Fic (Supernatural): Real (Jess/ Jo, NC-17)
Kicking off Pride month in Perth with some girl-on-girl action for the femslash_today Porn Battle
If you feel the urge, get over there and p0rn like there's no tomorrow.
Real
(Supernatural, Jo/ Jess, NC-17)
Author's Notes: Ghost-sex. Should that be a warning? I hope not.
Jessica Moore is a haunting; Jo knows this. Five days ago, Jo found Jess’s picture on a website and was captivated. The picture showed long blonde hair and a perfect smile but her eyes held sadness, as if she knew the end was coming. Jo’s been waking up to Jessica every night since, feeling her standing at Jo’s bedside, hearing her crying as she paces the room, holding out her hands or clasping them tightly to her breast.
Jo is a hunter. Ghosts are her prey. It shouldn’t matter that Jess is no ordinary ghost, that she’s attached herself to Jo and not to a place or thing. Jess is following Jo from town to town, from job to job. Jo checks the rearview mirror and catches a glimpse of reclining in the back seat of Jo’s car. She’s leaning against the trunk, waiting patiently while Jo takes a bathroom break. She’s standing by Jo’s bed in a lonely, roadside motel, reaching her hand out to Jo as the tears fall down her face.
It shouldn’t matter that she’s beautiful.
”What do you want?” Jo says. She feels the velvety touch of a soft hand on her cheek, like a tropical breeze, and then, nothing. She turns on the bedside light and the room is empty. In the morning there are fingerprints on the bathroom mirror.
Jo knows a mystic in Montgomery, Alabama; one of her mom’s contacts. “What does she want?” Jo asks the mystic.
“Companionship,” the mystic says. “Not all ghosts are evil. Some just want to be loved.”
Jo frowns. “Why isn’t she haunting Sam?”
The mystic shrugs. “Maybe she tried.”
In a motel room in Montgomery, Jess is crying and wringing her hands and Jo is staring at the ceiling wondering why she doesn’t have the heart to send Jess away.
When the crying becomes too much, Jo holds out her hands. “Come,” she says. “Don’t be afraid.”
The grey figure brightens and takes form. Jess’s hair changes from white to yellow, glowing gold. Her eyes are deep brown and her skin is tinged with pink. She’s real and solid and Jo swears she can hear Jess breathe.
Jess kneels on the bed and pushes the covers away from Jo’s limbs. The temperature in the room drops and Jo feels her skin gooseflesh in response. There’s a soft pressure on Jo’s stomach and she looks down to see Jess kissing a trail from Jo’s navel to her chest.
She looks up expectantly when she reaches Jo’s sternum.
Jo doesn’t move. “Do it,” she says. “Take me.”
Jess’s hands are under Jo’s t-shirt, pushing it up around armpits. Her hands are cold but they grow warmer against Jo’s skin and Jo wonders if she can radiate life into a ghost, bring Jess back from her wherever her untimely death sent her. It isn’t fair. Too many people have died for the Winchester.
Jess seems to know what Jo’s thinking. She smiles sadly and maybe that’s forgiveness or acceptance; Jo isn’t sure. The thought is gone as Jess bends her mouth to Jo’s breast and lays a string of tiny bites from the up-swell to the nipple, and then one side to the other.
Jo arches upwards into Jess’s mouth. “Yes,” she breathes. “Please - yes.” She slides her underwear down to her knees, kicks it to the floor. There’s a brush of cool air around her groin and she tenses, feeling exposed, but Jess’s hands are reassuring, as if they know just where to touch. She trails her fingers down Jo’s hip to her thigh to the spot between Jo’s legs where she is already wet. Jess slips easily inside, one finger, then two, then three, and Jo clenches her muscles, rides Jess’s hand, lets Jess take her wherever Jess wants. Jo’s touching her own breasts now, squeezing the nipples between forefinger and thumb as she bucks against Jess inside her. Jo wants this. It’s been too long and she’s too cold inside. Maybe Jess knows? Maybe that’s why she’s here? Jo wants to believe in a reason, because the alternative is insane.
Jo is saying words she barely understands; she’s pleading and swearing and crying and she doesn’t even know if Jess is really there or if this is a dream, an enchantment, a trick, all of the above.
She should be afraid. Instead she’s begging for more. “Fuck me,” she says. “Please - harder.”
Jo closer her eyes, concentrates on the tension building between her legs; as if that could make it less dangerous. She’s almost there, almost at the peak when she opens her eyes again and sees Jess above her, her mouth red and wet, more real than the walls around her. Jess kisses Jo and it’s like kissing wine: rich and sweet and intoxicating.
Jo isn’t crazy, she tells herself this over and over. Jess is real, Jess is warm, Jess is the hand between Jo’s legs, fucking her slowly and languidly like they have all the time in the world. Jess is the thumb flicking across Jo’s clit until Jo clamps her knees together and comes, her mouth open, and a scream caught in her throat.
When she’s done, Jess backs away, her fingers lingering on Jo’s skin just long enough to leave traces of Jo’s wetness on her thigh.
”Wait,” Jo says. And Jess stops. “I want to touch you.”
Jess smiles slowly and her dress falls away from her shoulders like water. She’s naked, golden skin everywhere, her breasts curving perfectly, brown peaks jutting into the cool air.
Jo reaches out and touches Jess, her fingers brushing Jess’s breast, feeling the nipple grow taught in response. It’s real. It feels so real.
”What is this?” Jo says, her voice a whisper. “What’s going on?”
Jess speaks. “I’ve come for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jess lays her body along side Jo’s and she feels warm and soft, all flesh and hair. She touches Jo’s chest. “You’re safe now.”
If you feel the urge, get over there and p0rn like there's no tomorrow.
Real
(Supernatural, Jo/ Jess, NC-17)
Author's Notes: Ghost-sex. Should that be a warning? I hope not.
Jessica Moore is a haunting; Jo knows this. Five days ago, Jo found Jess’s picture on a website and was captivated. The picture showed long blonde hair and a perfect smile but her eyes held sadness, as if she knew the end was coming. Jo’s been waking up to Jessica every night since, feeling her standing at Jo’s bedside, hearing her crying as she paces the room, holding out her hands or clasping them tightly to her breast.
Jo is a hunter. Ghosts are her prey. It shouldn’t matter that Jess is no ordinary ghost, that she’s attached herself to Jo and not to a place or thing. Jess is following Jo from town to town, from job to job. Jo checks the rearview mirror and catches a glimpse of reclining in the back seat of Jo’s car. She’s leaning against the trunk, waiting patiently while Jo takes a bathroom break. She’s standing by Jo’s bed in a lonely, roadside motel, reaching her hand out to Jo as the tears fall down her face.
It shouldn’t matter that she’s beautiful.
”What do you want?” Jo says. She feels the velvety touch of a soft hand on her cheek, like a tropical breeze, and then, nothing. She turns on the bedside light and the room is empty. In the morning there are fingerprints on the bathroom mirror.
Jo knows a mystic in Montgomery, Alabama; one of her mom’s contacts. “What does she want?” Jo asks the mystic.
“Companionship,” the mystic says. “Not all ghosts are evil. Some just want to be loved.”
Jo frowns. “Why isn’t she haunting Sam?”
The mystic shrugs. “Maybe she tried.”
In a motel room in Montgomery, Jess is crying and wringing her hands and Jo is staring at the ceiling wondering why she doesn’t have the heart to send Jess away.
When the crying becomes too much, Jo holds out her hands. “Come,” she says. “Don’t be afraid.”
The grey figure brightens and takes form. Jess’s hair changes from white to yellow, glowing gold. Her eyes are deep brown and her skin is tinged with pink. She’s real and solid and Jo swears she can hear Jess breathe.
Jess kneels on the bed and pushes the covers away from Jo’s limbs. The temperature in the room drops and Jo feels her skin gooseflesh in response. There’s a soft pressure on Jo’s stomach and she looks down to see Jess kissing a trail from Jo’s navel to her chest.
She looks up expectantly when she reaches Jo’s sternum.
Jo doesn’t move. “Do it,” she says. “Take me.”
Jess’s hands are under Jo’s t-shirt, pushing it up around armpits. Her hands are cold but they grow warmer against Jo’s skin and Jo wonders if she can radiate life into a ghost, bring Jess back from her wherever her untimely death sent her. It isn’t fair. Too many people have died for the Winchester.
Jess seems to know what Jo’s thinking. She smiles sadly and maybe that’s forgiveness or acceptance; Jo isn’t sure. The thought is gone as Jess bends her mouth to Jo’s breast and lays a string of tiny bites from the up-swell to the nipple, and then one side to the other.
Jo arches upwards into Jess’s mouth. “Yes,” she breathes. “Please - yes.” She slides her underwear down to her knees, kicks it to the floor. There’s a brush of cool air around her groin and she tenses, feeling exposed, but Jess’s hands are reassuring, as if they know just where to touch. She trails her fingers down Jo’s hip to her thigh to the spot between Jo’s legs where she is already wet. Jess slips easily inside, one finger, then two, then three, and Jo clenches her muscles, rides Jess’s hand, lets Jess take her wherever Jess wants. Jo’s touching her own breasts now, squeezing the nipples between forefinger and thumb as she bucks against Jess inside her. Jo wants this. It’s been too long and she’s too cold inside. Maybe Jess knows? Maybe that’s why she’s here? Jo wants to believe in a reason, because the alternative is insane.
Jo is saying words she barely understands; she’s pleading and swearing and crying and she doesn’t even know if Jess is really there or if this is a dream, an enchantment, a trick, all of the above.
She should be afraid. Instead she’s begging for more. “Fuck me,” she says. “Please - harder.”
Jo closer her eyes, concentrates on the tension building between her legs; as if that could make it less dangerous. She’s almost there, almost at the peak when she opens her eyes again and sees Jess above her, her mouth red and wet, more real than the walls around her. Jess kisses Jo and it’s like kissing wine: rich and sweet and intoxicating.
Jo isn’t crazy, she tells herself this over and over. Jess is real, Jess is warm, Jess is the hand between Jo’s legs, fucking her slowly and languidly like they have all the time in the world. Jess is the thumb flicking across Jo’s clit until Jo clamps her knees together and comes, her mouth open, and a scream caught in her throat.
When she’s done, Jess backs away, her fingers lingering on Jo’s skin just long enough to leave traces of Jo’s wetness on her thigh.
”Wait,” Jo says. And Jess stops. “I want to touch you.”
Jess smiles slowly and her dress falls away from her shoulders like water. She’s naked, golden skin everywhere, her breasts curving perfectly, brown peaks jutting into the cool air.
Jo reaches out and touches Jess, her fingers brushing Jess’s breast, feeling the nipple grow taught in response. It’s real. It feels so real.
”What is this?” Jo says, her voice a whisper. “What’s going on?”
Jess speaks. “I’ve come for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jess lays her body along side Jo’s and she feels warm and soft, all flesh and hair. She touches Jo’s chest. “You’re safe now.”