Trouble Sleeping, for evenasiwander (John/Mary, R/NC-17)
Title: Trouble Sleeping
Author: peganix
Recipient: evenasiwander
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: John/Mary
Summary: It rained the night Dean was conceived.
Author's Notes: For evenasiwander's prompt: in, on or around the Impala.
"Don't, John," says Mary, laughing. It echoes in the empty parking lot.
He's got her pulled back against him by the shoulders, kissing down her neck and over the necklace he'd given her for Christmas. It's making walking to the car pretty difficult. John's so relieved to hear her unrestrained, sounding all right for the first time all night, that he sneaks a quick feel of her ass just to make her jump and hit him in the chest.
"Not here," Mary says, shoving him off gently, hair falling out of the clip she'd put it up in before the wedding. "Half my goddamn relatives are probably watching out those windows."
John stops her, pushing her up against the nearest car- a big old truck, probably one of her uncles'. "Nah," he says, considering. "They're all still watching your brother and Rebecca try to sneak off for their wedding night."
Since he's already got her trapped, he takes advantage- pressing her back with his body and tilting her chin up with his fingertips, leaning in for a long and proper kiss. She's almost even with him tonight, heels tall enough to bring her eye-to-eye. It's only been eight months since they swapped rings, but already he can't imagine ever not wanting her, warm and grinning beneath him.
When she pulls back and away, resting her head back against the truck, he buries his face in her neck, smells the last remnants of her perfume and the champagne her aunt had spilled over half the partygoers, wobbly with happiness and free drinks.
He breathes there for a moment, in and out, letting her stroke the back of his neck, before she kisses his ear and shoves him off.
"Let's go home," Mary says. He drops a kiss on her fingers when she links her hand in his, pulling him towards their car.
When the car's humming under them, one of Mary's tapes playing softly through the speakers, John clears his throat.
"Mary-" he starts, then cuts himself off and rolls down the window, letting the crisp fall air blow into his face.
He can feel her eyes on him, still expectant.
"Mary, you didn't-" John stops himself again. No point in making her air old grievances, not when he couldn' t have afforded any different.
"What," she says, thumping his shoulder, unexpected enough to make him almost swerve in the road.
"You didn't, you know, want a bigger wedding, all those trimmings and flowers and shit- stuff," John corrects, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. "Like your friends."
There's a pause, where he can't even think of looking at her.
"John," she says, voice unbearably soft. "Pull over."
"What- Mary, we're almost home, there's nowhere even-"
"Pull over right now," she says, so firmly that he complies as soon as they pass the next flat spot of grass. The Impala shakes underneath them as they go from firm pavement to pebbles and dirt.
She slides over on the seat, putting a hand on his leg, warm through his slacks. He'd been the least dressed up man there, looking shabby next to the crisp suits of the other guests- the only guest with calluses on his hands. Mary, though- Mary had looked gorgeous but restrained, not over the top with jewelry and makeup, ten times as beautiful even on their budget.
She doesn't make him wait once he pulls over. "John," Mary says, firm, "I love you, I loved our wedding, I love our house and the fact that I come home to you every night. Don't be foolish."
He doesn't say anything back, doesn't want to speak, just slides over presses her back against the window, opening up her lips under his own.
Mary sighs and relaxes into him.
He turns off the Impala's lights, feeling for the switch as Mary climbs onto his lap- always a good idea if he doesn't want an awkward situation with curious cops- and tangles his fingers in her hair, dragging it down and out of the way she's got it pinned up with a clip. He likes it down- saw her for the first time with it past her shoulders, wavy and smelling of sea salt and wind from her swim. The ocean had been cold that day- biting cold, so much so that half his buddies had refused to even take a dip.
He'd headed out alone to do a few laps, still a Kansas boy at heart, always a little bit thrilled by the ocean he'd never seen until he was eighteen and shipping out. She'd startled him, saying hello when he'd dived under and came up next to where she was treading water.
He had wiped the water from his eyes, run a hand over his buzz-cut short hair, and asked if she'd accompany him all the long way back to shore.
"Dangerous out here for a man on his own," he'd said, grinning, and she'd been charmed enough to let him buy her dinner.
When he'd found out she was from Kansas, too- two counties over, in fact, close enough that their high school football teams played each other every year- he'd gone silent, just stared at her as she bit into a burger. It had been bizarre, too perfect, too easy.
It had been smooth sailing from there out. After they had moved into together, Mike at the garage had warned him, solemnly, of the way all new couples started to fight. John had been prepared for the occasional blow-ups, for a period of adjustment. It hadn't happened.
Every once in a while, when he wakes up with her drooling on his pillow, her hand tucked against the top of his boxers, he gets hit with the same feeling- like he's got a charmed life, too good to be true.
By now, she's got his shirt unbuttoned and is working on his belt. The V-neck of her dress is gaping open as she leans over, leaving him with a tempting display. Instead, he wraps an arm around her waist to hold her up, gives her balance, and runs the other hand up her calf and under her dress, sliding it up until he reaches the scratchy lace of her underwear.
He hooks fingers in the sides and tugs them down, eyes closed, wrapped up in the way she's breathing ragged above him, loud enough to drown out the faint rain that's splashing down.
John flips her beneath him, slowly, lowering her to the seat, and goes down on his wife as she strokes at his shoulders. He takes his time.
John wakes up, hours later, tucked in their too-hot bed under the blanket Mary's mother had quilted as a wedding present. Even through his grogginess, he notices Mary, sitting on the side of the bed.
"Go away," Mary says, softly, into the dark. Her arms are curled around her belly. John peers around her, instantly alert, but can't see anyone in the dark.
John slides a hand up her back, making her jump in surprise.
"Mary?" he says, adrenaline running high, suddenly tense.
She leans down and kisses him in apology, long and slow, but when he leans up to grip her shoulder she's just slightly clammy, like the cold sweat of his buddies in war, when it was dark enough at night that the enemy could be two feet away and you wouldn't see him until he slit your throat.
"Bad dream," she says, and it's so transparent a lie he just pulls her down and rolls her under him, wrapping an arm around her stomach to keep her close.
Author: peganix
Recipient: evenasiwander
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: John/Mary
Summary: It rained the night Dean was conceived.
Author's Notes: For evenasiwander's prompt: in, on or around the Impala.
"Don't, John," says Mary, laughing. It echoes in the empty parking lot.
He's got her pulled back against him by the shoulders, kissing down her neck and over the necklace he'd given her for Christmas. It's making walking to the car pretty difficult. John's so relieved to hear her unrestrained, sounding all right for the first time all night, that he sneaks a quick feel of her ass just to make her jump and hit him in the chest.
"Not here," Mary says, shoving him off gently, hair falling out of the clip she'd put it up in before the wedding. "Half my goddamn relatives are probably watching out those windows."
John stops her, pushing her up against the nearest car- a big old truck, probably one of her uncles'. "Nah," he says, considering. "They're all still watching your brother and Rebecca try to sneak off for their wedding night."
Since he's already got her trapped, he takes advantage- pressing her back with his body and tilting her chin up with his fingertips, leaning in for a long and proper kiss. She's almost even with him tonight, heels tall enough to bring her eye-to-eye. It's only been eight months since they swapped rings, but already he can't imagine ever not wanting her, warm and grinning beneath him.
When she pulls back and away, resting her head back against the truck, he buries his face in her neck, smells the last remnants of her perfume and the champagne her aunt had spilled over half the partygoers, wobbly with happiness and free drinks.
He breathes there for a moment, in and out, letting her stroke the back of his neck, before she kisses his ear and shoves him off.
"Let's go home," Mary says. He drops a kiss on her fingers when she links her hand in his, pulling him towards their car.
When the car's humming under them, one of Mary's tapes playing softly through the speakers, John clears his throat.
"Mary-" he starts, then cuts himself off and rolls down the window, letting the crisp fall air blow into his face.
He can feel her eyes on him, still expectant.
"Mary, you didn't-" John stops himself again. No point in making her air old grievances, not when he couldn' t have afforded any different.
"What," she says, thumping his shoulder, unexpected enough to make him almost swerve in the road.
"You didn't, you know, want a bigger wedding, all those trimmings and flowers and shit- stuff," John corrects, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. "Like your friends."
There's a pause, where he can't even think of looking at her.
"John," she says, voice unbearably soft. "Pull over."
"What- Mary, we're almost home, there's nowhere even-"
"Pull over right now," she says, so firmly that he complies as soon as they pass the next flat spot of grass. The Impala shakes underneath them as they go from firm pavement to pebbles and dirt.
She slides over on the seat, putting a hand on his leg, warm through his slacks. He'd been the least dressed up man there, looking shabby next to the crisp suits of the other guests- the only guest with calluses on his hands. Mary, though- Mary had looked gorgeous but restrained, not over the top with jewelry and makeup, ten times as beautiful even on their budget.
She doesn't make him wait once he pulls over. "John," Mary says, firm, "I love you, I loved our wedding, I love our house and the fact that I come home to you every night. Don't be foolish."
He doesn't say anything back, doesn't want to speak, just slides over presses her back against the window, opening up her lips under his own.
Mary sighs and relaxes into him.
He turns off the Impala's lights, feeling for the switch as Mary climbs onto his lap- always a good idea if he doesn't want an awkward situation with curious cops- and tangles his fingers in her hair, dragging it down and out of the way she's got it pinned up with a clip. He likes it down- saw her for the first time with it past her shoulders, wavy and smelling of sea salt and wind from her swim. The ocean had been cold that day- biting cold, so much so that half his buddies had refused to even take a dip.
He'd headed out alone to do a few laps, still a Kansas boy at heart, always a little bit thrilled by the ocean he'd never seen until he was eighteen and shipping out. She'd startled him, saying hello when he'd dived under and came up next to where she was treading water.
He had wiped the water from his eyes, run a hand over his buzz-cut short hair, and asked if she'd accompany him all the long way back to shore.
"Dangerous out here for a man on his own," he'd said, grinning, and she'd been charmed enough to let him buy her dinner.
When he'd found out she was from Kansas, too- two counties over, in fact, close enough that their high school football teams played each other every year- he'd gone silent, just stared at her as she bit into a burger. It had been bizarre, too perfect, too easy.
It had been smooth sailing from there out. After they had moved into together, Mike at the garage had warned him, solemnly, of the way all new couples started to fight. John had been prepared for the occasional blow-ups, for a period of adjustment. It hadn't happened.
Every once in a while, when he wakes up with her drooling on his pillow, her hand tucked against the top of his boxers, he gets hit with the same feeling- like he's got a charmed life, too good to be true.
By now, she's got his shirt unbuttoned and is working on his belt. The V-neck of her dress is gaping open as she leans over, leaving him with a tempting display. Instead, he wraps an arm around her waist to hold her up, gives her balance, and runs the other hand up her calf and under her dress, sliding it up until he reaches the scratchy lace of her underwear.
He hooks fingers in the sides and tugs them down, eyes closed, wrapped up in the way she's breathing ragged above him, loud enough to drown out the faint rain that's splashing down.
John flips her beneath him, slowly, lowering her to the seat, and goes down on his wife as she strokes at his shoulders. He takes his time.
John wakes up, hours later, tucked in their too-hot bed under the blanket Mary's mother had quilted as a wedding present. Even through his grogginess, he notices Mary, sitting on the side of the bed.
"Go away," Mary says, softly, into the dark. Her arms are curled around her belly. John peers around her, instantly alert, but can't see anyone in the dark.
John slides a hand up her back, making her jump in surprise.
"Mary?" he says, adrenaline running high, suddenly tense.
She leans down and kisses him in apology, long and slow, but when he leans up to grip her shoulder she's just slightly clammy, like the cold sweat of his buddies in war, when it was dark enough at night that the enemy could be two feet away and you wouldn't see him until he slit your throat.
"Bad dream," she says, and it's so transparent a lie he just pulls her down and rolls her under him, wrapping an arm around her stomach to keep her close.