Fic: Candlelight
Title: Candlelight
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Pamela/Jo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 922
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: The candles are the only light in the room, though Jo knows that Pamela doesn't need them.
AN: Written for the Five Acts Meme.
The candles are the only light in the room, though Jo knows that Pamela doesn't need them. She doesn’t need the light anymore. Not since she saw an angel.
Jo's knelt on the floor, resting on her own ankles, Pamela curved in behind her. Jo can feel the curl of her hair against her own face. The tickling trail of it smells like apples. One of Pamela's thumbs is pressed into the underside of her breast, the hard dig of a ring there strangely uncomfortable.
"You ever done this before, Jo? Ever let someone borrow your power?"
Jo shakes her head.
"No, but I'm willing," she says, firm and decided. Because that's what they do, they do what they need to do to get the job done.
Pamela laughs.
"Oh, that's a word that's going to get you in so much trouble," she purrs.
Jo makes a noise, can't help it, when Pamela laughs into her hair, fingers sliding into the gap where shirt becomes jeans and her hands are warm. Jo still has to take a breath, has to swallow and twitch under that spread of fingers, because she's never done this before. Never done this with another woman, and never done this with anyone that had power.
"Last chance to say no," Pamela says smoothly.
Jo doesn't speak, instead she lifts her hands, starts unbuttoning her shirt.
Pamela pushes her hands out of the way. "Let me do that."
Jo's hands fall, hover in mid-air, not sure where to go.
But Pamela hums in a way that's soft and reassuring, fingers working on the buttons slowly, until she can open Jo's shirt and slowly ease it free. Pamela unclips her bra, draws it down her arms and tosses it away.
Jo inhales.
"Ok, honey?"
"Yes," Jo says, ignoring the wobble in her voice, she's shivering but she knows it's not from cold.
Pamela leans away and there's a quiet rustle of cloth, the almost soundless fall of hair.
When Pamela curls into her again Jo can feel her breasts against her back, the warm crush of them. It makes her inhale in a way she doesn't expect. New and strange in a way that makes her skin warm and her hands itch.
Jo doesn't resist when Pamela unbuttons her jeans, she sways into the movement instead, lets Pamela hook her thumbs in and drag both them and her panties down her thighs. She moves her knees until her jeans are gone completely. She's shaking now, one of her hands has lifted, searching behind her for the curve of Pamela's thigh. Just for something to hang on to.
Jo presses her own thighs together, warm and sensitive already, a steady ache of strange anticipation making every slide of Pamela's fingers feel like a caress.
"Can you feel that?"
She nods wordlessly, doesn’t know if Pamela knows she has, since she can't see.
"Yes."
Pamela sighs, skin pressed into the back of Jo's in a way that makes her breath stutter in her throat. "Can I touch you?"
"Yes," Jo says instantly, fast and shaky.
Pamela's hands catch her like she's just been waiting for permission, strong, fine fingers that are small but soft and clever.
One of them flattens on Jo's belly, slides down and she shifts her thighs apart on instinct, wordlessly demanding, and there isn't enough air in the room.
Pamela's fingers drift through her curls, cup her in a way that makes her groan. Pamela makes a noise, stunned and greedy, like she didn't expect to find her so wet. There's a long, breathless pause, before two of Pamela's fingers push slowly inside her, opening her up in one wet slide. Jo groans, thighs spreading and hips shifting, letting them press deeper, letting them slide almost out before pushing in again. Before they draw out completely, sliding up to roll and circle, slippery and clever on her clit.
Jo digs her nails into Pamela’s arm and grunts, quick and inelegant, because it's good, it's sharp and it's perfect.
She's too hot, sweat running down the middle of her chest, spread by Pamela's fingers when they slip-slide from one breast to the other. Never content to stay for long on just one, while her other hand dips down again, fingers sliding from Jo's clit to the warmth of her, pressed all the way inside in one indulgent push and Jo's swallow is raw. She's shifting in the circle of Pamela's arms, she can't stay still, she can barely breathe. Her thighs are shaking and wet and Pamela's fingers are moving, always moving.
"Pamela."
Pamela drags her hair to the side, presses her mouth to Jo's neck, then opens it, teeth and tongue shifting up to her ear.
"You're going to be gorgeous," Pamela tells her. "It's going to be so fucking strong with you."
Jo's breath stutters out, hips pushing forward and Pamela's touching where she needs her to again, fingers greedy, quick wet pushes and rolls that shove Jo higher, wind the arousal inside her tighter.
She curls a hand up over her head, fingers gathering up a handful of Pamela's hair.
"I want to touch you," she grits out between her teeth, not even ashamed.
"Next time sweetie," Pamela says, voice gone low and rough. "You can touch me as much as you like next time."
Jo groans and tips her head back, feels the curl of Pamela's tongue against the shell of her ear and she's so tight, so close, closing her thighs on Pamela's wrist and shaking. She can hear herself, and the slow whimpers that fall out of her throat make her sound helpless.
Until Pamela's holding her up, arms curled all the way round her while she tries to relearn how to breathe.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Pamela/Jo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 922
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: The candles are the only light in the room, though Jo knows that Pamela doesn't need them.
AN: Written for the Five Acts Meme.
The candles are the only light in the room, though Jo knows that Pamela doesn't need them. She doesn’t need the light anymore. Not since she saw an angel.
Jo's knelt on the floor, resting on her own ankles, Pamela curved in behind her. Jo can feel the curl of her hair against her own face. The tickling trail of it smells like apples. One of Pamela's thumbs is pressed into the underside of her breast, the hard dig of a ring there strangely uncomfortable.
"You ever done this before, Jo? Ever let someone borrow your power?"
Jo shakes her head.
"No, but I'm willing," she says, firm and decided. Because that's what they do, they do what they need to do to get the job done.
Pamela laughs.
"Oh, that's a word that's going to get you in so much trouble," she purrs.
Jo makes a noise, can't help it, when Pamela laughs into her hair, fingers sliding into the gap where shirt becomes jeans and her hands are warm. Jo still has to take a breath, has to swallow and twitch under that spread of fingers, because she's never done this before. Never done this with another woman, and never done this with anyone that had power.
"Last chance to say no," Pamela says smoothly.
Jo doesn't speak, instead she lifts her hands, starts unbuttoning her shirt.
Pamela pushes her hands out of the way. "Let me do that."
Jo's hands fall, hover in mid-air, not sure where to go.
But Pamela hums in a way that's soft and reassuring, fingers working on the buttons slowly, until she can open Jo's shirt and slowly ease it free. Pamela unclips her bra, draws it down her arms and tosses it away.
Jo inhales.
"Ok, honey?"
"Yes," Jo says, ignoring the wobble in her voice, she's shivering but she knows it's not from cold.
Pamela leans away and there's a quiet rustle of cloth, the almost soundless fall of hair.
When Pamela curls into her again Jo can feel her breasts against her back, the warm crush of them. It makes her inhale in a way she doesn't expect. New and strange in a way that makes her skin warm and her hands itch.
Jo doesn't resist when Pamela unbuttons her jeans, she sways into the movement instead, lets Pamela hook her thumbs in and drag both them and her panties down her thighs. She moves her knees until her jeans are gone completely. She's shaking now, one of her hands has lifted, searching behind her for the curve of Pamela's thigh. Just for something to hang on to.
Jo presses her own thighs together, warm and sensitive already, a steady ache of strange anticipation making every slide of Pamela's fingers feel like a caress.
"Can you feel that?"
She nods wordlessly, doesn’t know if Pamela knows she has, since she can't see.
"Yes."
Pamela sighs, skin pressed into the back of Jo's in a way that makes her breath stutter in her throat. "Can I touch you?"
"Yes," Jo says instantly, fast and shaky.
Pamela's hands catch her like she's just been waiting for permission, strong, fine fingers that are small but soft and clever.
One of them flattens on Jo's belly, slides down and she shifts her thighs apart on instinct, wordlessly demanding, and there isn't enough air in the room.
Pamela's fingers drift through her curls, cup her in a way that makes her groan. Pamela makes a noise, stunned and greedy, like she didn't expect to find her so wet. There's a long, breathless pause, before two of Pamela's fingers push slowly inside her, opening her up in one wet slide. Jo groans, thighs spreading and hips shifting, letting them press deeper, letting them slide almost out before pushing in again. Before they draw out completely, sliding up to roll and circle, slippery and clever on her clit.
Jo digs her nails into Pamela’s arm and grunts, quick and inelegant, because it's good, it's sharp and it's perfect.
She's too hot, sweat running down the middle of her chest, spread by Pamela's fingers when they slip-slide from one breast to the other. Never content to stay for long on just one, while her other hand dips down again, fingers sliding from Jo's clit to the warmth of her, pressed all the way inside in one indulgent push and Jo's swallow is raw. She's shifting in the circle of Pamela's arms, she can't stay still, she can barely breathe. Her thighs are shaking and wet and Pamela's fingers are moving, always moving.
"Pamela."
Pamela drags her hair to the side, presses her mouth to Jo's neck, then opens it, teeth and tongue shifting up to her ear.
"You're going to be gorgeous," Pamela tells her. "It's going to be so fucking strong with you."
Jo's breath stutters out, hips pushing forward and Pamela's touching where she needs her to again, fingers greedy, quick wet pushes and rolls that shove Jo higher, wind the arousal inside her tighter.
She curls a hand up over her head, fingers gathering up a handful of Pamela's hair.
"I want to touch you," she grits out between her teeth, not even ashamed.
"Next time sweetie," Pamela says, voice gone low and rough. "You can touch me as much as you like next time."
Jo groans and tips her head back, feels the curl of Pamela's tongue against the shell of her ear and she's so tight, so close, closing her thighs on Pamela's wrist and shaking. She can hear herself, and the slow whimpers that fall out of her throat make her sound helpless.
Until Pamela's holding her up, arms curled all the way round her while she tries to relearn how to breathe.