I Didn't Mean To Read Your Mind
Title: I Didn’t Mean To Read Your Mind
Rating: R
Category: Het, Pre-series AU of an AU
Pairings: John Winchester/Missouri Mosley
Warnings: If you know who Missouri is you’re fine.
Disclaimer: If I owned this show, I'd be writing episodes and not fic, which I write for fun not profit.
Notes: So in Thicker Than Blood, I wanted to write some J/M but it didn’t fit. So I wrote this. I say it’s an AU of an AU because I don’t think it fits. Though if you think otherwise, let me know.
It’s her fault they’re in this spot.
They haven’t been dancing around each other because he’s doing a hell of a job of avoiding her when the boys aren’t around, which is rare. Sam’s not in school yet so he’s been the best buffer.
She told him once she can turn it off. That she had to learn how to do that in order to not go crazy. He doesn’t believe her anymore.
Too many years of not letting it show that some people’s thoughts surprise her, scare her, disgust her, or what have you and she slipped up at the wrong time. Too many years of practice of not letting her guard down, gone. She doesn’t know what happened. One minute she was thinking about one thing and the next there she was naked and waiting for an equally naked man. Especially if that man is the one that lives with her as her friend, student, and/or pain in the ass depending on the day. The man she believed would never see her as anything but a friend, teacher, and the woman that makes him so damn crazy sometimes.
The sight of herself and him made her head whip around. She stared at him with wide eyes and a flushed face. Anyone else looking at her would think she had had too much sun. He turned bright red under his tan and scrambled to the water’s edge to where Dean and Sam were playing as fast as a man his size would move.
Since that day on Atlantic Beach, she’s been replaying that scene over and over in her head. From the details she picked up in the vision they were in her hotel room, fresh out the shower because the bright white bath towels were lying over the back of one chair. Her swimsuit was on the floor, a two piece trail of cloth to the bathroom. His was lying just at the door like he stepped out of it as soon as they were inside. She replays the scene nightly, adding to it, thinking how it might’ve gone in his head.
She can admit that she’s relieved that he’s had at least one thought about her in that way. It makes her feel as little less guilty for thinking of him that way on more than one occasion. No woman, she thinks, could resist imaging him naked. No woman could help it after having his strong thighs, back or head under her hands.
Most of the times she’s touched him outside of a hug or a pat, it was to stitch him up or replace a dressing. A few times when he was stressed and snapping at everything she’d sit him down and run her fingers through his hair, her fingernails scrapping along his scalp, like her mother used to do anyone in her house that was about one snap away from being slapped. Or that time he threw out his back and she massaged linseed oil into his skin.
She knows she shouldn’t feel guilty. They’re adults, good looking people and still young enough to know how to have a real good time.
That’s what she wants right now. A good time but not like that. She wants them to talk like they used to. Just him and her and no weirdness between them. She wants to see that smile again. She wants to clear the air. It’s the perfect time. Dean and Sam are at Kate and Mike’s till Sunday.
He’s stretched out on his bed in jeans and a t-shirt with bare feet. There’s an open book on his lap. From the door she can tell the pages are yellow with age. When he sees her, he looks surprised like he was so deep in the book he said come in without thinking.
“If I said I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you, would that make you feel better? That my heart does this weird thing the few times I’ve seen you shirtless? And none of that means we can’t be what we were.” She can see him struggling with the right thing to say.
He sits up finally, turns to sit on the side of the bed. He pats the space next to him. After she sits, he takes her hand in his.
“I feel a little better.” Then he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing here. It would help if you read my mind.”
“It wouldn’t be fair. You can’t read mine. Not that it would matter. I’m scared out of my mind right now.” Funny how she was so confident a few moments ago.
“You’re not afraid of anything.”
She rolls her eyes at him. He knows that’s not true. Every time he walks out that door there’s fear. When she stops, he leans in and whispers, “I’m scared, too.” Then he’s kissing her. Her mind goes blank. Stunned into silence. Her mind gets back on track quick though.
For someone scared his lips are firm and sure. In the grand scheme of things he may not know what he’s doing, but in this moment he does. She registers how his lips are a little chapped. How his beard, only a few days old, scratches when he stops, and rests his cheek against hers.
The break is all she needs to stand and then straddle him. She rests her thighs snugly against his. Finally his hands are on her, up her tank top, planted on the small on her back. His hands are as warm and rough as expected. The scrap of a callus across her skin makes her shiver. She can feel him smile against her lips in response.
The hands under her shirt and the urgency in the kiss have her wondering how far this will go. She pushes him away. He falls back, every piece of skin on his face pink with exertion. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”
“I don’t want to talk.” She’s heard those words out of his mouth before, angry and loud. Most times she’d tell him she doesn’t care, hating his silences. She grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head. Her bra is next, a simple cotton cream one.
She smiles at him the whole time, not letting a trace of nervousness slip through. He’s never seen her naked before. It’s been awhile since anyone’s seen her naked. Whatever prospects she had dried up once the Winchesters moved into her home. Every now and then some guy will ask her out then treat every date like some kind of challenge, like he and John were in some kind of competition for her affection. They’d lose of course but not for the reasons they probably think.
He smiles, too, cupping her breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking her nipples. It makes her shift, press the center of her down on him.
They’re kissing again, hard and fast. She does her best to take off his shirt. He gets an arm caught and then it’s caught around his head. He lets out a frustrated growl as he pulls it over his head and then moves to get up causing her to slide off of him. He makes short work of removing his pants then hers. She watches, the speed of her heart increasing. She moves to the middle of the bed, watches as he climbs after her, crawling up her body. Not a moment is spared to do anything but press himself against her.
“God,” she breathes out, running her hands up and down his arms, his back, his ass. His cock is so hard against her left thigh. In the kiss is a question. She reaches for him, takes the warm, solid weight of him and presses it to her entrance in answer.
He kisses her through the burn of it, the push-push-push, like an apology for not waiting for her to adjust. She doesn’t need it. It’ll be fine once he starts really going plus she’s wet enough and just wants it so bad. When he bottoms out, she has to take a breath and let the shudder run through her. He waits, muscles tense under her hands.
“Okay, okay,” she tells him. She wraps her arms around his neck as he hitches her left leg up. They kiss off and on as he pumps in and out of her, smooth steady strokes that hit almost just right. She shifts her hips then pulls him more towards her. “Right there,” she nearly shouts.
His grunts get louder the breathier her moans get. All she can say is yes over and over again as he goes faster and faster. It feels so good, too good that she wants this again. The heat of him from head to toe. The nip of his teeth and swipe of his tongue to sooth the sting. She likes the sounds he makes, so deep, guttural.
When she’s falling over that edge into indescribable pleasure, she closes her eyes. When done, she lets her body go lax. He keeps going, the friction easing a bit. He pulls her close. The angle changes just enough that no when he slides in, it’s just this side of painful long enough for him to come himself.
The feel of their heartbeats synching up is almost too much like the heat they’ve generated. She runs her hands up and down his back until he pulls away and flops down beside her, face in the comforter. She makes a move to go get something to clean them up, when he snakes an arm around her waist. She tries not to think about anything before she falls asleep.
He finds her on the back porch, empty bowl on the table next to her, mug in her hands.
“I thought I had dreamed it until I realized how naked I was.”
She doesn’t look at him when she asks, “Do you wish it was a dream?”
“No.” He doesn’t look at her either. He stares out at the garden that isn’t in bloom yet, just green as far the yard extends until it touches the fence the yard shares with Mrs. McGregor’s yard. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“My mama died and I just knew my father wouldn’t find another wife. He never got married again so I was right. I was wrong that not getting married again meant there wouldn’t be other women. Six months after my mother died he went on a date. I was so angry. I didn’t talk to him for a week. He didn’t apologize for doing it. He did apologize for not telling us beforehand.”
He says, “Why so soon?”
“He wanted someone to laugh at his jokes like mama used to.”
“That’s it?”
“If there was more to it, I’m sure that’s all he wanted to say to his seventeen year old daughter. He was lonely. Only so much kids can do.”
“It doesn’t sound so bad when I hear it like that.”
She looks at him after that. “Don’t worry about using me John. It’s not like I’m not getting something out of the deal.” He actually blushes. “Don’t worry that I’m looking for you to love me like that.”
“You deserve to be.”
“I know it.”
She turns back to the garden but he continues to watch her for a few more moments. Finally he leaves, coming back a few minutes later with a bowl in one hand and beer in the other.
Rating: R
Category: Het, Pre-series AU of an AU
Pairings: John Winchester/Missouri Mosley
Warnings: If you know who Missouri is you’re fine.
Disclaimer: If I owned this show, I'd be writing episodes and not fic, which I write for fun not profit.
Notes: So in Thicker Than Blood, I wanted to write some J/M but it didn’t fit. So I wrote this. I say it’s an AU of an AU because I don’t think it fits. Though if you think otherwise, let me know.
It’s her fault they’re in this spot.
They haven’t been dancing around each other because he’s doing a hell of a job of avoiding her when the boys aren’t around, which is rare. Sam’s not in school yet so he’s been the best buffer.
She told him once she can turn it off. That she had to learn how to do that in order to not go crazy. He doesn’t believe her anymore.
Too many years of not letting it show that some people’s thoughts surprise her, scare her, disgust her, or what have you and she slipped up at the wrong time. Too many years of practice of not letting her guard down, gone. She doesn’t know what happened. One minute she was thinking about one thing and the next there she was naked and waiting for an equally naked man. Especially if that man is the one that lives with her as her friend, student, and/or pain in the ass depending on the day. The man she believed would never see her as anything but a friend, teacher, and the woman that makes him so damn crazy sometimes.
The sight of herself and him made her head whip around. She stared at him with wide eyes and a flushed face. Anyone else looking at her would think she had had too much sun. He turned bright red under his tan and scrambled to the water’s edge to where Dean and Sam were playing as fast as a man his size would move.
Since that day on Atlantic Beach, she’s been replaying that scene over and over in her head. From the details she picked up in the vision they were in her hotel room, fresh out the shower because the bright white bath towels were lying over the back of one chair. Her swimsuit was on the floor, a two piece trail of cloth to the bathroom. His was lying just at the door like he stepped out of it as soon as they were inside. She replays the scene nightly, adding to it, thinking how it might’ve gone in his head.
She can admit that she’s relieved that he’s had at least one thought about her in that way. It makes her feel as little less guilty for thinking of him that way on more than one occasion. No woman, she thinks, could resist imaging him naked. No woman could help it after having his strong thighs, back or head under her hands.
Most of the times she’s touched him outside of a hug or a pat, it was to stitch him up or replace a dressing. A few times when he was stressed and snapping at everything she’d sit him down and run her fingers through his hair, her fingernails scrapping along his scalp, like her mother used to do anyone in her house that was about one snap away from being slapped. Or that time he threw out his back and she massaged linseed oil into his skin.
She knows she shouldn’t feel guilty. They’re adults, good looking people and still young enough to know how to have a real good time.
That’s what she wants right now. A good time but not like that. She wants them to talk like they used to. Just him and her and no weirdness between them. She wants to see that smile again. She wants to clear the air. It’s the perfect time. Dean and Sam are at Kate and Mike’s till Sunday.
He’s stretched out on his bed in jeans and a t-shirt with bare feet. There’s an open book on his lap. From the door she can tell the pages are yellow with age. When he sees her, he looks surprised like he was so deep in the book he said come in without thinking.
“If I said I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you, would that make you feel better? That my heart does this weird thing the few times I’ve seen you shirtless? And none of that means we can’t be what we were.” She can see him struggling with the right thing to say.
He sits up finally, turns to sit on the side of the bed. He pats the space next to him. After she sits, he takes her hand in his.
“I feel a little better.” Then he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing here. It would help if you read my mind.”
“It wouldn’t be fair. You can’t read mine. Not that it would matter. I’m scared out of my mind right now.” Funny how she was so confident a few moments ago.
“You’re not afraid of anything.”
She rolls her eyes at him. He knows that’s not true. Every time he walks out that door there’s fear. When she stops, he leans in and whispers, “I’m scared, too.” Then he’s kissing her. Her mind goes blank. Stunned into silence. Her mind gets back on track quick though.
For someone scared his lips are firm and sure. In the grand scheme of things he may not know what he’s doing, but in this moment he does. She registers how his lips are a little chapped. How his beard, only a few days old, scratches when he stops, and rests his cheek against hers.
The break is all she needs to stand and then straddle him. She rests her thighs snugly against his. Finally his hands are on her, up her tank top, planted on the small on her back. His hands are as warm and rough as expected. The scrap of a callus across her skin makes her shiver. She can feel him smile against her lips in response.
The hands under her shirt and the urgency in the kiss have her wondering how far this will go. She pushes him away. He falls back, every piece of skin on his face pink with exertion. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”
“I don’t want to talk.” She’s heard those words out of his mouth before, angry and loud. Most times she’d tell him she doesn’t care, hating his silences. She grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head. Her bra is next, a simple cotton cream one.
She smiles at him the whole time, not letting a trace of nervousness slip through. He’s never seen her naked before. It’s been awhile since anyone’s seen her naked. Whatever prospects she had dried up once the Winchesters moved into her home. Every now and then some guy will ask her out then treat every date like some kind of challenge, like he and John were in some kind of competition for her affection. They’d lose of course but not for the reasons they probably think.
He smiles, too, cupping her breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking her nipples. It makes her shift, press the center of her down on him.
They’re kissing again, hard and fast. She does her best to take off his shirt. He gets an arm caught and then it’s caught around his head. He lets out a frustrated growl as he pulls it over his head and then moves to get up causing her to slide off of him. He makes short work of removing his pants then hers. She watches, the speed of her heart increasing. She moves to the middle of the bed, watches as he climbs after her, crawling up her body. Not a moment is spared to do anything but press himself against her.
“God,” she breathes out, running her hands up and down his arms, his back, his ass. His cock is so hard against her left thigh. In the kiss is a question. She reaches for him, takes the warm, solid weight of him and presses it to her entrance in answer.
He kisses her through the burn of it, the push-push-push, like an apology for not waiting for her to adjust. She doesn’t need it. It’ll be fine once he starts really going plus she’s wet enough and just wants it so bad. When he bottoms out, she has to take a breath and let the shudder run through her. He waits, muscles tense under her hands.
“Okay, okay,” she tells him. She wraps her arms around his neck as he hitches her left leg up. They kiss off and on as he pumps in and out of her, smooth steady strokes that hit almost just right. She shifts her hips then pulls him more towards her. “Right there,” she nearly shouts.
His grunts get louder the breathier her moans get. All she can say is yes over and over again as he goes faster and faster. It feels so good, too good that she wants this again. The heat of him from head to toe. The nip of his teeth and swipe of his tongue to sooth the sting. She likes the sounds he makes, so deep, guttural.
When she’s falling over that edge into indescribable pleasure, she closes her eyes. When done, she lets her body go lax. He keeps going, the friction easing a bit. He pulls her close. The angle changes just enough that no when he slides in, it’s just this side of painful long enough for him to come himself.
The feel of their heartbeats synching up is almost too much like the heat they’ve generated. She runs her hands up and down his back until he pulls away and flops down beside her, face in the comforter. She makes a move to go get something to clean them up, when he snakes an arm around her waist. She tries not to think about anything before she falls asleep.
He finds her on the back porch, empty bowl on the table next to her, mug in her hands.
“I thought I had dreamed it until I realized how naked I was.”
She doesn’t look at him when she asks, “Do you wish it was a dream?”
“No.” He doesn’t look at her either. He stares out at the garden that isn’t in bloom yet, just green as far the yard extends until it touches the fence the yard shares with Mrs. McGregor’s yard. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“My mama died and I just knew my father wouldn’t find another wife. He never got married again so I was right. I was wrong that not getting married again meant there wouldn’t be other women. Six months after my mother died he went on a date. I was so angry. I didn’t talk to him for a week. He didn’t apologize for doing it. He did apologize for not telling us beforehand.”
He says, “Why so soon?”
“He wanted someone to laugh at his jokes like mama used to.”
“That’s it?”
“If there was more to it, I’m sure that’s all he wanted to say to his seventeen year old daughter. He was lonely. Only so much kids can do.”
“It doesn’t sound so bad when I hear it like that.”
She looks at him after that. “Don’t worry about using me John. It’s not like I’m not getting something out of the deal.” He actually blushes. “Don’t worry that I’m looking for you to love me like that.”
“You deserve to be.”
“I know it.”
She turns back to the garden but he continues to watch her for a few more moments. Finally he leaves, coming back a few minutes later with a bowl in one hand and beer in the other.