FIC: You Can Count on Me (Blindfold Fill)
Title: You Can Count on Me
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jo/aged-up-Claire (17) [off-screen Dean/Cas]
Word length: 2687
Prompt: After 4x20, Amelia and Claire take up refuge at the Roadhouse and Claire develops a crush on Jo. Jo's nice about it, lets Claire follow her around, teaches her how to handle weapons, and then one day Claire tries to kiss her. Somehow it ends with Claire going down on Jo as Jo gently guides her through it. Age Claire up if you want or make it AU, I'm not too bothered.
People think they're sisters. It's the blonde hair, and how Claire follows her around everywhere. Not that there's much 'everywhere' around the Roadhouse - just the storeroom to the bar, out to the post office and the supermarket. It's how she looks at Jo, hangs on her every word, laughs at all her jokes, touches her hair when she can. Like Jo's a beloved older sister.
And Jo's flattered, a little touched, even. She knows stuff about Claire, things that Dean and Sam told her in whispered conversations across the phone lines, about Claire glowing with white light, Claire as an ANGEL. She's a little impressed by how well the kid is holding it together after that, certainly better than Amelia, who barely gets out of bed most days, preferring to stay shut up in the upstairs guest room. She feels bad for her, with her shut-in mother and an absent father who is no longer her father at all.
That's why she starts in on the Lessons - guns, knives, hands and feet. Claire is seventeen, losing the plumpness of adolescence, but it hasn't been replaced by muscle - yet. Jo's changing that, slowly turning her into a hunter with each corrected stance, each demonstrated chokehold, block and feint. Claire's a fast learner, eager to please, thriving on any compliment Jo pays her, no matter how small. It's when they're on the range one afternoon that Jo starts to recognize Claire's adoring glances for what they really are.
Jo's been in Claire's place before, after all. She can easily recall how she strove for one faint word of praise from Dean, how her eyes tracked his movements, how she always tried to mimic his actions. It wasn't just hero-worship then, and that's not what this is now.
She's not sure how to act. When she adjusts Claire's grip on the gun, their fingers touch out of necessity, but she can see the slight blush staining Claire's cheeks. And when Claire turns, her breasts brush against Jo's arms. They're bigger than Jo's, despite the four years she has on Claire, and she gets the distinct impression of nipples through the layers of cloth between them.
She pulls away, compliments Claire on her progress and ends the Lesson for the day. Once up in her bedroom, she shuts the door behind her and crosses quickly to her bed. Her vibrator is in the back of the top drawer of her nightstand. It sees a depressing amount of action considering she's twenty-one, not unattractive and works in a bar. She has standards, that's all, and for the past two years, those standards have been 'Dean Winchester,' hence the reliance on the vibrator. Any hope she'd ever had was squashed the last time she saw him, anyway. She hadn't told Claire or Amelia what she saw, but there's no way the angel is going to relinquish his body, not after Dean touched him the way she'd always wanted him to touch her.
Her pants and underwear are discarded on the floor and she leans back against her pillows, working the vibrator in. The fantasy starts up behind her closed eyelids, same as usual, Dean's rough hands on her body. Only this time they feel a little smoother, a little smaller. She frowns and adjusts her position. Dean is fucking her, that's what she's striving for, but the fantasy gets overlaid with the memory of Dean thrusting up into Castiel, caressing his thighs, not hers. 'Cas' sounds nothing like 'Jo,' and she banishes the mental image entirely.
Closing her eyes, it's Claire who she sees now, Claire riding her, Claire's wide-eyed look of adoration. She wonders what Claire's breasts are like without the layers of clothes between them and-
There's a knock on her door. "Jo?" Claire's voice is hesitant and soft. "May I come in?"
"Just a second!" Jo yells back. She's uncomfortably damp as she pulls her jeans back on, the underwear lost somewhere in the messy piles of clothes dotting her bedroom floor. She shoves the vibrator back into the drawer and opens the door.
Claire shifts from foot to foot before coming inside. Jo closes the door behind her and leans back against it. She has a hard time meeting Claire's eye. Maybe she should have steered the other girl towards the bar; she'd feel less dirty there, ironically. Her eyes flick away from her bed.
"What's up, Claire?" she asks gruffly.
"Um." A blush stains Claire's cheeks. It makes her look even younger and Jo can feel heat rise to her own cheeks at the memory of her fantasy. Fuck. "I got this weird bruise, I think from the shotgun, would you…?"
Claire's voice trails off, and then she's unbuttoning her flannel and holding it awkwardly in one hand. The tank top she's wearing underneath is too small, a hand-me-down from Jo, and the fabric strains to hold her breasts. Jo looks at the bruise instead. It's high up her arm, definitely from the shotgun, and Jo frowns as she steps forward to take a closer look.
"I'm sorry, Claire, some of these guns have a bit of a kick. I thought I'd-"
Her words are cut off by the press of Claire's lips to her own. Jo freezes, a little shocked at Claire's temerity, and after a moment, Claire pulls back. Her eyes are very wide, and maybe she's a little shocked at herself, too.
"Shit. I'm sorry," Claire blurts out. "Sorry."
The door is slamming behind her before Jo has even opened her mouth.
Dinner that evening is extremely awkward, only one regular in the bar to provide a distraction. Claire asks to be excused after only three bites, and Jo's stomach twists a little at that; Claire's pretty much an adult, but she still asks permission to leave the table (bar).
Ellen fixes Jo with her no-nonsense, mother wolf look after Claire's beat a retreat.
"Joanna Beth, you go talk to the kid."
Jo hides her wince with a long swallow of her beer. "I need to keep an eye on the bar."
Ellen raises an eyebrow. "Pete! You need anything?" she calls out. The regular mumbles nonsensical syllables into his tabletop. Ellen points at the door. "Go fix her. I can handle the bar."
Jo doesn't even bother protesting. She knows where she'll find Claire - outside in the only copse of trees for miles. It's Jo's special hideaway, has been since she was a little girl, and she'd shown it to Claire the night Dean and Sam had told her about the angel.
Sure enough, Claire's sitting beneath the shelter of the trees, knees drawn up to her chest. She doesn't look up when Jo hunkers down beside her.
"Claire," she starts.
"God, I said I was sorry!" Claire cries out.
"I know," Jo tries again.
"Can't we forget it ever happened?"
"Claire -"
"Tell me about hunting, tell me about what my dad is doing right now, tell me anything -"
Jo shuts her up by kissing her, and then things happen very quickly, like Claire had just been waiting for permission, good girl that she is. Before she's truly processed anything, Jo has a lapful of Claire, Claire's down to just her bra on top, and she's rather awkwardly trying to neck with Jo.
"Wait," Jo says, pushing gently at her shoulders until Claire stops and looks up. Her golden hair tumbling around her shoulders and full breasts gives her a lush, pre-Raphaelite look, and Jo feels a spike of lust low in her belly. "What are you doing, Claire? Really?"
"I want you," Claire whispers. "And don't tell me I'm too young!" she says, a little louder, eyes flashing. "I just want to be with you. Please, Jo."
She leaves unspoken that she doesn't have anyone else, that Jo is effectively her sister, mother, father, and only friend. Adding 'lover' to that list could overbalance the whole thing. Jo's going to say no, she should say no, but the way Claire looks at her reminds her forcibly of how she looked at Dean. She'll never know what they could have had now, a regret she'll take to her grave, as either she or Dean will definitely die young. She doesn't want to take this regret, too.
Jo falls back, pulling Claire down with her. Claire's whoop of delight changes to a gasp when Jo deftly flicks the front clasp of her bra open and nuzzles her breasts. They're soft and silky smooth with hard peaked nipples, perfect for sucking and Jo doesn't bother resisting, just pulls a breast into her mouth. Claire's breath stutters, the moan tripping out of her and Jo is transfixed by the smile on her face, can't look away even as she's delicately scraping her teeth across a nipple. Claire's moan changes to a squeal, then to a giggle.
Jo's never heard her giggle before, but she wants to hear it again, and she settles Claire more fully onto her lap so she can mouth at her other breast. Claire has a few inches on her and her breasts are at the perfect height for Jo's lips. Jo tickles Claire with her tongue, swirls the nipple and sucks.
It's better than sucking cock, she has to admit - less messy, more pliant, softer. Claire's giggle sounds like an April shower, the timbre changing when Jo starts to rut against her. She runs her hands up and down Claire's back before settling them on her hips and grinding Claire down against her crotch. Claire's breath is coming faster and faster, her breasts are heaving, and Jo finally lets the one she's sucking drop out of her mouth. Her chapstick leaves a smear of grease on the pale flesh when she buries her face in the cleavage.
Claire's breath sounds increasingly raspy until Jo slides a finger under her waistband, popping the button on her jeans. Then Claire whimpers.
"Jo!" It comes out as a squeak and freezes Jo in her tracks. Their harsh breathing is the only sound in the copse, and then Jo's disentangling them, rising to her feet, silently berating herself for letting herself get into this mess.
"Wait!" Claire cries, seizing her hand. Jo looks down into her face, trying not to see Claire's pink and spit-slick breasts, her slightly fleshy stomach and the mound barely visible peeking out of her partly-undone jeans.
"No, Claire," Jo begins, not ungently, her stomach twisting when Claire starts to cry.
"Please," Claire whispers. "Please don’t go. Don't leave me."
She's on her knees, looking like nothing so much as a debauched angel, and Jo wants to turn away at the thought, wants to stop until Claire is simply Claire. Claire deserves that; deserves doing this on her own terms, with no baggage. But then Claire shifts closer and presses her face to the front of Jo's jeans. Her mouth opens and closes as she mumbles something, something Jo isn't supposed to hear anyway, before she looks up through her damp lashes.
"Please don't send me away. I only want to be with you."
And Jo's not going to say no to that, will welcome the flattery of being wanted. It feels like a warm spring rain on the cold, hard earth. She manages a small smile when she lifts her hands to cradle Claire's head.
"Okay," she breathes out.
She lets Claire pull her back down onto the grass, helps her work off her jeans, leaves Claire's where they are for the moment. This has suddenly become about her, and she's not going to fight it. And if it's about her -
She steers Claire's head down until the other woman is leaning on her own elbows, positioned between Jo's legs. Claire's breath is warm across her damp pussy.
"What, um, I don't know what to do," Claire confesses quietly.
"I'll help you. Don't I always?" Jo strokes Claire's face, feels the smile against the pad of her thumb. She dips the thumb inside and Claire's eyes widen, and when she pulls it out, Claire's tongue darts forward. Thumb inspiration, Jo thinks, and then Claire's tongue is on her clit, sending a pulse of desire through her.
Claire's watching her through her pale eyelashes again, and Jo gives an encouraging nod, cupping one hand beneath Claire's chin and pulling her further up and in. Claire crawls forward willingly and licks into her, eliciting a moan from Jo. It feels so good to have someone else lavish this attention on her, a reality to chase away her fantasies. She spreads her legs wider. Her hands are tangled in Claire's hair and she gives a little tug, directing Claire inside. Her pubes are a very dark golden, dripping onto Claire's face. She smoothes Claire's light blonde hair across her thighs, relishing the contrast.
"Lick," she says. "Inside me, Claire. It's okay. Better than."
Claire follows directions well, tongue pressing inside. She makes a surprised little noise at the suction, and then she's licking, her bottom lip convulsing as she eats Jo out. Jo has a hard time not thrusting into her, and she does a bit, pushing gently at Claire's head, then pulling her back in.
She keeps up a litany of whispered praise and encouragement, and Claire laps it up, even as she's lapping up Jo's wetness. Her hips are unconsciously rutting against the ground, and the sight brings Jo even closer to the edge. She's panting now, but she wants Claire's soft mouth on her clit, and then she'll come. One little tug, and Claire is right where Jo wants her. She's looking up at Jo, all guileless blue eyes and Jo is thrusting up into her hot little mouth, writhing at the touch of her tongue on her clit and coming on her face.
Claire is quiet afterwards. Jo can feel her eyes on her as she shakes and her breathing evens out. She pushes herself up on her elbows and Claire gives her a shaky smile.
"I did it right?" she asks softly, hesitant after-the-fact, and Jo enfolds her in her arms, pulls her down beside her, and kisses her. Claire clings to her neck, overwhelmed and exhilarated and a little shocked and vulnerable. Jo can remember her first time quite clearly - all the same emotions, but it'd been with Marcus Ryan, the son of a hunter, and no way was Jo going to show vulnerability to him. She'd got up and left, slightly sick to her stomach and not very satisfied. She wants it to be better for Claire.
She slides her hand into Claire's open pants as they start making out, rubs her thumb over the clit before spreading her open with her fingers, as much as she can in the confines of an undone pair of jeans, and works a finger into her. Claire's eyes go as round as saucers and she makes little mewling noises that Jo kisses away, still working another finger inside. She's suddenly incredibly slick, and Jo's fingers slide a little before going back to a gentle scissoring motion.
Claire's breaths are coming in heaving gasps, and without giving it a second thought, Jo closes her mouth around a nipple and sucks. Her hand is sticky and slippery both. She applies just a little bit more pressure with her fingers and then Claire is coming, bucking up off the grass with a long drawn-out "Ohhhhhhh!"
Jo swirls her tongue around the nipple in her mouth and strokes Claire softly through the aftershocks. Claire is watching her with a look of awe, and Jo would like to say something momentous and meaningful, but the back door of the bar slams against the wall and Ellen's voice calls out, "Joanna Beth! Claire! Haul ass!"
Jo bursts out laughing, and Claire follows suit. Jo laughs so hard tears flow down her cheeks. It's like a dam has burst. They cling to each other, laughing and crying, and Jo feels better than she has in a very long time. From the bright light in Claire's eyes, Jo can tell she does, too.
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jo/aged-up-Claire (17) [off-screen Dean/Cas]
Word length: 2687
Prompt: After 4x20, Amelia and Claire take up refuge at the Roadhouse and Claire develops a crush on Jo. Jo's nice about it, lets Claire follow her around, teaches her how to handle weapons, and then one day Claire tries to kiss her. Somehow it ends with Claire going down on Jo as Jo gently guides her through it. Age Claire up if you want or make it AU, I'm not too bothered.
People think they're sisters. It's the blonde hair, and how Claire follows her around everywhere. Not that there's much 'everywhere' around the Roadhouse - just the storeroom to the bar, out to the post office and the supermarket. It's how she looks at Jo, hangs on her every word, laughs at all her jokes, touches her hair when she can. Like Jo's a beloved older sister.
And Jo's flattered, a little touched, even. She knows stuff about Claire, things that Dean and Sam told her in whispered conversations across the phone lines, about Claire glowing with white light, Claire as an ANGEL. She's a little impressed by how well the kid is holding it together after that, certainly better than Amelia, who barely gets out of bed most days, preferring to stay shut up in the upstairs guest room. She feels bad for her, with her shut-in mother and an absent father who is no longer her father at all.
That's why she starts in on the Lessons - guns, knives, hands and feet. Claire is seventeen, losing the plumpness of adolescence, but it hasn't been replaced by muscle - yet. Jo's changing that, slowly turning her into a hunter with each corrected stance, each demonstrated chokehold, block and feint. Claire's a fast learner, eager to please, thriving on any compliment Jo pays her, no matter how small. It's when they're on the range one afternoon that Jo starts to recognize Claire's adoring glances for what they really are.
Jo's been in Claire's place before, after all. She can easily recall how she strove for one faint word of praise from Dean, how her eyes tracked his movements, how she always tried to mimic his actions. It wasn't just hero-worship then, and that's not what this is now.
She's not sure how to act. When she adjusts Claire's grip on the gun, their fingers touch out of necessity, but she can see the slight blush staining Claire's cheeks. And when Claire turns, her breasts brush against Jo's arms. They're bigger than Jo's, despite the four years she has on Claire, and she gets the distinct impression of nipples through the layers of cloth between them.
She pulls away, compliments Claire on her progress and ends the Lesson for the day. Once up in her bedroom, she shuts the door behind her and crosses quickly to her bed. Her vibrator is in the back of the top drawer of her nightstand. It sees a depressing amount of action considering she's twenty-one, not unattractive and works in a bar. She has standards, that's all, and for the past two years, those standards have been 'Dean Winchester,' hence the reliance on the vibrator. Any hope she'd ever had was squashed the last time she saw him, anyway. She hadn't told Claire or Amelia what she saw, but there's no way the angel is going to relinquish his body, not after Dean touched him the way she'd always wanted him to touch her.
Her pants and underwear are discarded on the floor and she leans back against her pillows, working the vibrator in. The fantasy starts up behind her closed eyelids, same as usual, Dean's rough hands on her body. Only this time they feel a little smoother, a little smaller. She frowns and adjusts her position. Dean is fucking her, that's what she's striving for, but the fantasy gets overlaid with the memory of Dean thrusting up into Castiel, caressing his thighs, not hers. 'Cas' sounds nothing like 'Jo,' and she banishes the mental image entirely.
Closing her eyes, it's Claire who she sees now, Claire riding her, Claire's wide-eyed look of adoration. She wonders what Claire's breasts are like without the layers of clothes between them and-
There's a knock on her door. "Jo?" Claire's voice is hesitant and soft. "May I come in?"
"Just a second!" Jo yells back. She's uncomfortably damp as she pulls her jeans back on, the underwear lost somewhere in the messy piles of clothes dotting her bedroom floor. She shoves the vibrator back into the drawer and opens the door.
Claire shifts from foot to foot before coming inside. Jo closes the door behind her and leans back against it. She has a hard time meeting Claire's eye. Maybe she should have steered the other girl towards the bar; she'd feel less dirty there, ironically. Her eyes flick away from her bed.
"What's up, Claire?" she asks gruffly.
"Um." A blush stains Claire's cheeks. It makes her look even younger and Jo can feel heat rise to her own cheeks at the memory of her fantasy. Fuck. "I got this weird bruise, I think from the shotgun, would you…?"
Claire's voice trails off, and then she's unbuttoning her flannel and holding it awkwardly in one hand. The tank top she's wearing underneath is too small, a hand-me-down from Jo, and the fabric strains to hold her breasts. Jo looks at the bruise instead. It's high up her arm, definitely from the shotgun, and Jo frowns as she steps forward to take a closer look.
"I'm sorry, Claire, some of these guns have a bit of a kick. I thought I'd-"
Her words are cut off by the press of Claire's lips to her own. Jo freezes, a little shocked at Claire's temerity, and after a moment, Claire pulls back. Her eyes are very wide, and maybe she's a little shocked at herself, too.
"Shit. I'm sorry," Claire blurts out. "Sorry."
The door is slamming behind her before Jo has even opened her mouth.
Dinner that evening is extremely awkward, only one regular in the bar to provide a distraction. Claire asks to be excused after only three bites, and Jo's stomach twists a little at that; Claire's pretty much an adult, but she still asks permission to leave the table (bar).
Ellen fixes Jo with her no-nonsense, mother wolf look after Claire's beat a retreat.
"Joanna Beth, you go talk to the kid."
Jo hides her wince with a long swallow of her beer. "I need to keep an eye on the bar."
Ellen raises an eyebrow. "Pete! You need anything?" she calls out. The regular mumbles nonsensical syllables into his tabletop. Ellen points at the door. "Go fix her. I can handle the bar."
Jo doesn't even bother protesting. She knows where she'll find Claire - outside in the only copse of trees for miles. It's Jo's special hideaway, has been since she was a little girl, and she'd shown it to Claire the night Dean and Sam had told her about the angel.
Sure enough, Claire's sitting beneath the shelter of the trees, knees drawn up to her chest. She doesn't look up when Jo hunkers down beside her.
"Claire," she starts.
"God, I said I was sorry!" Claire cries out.
"I know," Jo tries again.
"Can't we forget it ever happened?"
"Claire -"
"Tell me about hunting, tell me about what my dad is doing right now, tell me anything -"
Jo shuts her up by kissing her, and then things happen very quickly, like Claire had just been waiting for permission, good girl that she is. Before she's truly processed anything, Jo has a lapful of Claire, Claire's down to just her bra on top, and she's rather awkwardly trying to neck with Jo.
"Wait," Jo says, pushing gently at her shoulders until Claire stops and looks up. Her golden hair tumbling around her shoulders and full breasts gives her a lush, pre-Raphaelite look, and Jo feels a spike of lust low in her belly. "What are you doing, Claire? Really?"
"I want you," Claire whispers. "And don't tell me I'm too young!" she says, a little louder, eyes flashing. "I just want to be with you. Please, Jo."
She leaves unspoken that she doesn't have anyone else, that Jo is effectively her sister, mother, father, and only friend. Adding 'lover' to that list could overbalance the whole thing. Jo's going to say no, she should say no, but the way Claire looks at her reminds her forcibly of how she looked at Dean. She'll never know what they could have had now, a regret she'll take to her grave, as either she or Dean will definitely die young. She doesn't want to take this regret, too.
Jo falls back, pulling Claire down with her. Claire's whoop of delight changes to a gasp when Jo deftly flicks the front clasp of her bra open and nuzzles her breasts. They're soft and silky smooth with hard peaked nipples, perfect for sucking and Jo doesn't bother resisting, just pulls a breast into her mouth. Claire's breath stutters, the moan tripping out of her and Jo is transfixed by the smile on her face, can't look away even as she's delicately scraping her teeth across a nipple. Claire's moan changes to a squeal, then to a giggle.
Jo's never heard her giggle before, but she wants to hear it again, and she settles Claire more fully onto her lap so she can mouth at her other breast. Claire has a few inches on her and her breasts are at the perfect height for Jo's lips. Jo tickles Claire with her tongue, swirls the nipple and sucks.
It's better than sucking cock, she has to admit - less messy, more pliant, softer. Claire's giggle sounds like an April shower, the timbre changing when Jo starts to rut against her. She runs her hands up and down Claire's back before settling them on her hips and grinding Claire down against her crotch. Claire's breath is coming faster and faster, her breasts are heaving, and Jo finally lets the one she's sucking drop out of her mouth. Her chapstick leaves a smear of grease on the pale flesh when she buries her face in the cleavage.
Claire's breath sounds increasingly raspy until Jo slides a finger under her waistband, popping the button on her jeans. Then Claire whimpers.
"Jo!" It comes out as a squeak and freezes Jo in her tracks. Their harsh breathing is the only sound in the copse, and then Jo's disentangling them, rising to her feet, silently berating herself for letting herself get into this mess.
"Wait!" Claire cries, seizing her hand. Jo looks down into her face, trying not to see Claire's pink and spit-slick breasts, her slightly fleshy stomach and the mound barely visible peeking out of her partly-undone jeans.
"No, Claire," Jo begins, not ungently, her stomach twisting when Claire starts to cry.
"Please," Claire whispers. "Please don’t go. Don't leave me."
She's on her knees, looking like nothing so much as a debauched angel, and Jo wants to turn away at the thought, wants to stop until Claire is simply Claire. Claire deserves that; deserves doing this on her own terms, with no baggage. But then Claire shifts closer and presses her face to the front of Jo's jeans. Her mouth opens and closes as she mumbles something, something Jo isn't supposed to hear anyway, before she looks up through her damp lashes.
"Please don't send me away. I only want to be with you."
And Jo's not going to say no to that, will welcome the flattery of being wanted. It feels like a warm spring rain on the cold, hard earth. She manages a small smile when she lifts her hands to cradle Claire's head.
"Okay," she breathes out.
She lets Claire pull her back down onto the grass, helps her work off her jeans, leaves Claire's where they are for the moment. This has suddenly become about her, and she's not going to fight it. And if it's about her -
She steers Claire's head down until the other woman is leaning on her own elbows, positioned between Jo's legs. Claire's breath is warm across her damp pussy.
"What, um, I don't know what to do," Claire confesses quietly.
"I'll help you. Don't I always?" Jo strokes Claire's face, feels the smile against the pad of her thumb. She dips the thumb inside and Claire's eyes widen, and when she pulls it out, Claire's tongue darts forward. Thumb inspiration, Jo thinks, and then Claire's tongue is on her clit, sending a pulse of desire through her.
Claire's watching her through her pale eyelashes again, and Jo gives an encouraging nod, cupping one hand beneath Claire's chin and pulling her further up and in. Claire crawls forward willingly and licks into her, eliciting a moan from Jo. It feels so good to have someone else lavish this attention on her, a reality to chase away her fantasies. She spreads her legs wider. Her hands are tangled in Claire's hair and she gives a little tug, directing Claire inside. Her pubes are a very dark golden, dripping onto Claire's face. She smoothes Claire's light blonde hair across her thighs, relishing the contrast.
"Lick," she says. "Inside me, Claire. It's okay. Better than."
Claire follows directions well, tongue pressing inside. She makes a surprised little noise at the suction, and then she's licking, her bottom lip convulsing as she eats Jo out. Jo has a hard time not thrusting into her, and she does a bit, pushing gently at Claire's head, then pulling her back in.
She keeps up a litany of whispered praise and encouragement, and Claire laps it up, even as she's lapping up Jo's wetness. Her hips are unconsciously rutting against the ground, and the sight brings Jo even closer to the edge. She's panting now, but she wants Claire's soft mouth on her clit, and then she'll come. One little tug, and Claire is right where Jo wants her. She's looking up at Jo, all guileless blue eyes and Jo is thrusting up into her hot little mouth, writhing at the touch of her tongue on her clit and coming on her face.
Claire is quiet afterwards. Jo can feel her eyes on her as she shakes and her breathing evens out. She pushes herself up on her elbows and Claire gives her a shaky smile.
"I did it right?" she asks softly, hesitant after-the-fact, and Jo enfolds her in her arms, pulls her down beside her, and kisses her. Claire clings to her neck, overwhelmed and exhilarated and a little shocked and vulnerable. Jo can remember her first time quite clearly - all the same emotions, but it'd been with Marcus Ryan, the son of a hunter, and no way was Jo going to show vulnerability to him. She'd got up and left, slightly sick to her stomach and not very satisfied. She wants it to be better for Claire.
She slides her hand into Claire's open pants as they start making out, rubs her thumb over the clit before spreading her open with her fingers, as much as she can in the confines of an undone pair of jeans, and works a finger into her. Claire's eyes go as round as saucers and she makes little mewling noises that Jo kisses away, still working another finger inside. She's suddenly incredibly slick, and Jo's fingers slide a little before going back to a gentle scissoring motion.
Claire's breaths are coming in heaving gasps, and without giving it a second thought, Jo closes her mouth around a nipple and sucks. Her hand is sticky and slippery both. She applies just a little bit more pressure with her fingers and then Claire is coming, bucking up off the grass with a long drawn-out "Ohhhhhhh!"
Jo swirls her tongue around the nipple in her mouth and strokes Claire softly through the aftershocks. Claire is watching her with a look of awe, and Jo would like to say something momentous and meaningful, but the back door of the bar slams against the wall and Ellen's voice calls out, "Joanna Beth! Claire! Haul ass!"
Jo bursts out laughing, and Claire follows suit. Jo laughs so hard tears flow down her cheeks. It's like a dam has burst. They cling to each other, laughing and crying, and Jo feels better than she has in a very long time. From the bright light in Claire's eyes, Jo can tell she does, too.