SPN: Then You Blame My Gun
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Dean, Jo
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Dean/Jo
Contains: Gunplay, sex
Rating: NC17
Summary: She's the first one, the only.
Jo puts the gun against his temple. He's breathing fast, she can hear it, his fists are clenched at his sides. He doesn't say anything, which is good. She trails the tip of the gun down, over the side of his face, watches his shudder. "That's good, Dean," she says, "stay still for me. Do as I say and it'll be okay, right? You're good at taking orders."
He shudders again at her words. She kind of just wants to stand there and watch him react, but mostly she wants to take him apart, see how he fits together. She takes a step back, leaning against the bar, keeping the gun trained on him -- almost casual, but her finger flirts with pressure on the trigger, and he can see that out of the corner of his eye. He stays still, waits.
"Such a good boy," she says, experimentally, and he shudders harder. "Take your shirt off, Dean."
He obeys quickly, and she watches the muscle ripple under his skin, watches the shudder crawling down his spine.
"You okay there?"
He nods, just a little. She keeps her finger on the trigger, nods slightly. "Stand up. Pants off. Then you can kneel again."
He swallows hard, visibly, at that, but he obeys her straight away. It makes her shudder too, she's so goddamn wet for him, and they've hardly done anything. There's something about having this at her command that's like... like a drug, like something you can have too much of, get too addicted to. She takes a deep breath, resists the urge -- for now -- to undo her jeans, to touch herself. She just looks at Dean, now, seeing his reactions, seeing the way he gets harder, breathes faster, under the touch of her eyes.
"Pretty," she says, as if it's nothing, as if she isn't aching. "Touch yourself."
He makes this little noise, jagged like a shard of glass, and then wraps his hand around his cock, touching himself. She's pretty sure she's the only one allowed to see him like this, this naked, this vulnerable -- except maybe Sam, and that's different, he'd never want Sam to see him like this. He's been with thousands of girls, probably, but she's the only one who gets to do this. She's the only one he can actually trust.
Well. There are other girls who hunt, other girls he might trust, but she suspects from the way he's looking at her, from the rabbit-fast thump of his heart, the quick in-out of his breath, that she's the first. If not the only.
"Beg, Dean," she says softly, and he does, in this cracked, soft voice, looking at her like she's all he ever wants. And then, "Say you're mine," and he does, he does, raising his eyes to hers, shuddering harder -- he comes as he says it, and her gun clatters to the floor and she's undoing her jeans, pushing her hand inside, because there's no way anyone can withstand that.
Main characters: Dean, Jo
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Dean/Jo
Contains: Gunplay, sex
Rating: NC17
Summary: She's the first one, the only.
Jo puts the gun against his temple. He's breathing fast, she can hear it, his fists are clenched at his sides. He doesn't say anything, which is good. She trails the tip of the gun down, over the side of his face, watches his shudder. "That's good, Dean," she says, "stay still for me. Do as I say and it'll be okay, right? You're good at taking orders."
He shudders again at her words. She kind of just wants to stand there and watch him react, but mostly she wants to take him apart, see how he fits together. She takes a step back, leaning against the bar, keeping the gun trained on him -- almost casual, but her finger flirts with pressure on the trigger, and he can see that out of the corner of his eye. He stays still, waits.
"Such a good boy," she says, experimentally, and he shudders harder. "Take your shirt off, Dean."
He obeys quickly, and she watches the muscle ripple under his skin, watches the shudder crawling down his spine.
"You okay there?"
He nods, just a little. She keeps her finger on the trigger, nods slightly. "Stand up. Pants off. Then you can kneel again."
He swallows hard, visibly, at that, but he obeys her straight away. It makes her shudder too, she's so goddamn wet for him, and they've hardly done anything. There's something about having this at her command that's like... like a drug, like something you can have too much of, get too addicted to. She takes a deep breath, resists the urge -- for now -- to undo her jeans, to touch herself. She just looks at Dean, now, seeing his reactions, seeing the way he gets harder, breathes faster, under the touch of her eyes.
"Pretty," she says, as if it's nothing, as if she isn't aching. "Touch yourself."
He makes this little noise, jagged like a shard of glass, and then wraps his hand around his cock, touching himself. She's pretty sure she's the only one allowed to see him like this, this naked, this vulnerable -- except maybe Sam, and that's different, he'd never want Sam to see him like this. He's been with thousands of girls, probably, but she's the only one who gets to do this. She's the only one he can actually trust.
Well. There are other girls who hunt, other girls he might trust, but she suspects from the way he's looking at her, from the rabbit-fast thump of his heart, the quick in-out of his breath, that she's the first. If not the only.
"Beg, Dean," she says softly, and he does, in this cracked, soft voice, looking at her like she's all he ever wants. And then, "Say you're mine," and he does, he does, raising his eyes to hers, shuddering harder -- he comes as he says it, and her gun clatters to the floor and she's undoing her jeans, pushing her hand inside, because there's no way anyone can withstand that.