," he says.
Sam barely looks at her when she enters the motel room, then goes back to his research, papers spread out around his laptop. Henry is sleeping, and she pauses in the doorway, glancing back at Dean, still sprawled on the Impala's hood in the otherwise empty parking lot. It's not the family she had, or the life she would have chosen, but she's making it work.
Fandom: Criminal Minds/Supernatural
Pairing: JJ/Dean Winchester
Rating: uh, NC-17.
Spoilers: season 4 of CM and season 2 for SPN, I guess.
A/N: From the kink meme. Soundtrack for this one is "Joy Ride" by the Killers.
JJ doesn't cry the first time Henry calls Dean "Dada." She smiles, slow and sweet and so incredibly grateful that Henry is too young to remember his real father, and the way Will died.
She knows, now, what it's like to watch someone burn. She doesn't want her son to have that memory.
Henry was only six months old when Will died, when the Winchester brothers crashed through her front door in the middle of the night and pulled her and Henry from her burning home, not even time to grab a go bag. She'd almost shot them, gun steady in her hands as she faced down the yellow-eyed man standing over her baby's crib.
Will was already pinned to the ceiling by then, fire swallowing him whole as he gasped out her name.
She shot twice, once in the head, once in the heart, and she knows her aim was true. The yellow-eyed man smiled at her, and she felt her back slam against the wall, a gash opening across her belly. She glanced down, one hand coming down from the gun to gingerly touch the wound, and when she glanced up, the intruder was gone, and two other men were barreling into the room.
Her hand squeezed the trigger once, automatic, and then the taller of the two men was beside her, easing the gun from her grip and pulling her off the wall. "Henry," she hissed, one hand pressed to her belly, and the man shook his head.
"Dean's got him; we have to go!"
And then they were outside, cold air on her face, and the house exploded behind Dean, who held Henry close, meeting her eyes across the yard.
"I'm sorry," he said, and JJ reached for her son.
"Did you do this?" she asked, and Dean shook his head. "Then don't apologize."
They explained what they could in the car. Sam kept sneaking her wary glances, like he wanted her gone, but she was damned if she'd let some son of a bitch get away with murdering her husband just because demons were out of the FBI's jurisdiction.
And it's not like she can go home. Not with the yellow-eyed demon still out there, waiting. Not that there's a home to go to.
She misses the little things, because it hurts too much to miss Will. She misses pedicures with Prentiss and Garcia, girls nights out and gossip. She misses the team, but she's got a new team, albeit one that's slow to accept her. Sam clearly begrudges her every inch of space in the back seat of the Impala, and he's uncomfortable with Henry until Dean, exasperated, takes him aside and has a hushed chat with him about how babies are just very tiny people. People with diapers who spit up on you sometimes, and Sam should just cut his hair if it's that big a deal.
"You know what I miss?" she says to Dean one day. It's exactly the kind of conversation Dean hates, and she smirks at him, pushing a few stray strands of blonde hair behind one ear.
"What?" Dean says, without looking up from the sawed-off he's cleaning, leaning back against the hood of the Impala. Sam's in the latest cheap motel room with Henry, doing research for their latest hunt while Henry naps.
"I miss sex," JJ announces, and sidles closer to Dean, just far enough away that her legs don't touch his even though she's straddling his outstretched feet.
Dean's gaze shoots up, but he finishes cleaning the sawed-off before he leans down to set the gun on the ground, his breath huffing across her side on the way back up. His hands come up to settle on her hips, thumbs edging under her shirt.
"That so?" he drawls, and she shifts just close enough for their legs to finally touch, resting her hands on his shoulders and swaying forward until she can kiss him, sweet and mostly-chaste.
"What do you say?" she asks, pulling back, and he raises an eyebrow. It's almost dusk, and they're parked around back of the mostly-vacant motel off a deserted stretch of highway.
Dean leans back against the Impala's hood, pulling JJ until she kneels up over him, straddling his waist. They're both wearing jeans, and she slides off him momentarily to pull hers off, underwear and all, then slides back on top of him in nothing but her shirt, button-down flannel in faded red plaid.
She thumbs open the waistband of Dean's jeans and pulls down the zipper, slipping her hand inside to cup him through his boxer-briefs. He's already half-hard, and his hands trace warm patterns up the skin of her back, under her shirt, then slide down to cradle her ass. He pulls her forward even more until she is straddling his chest, her knees bracketing his head.
"I want to taste you," he murmurs, and her breath catches in her throat.
She inches up, then lowers herself over his mouth. His tongue darts up to lash at her clit, and then his hands come up to press down on her thighs, pulling her down until his tongue can slip inside her. She grinds down, wetness pooling on his chin, and eases back so that his tongue is over her clit once more.
Dean keeps one hand on her leg, fingers stretched open and broad across her skin, while the other hand moves up between her legs, one finger edging behind his tongue to open her up. He uses his middle finger, pushes it straight in all the way to the knuckle, and she bites back a moan, arching her back. He crooks his finger inside her, pressing the tip against her g-spot while his tongue keeps moving in strong, clever licks.
"More," she gasps out, and stifles a cry when he removes his middle finger only to push it right back in along with a companion. She clenches tight and slick around him, grinding down as he rubs against her g-spot, his knuckles hard against the outside of her dripping cunt. He flattens his tongue against her clit, pressing hard, and she comes, soaking his face and hand, her head tilted back and eyes on the darkening sky.
"Jay," he says as her breathing slows. "You wanna give me a hand here?"
She smiles, slithering easy and boneless down his chest until she's straddling his waist once more. He's hard, pre-come beading on the tip of his cock when she pull him out of his pants and sinks down on him right there. She rides him slow, adding a twist to her hips every time she comes back down, her knees just starting to ache where they're pressed against the Impala's hood.
One of his hands is still clutching her thigh, and the other slides under her shirt to brush against the scar on her belly. He flattens his palm against her skin as he comes, hips rising to meet her, and it's good, so good, the heat and girth of him inside her.
They rest there for a minute, and JJ winces, unusually stiff, when she rolls off of him. "I should go check on Henry," she says, and Dean smiles lazily at her from where he's still lying on the black metal surface.
"You do that," he says.
Sam barely looks at her when she enters the motel room, then goes back to his research, papers spread out around his laptop. Henry is sleeping, and she pauses in the doorway, glancing back at Dean, still sprawled on the Impala's hood in the otherwise empty parking lot. It's not the family she had, or the life she would have chosen, but she's making it work.