For black_dahlia63's BDay...
Desperate Times, Desperate Measures
Author:
starhawk2005
Date: March 2007
Pairing: John/OFC
Rating: Adult. Because it’s S-E-X!
Summary: PWP. John wants to remember Mary. A stand-in will do.
Disclaimer: All your Winchesters are belong to us. Yeah, I WISH.
Please note that “
starhawk2005cannot be held responsible for any brain melting, spontaneous combusting, or ovary exploding that occurs before/during/after reading this fanfiction. Thank you.” (credit to
_vicodinfor the detailed legal disclaimer. *snerk*).
For
black_dahlia63’s BDay. Because she’s a great person and has been going through some personal sh*t lately. Hope this provides at least a little pleasant distraction on your BDay. *hugs tightly*
Feedback is appreciated and encourages me to write more for this fandom.
John hates himself for it, but he has needs.
He tells himself he picks blondes because it’s a way to remind him of Mary. That way, he can see it as a kind of twisted homage to her, proof of the fact that she’s never far from his heart and mind. Even as he loses himself in the bodies of other women.
Tonight is one of those nights. He’s been searching for signs of the Demon for months, and he’s feeling frustrated and lonely and the need to connect with someone. He needs that warmth, just for one night, to help remind him why he is doing this.
The one he wants is over by the pool table. Blonde hair, not quite the right shade, but a similar style to Mary’s, long and a little wavy. She’s with a bunch of girlfriends, shooting clumsy pool and giggling among themselves. He takes a deep swig of his beer and saunters over.
It almost always goes easier than he expects. He knows he’s still an attractive man by many women’s standards, but still. He always expects them to read the lie in his eyes, in his face, but they either don’t pick up on it or don’t care.
He sinks the eight ball, to a chorus of admiring comments, but he makes sure to save his warmest smile for the one he wants. The girls pay up, and he uses most of the money to buy a round of drinks for them all. He sits next to the blonde, chatting her up, subtly flirting.
John and the blonde woman eventually wind up in the alley behind the bar, which is a surprise. Usually he can coax them back to his motel room, but this girl seems to want something dirtier, grittier. Not a problem.
He presses her back against rough-edged bricks, kissing her. Her mouth tastes of beer and nothing like what he remembers of Mary’s mouth, but her hands are rubbing him from outside the crotch of his jeans and he’s kissing her harder and shoving his tongue past her lips and twisting his fingers tightly into her hair--
John reaches under her shirt and her bra for her breast, the rapid pulse in her neck thrumming under his lips and tongue. Sweet, perfumed skin, and taut, firm nipples. When she moans he can almost pretend that the twenty-two years haven’t passed him by and it’s somehow her - Mary - he’s about to fuck against the wall of this back alley.
Her fingernails bite into his shoulders when he unsnaps her pants and slides his fingers under the material of her panties and into the warm moist valley underneath. He nips at the side of her neck, finding the tight bud of her clit with his thumb, pushing his index finger hard into her.
He waits until she’s suitably wet, suitably ready. He’s no gentleman - he doesn’t even know her name, and by tomorrow she’ll be just another faceless body, added to the scores of faceless Mary-replacements he’s already used and left behind - but if she enjoys herself, he supposes that’s something.
When he pulls his slickened hand out of her and starts to undo his own jeans, she’s there helping him, undoing his zipper. He’s not wearing underwear (yes, he knew exactly what he was hunting when he came to the bar tonight) and she laughs and wraps her fingers around him, strokes him.
He’s impatient, though. The point of this isn’t his pleasure, it’s release. It’s reclaiming a part of his past that the Demon took from him. It’s an act of conjuring, recreating his Mary, if only for a few moments. So he’s soon fumbling the condom out of his pocket and slipping it on, before shoving himself into her.
She’s hot and tight and her nails are biting sharply into him again, even through leather and cloth, but it’s exactly what he needs. Right and wrong, so wrong, at the same time.
The bricks scrape at his knuckles as he twines his hands around her hips, pushing harder and harder into her. Backing out and pushing in, closing his eyes to better enjoy the friction, to better overlay Mary’s face over this nameless girl’s.
She’s gasping now, urgently, and he reaches one hand between them to press hard against her clit. It’s another ‘thing’ of his. He doesn’t get them off every time, but he tries. It’s all part of giving something back, so he’ll feel less dirty when he wakes up alone tomorrow and hits the road again.
She arches her back and comes apart around him. He’s not close himself, however, so he continues. Pushing into her shuddering body, still imagining another place, another woman. Another time.
The white heat finally explodes and races through him, and John sags against the rough wall, pressing his forehead against it, instead of her. It’s safer.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, and he means it, though probably not for the reasons she would think.
“I should thank you!” she laughs, still trying to catch her breath. “Care to take this back to my place?”
“Sure,” he agrees, but he won’t. It’s time to make his escape, and he’s glad she just unknowingly offered him the easiest one. “Why don’t you go wash up, and I’ll meet you out front?”
Of course the moment she disappears back into the bar, he’s in his truck all right, but he’s pulling away and down the road. She’ll be mad and maybe feel used, but he sees this as the easiest way to end things. He promised her a fun time, she opted for the back alley, they both got what they wanted. She’ll get over being stood up, or so he tells himself. Better that than spending the night together, and then in the morning, she sees the truth in his eyes. Sees that she’s just a stand-in.
Besides, it worked. He feels better, feels human again. And he remembers Mary. He always seems to remember her more clearly after he does this, which is why he does this. And he remembers why he’s doing this - hunting her murderer, despite the potential costs - til the bitter end.
He remembers love.
FIN
Crossposted to AO3
Author:
starhawk2005
Date: March 2007
Pairing: John/OFC
Rating: Adult. Because it’s S-E-X!
Summary: PWP. John wants to remember Mary. A stand-in will do.
Disclaimer: All your Winchesters are belong to us. Yeah, I WISH.
Please note that “
starhawk2005cannot be held responsible for any brain melting, spontaneous combusting, or ovary exploding that occurs before/during/after reading this fanfiction. Thank you.” (credit to
_vicodinfor the detailed legal disclaimer. *snerk*).
For
black_dahlia63’s BDay. Because she’s a great person and has been going through some personal sh*t lately. Hope this provides at least a little pleasant distraction on your BDay. *hugs tightly*
Feedback is appreciated and encourages me to write more for this fandom.
John hates himself for it, but he has needs.
He tells himself he picks blondes because it’s a way to remind him of Mary. That way, he can see it as a kind of twisted homage to her, proof of the fact that she’s never far from his heart and mind. Even as he loses himself in the bodies of other women.
Tonight is one of those nights. He’s been searching for signs of the Demon for months, and he’s feeling frustrated and lonely and the need to connect with someone. He needs that warmth, just for one night, to help remind him why he is doing this.
The one he wants is over by the pool table. Blonde hair, not quite the right shade, but a similar style to Mary’s, long and a little wavy. She’s with a bunch of girlfriends, shooting clumsy pool and giggling among themselves. He takes a deep swig of his beer and saunters over.
It almost always goes easier than he expects. He knows he’s still an attractive man by many women’s standards, but still. He always expects them to read the lie in his eyes, in his face, but they either don’t pick up on it or don’t care.
He sinks the eight ball, to a chorus of admiring comments, but he makes sure to save his warmest smile for the one he wants. The girls pay up, and he uses most of the money to buy a round of drinks for them all. He sits next to the blonde, chatting her up, subtly flirting.
John and the blonde woman eventually wind up in the alley behind the bar, which is a surprise. Usually he can coax them back to his motel room, but this girl seems to want something dirtier, grittier. Not a problem.
He presses her back against rough-edged bricks, kissing her. Her mouth tastes of beer and nothing like what he remembers of Mary’s mouth, but her hands are rubbing him from outside the crotch of his jeans and he’s kissing her harder and shoving his tongue past her lips and twisting his fingers tightly into her hair--
John reaches under her shirt and her bra for her breast, the rapid pulse in her neck thrumming under his lips and tongue. Sweet, perfumed skin, and taut, firm nipples. When she moans he can almost pretend that the twenty-two years haven’t passed him by and it’s somehow her - Mary - he’s about to fuck against the wall of this back alley.
Her fingernails bite into his shoulders when he unsnaps her pants and slides his fingers under the material of her panties and into the warm moist valley underneath. He nips at the side of her neck, finding the tight bud of her clit with his thumb, pushing his index finger hard into her.
He waits until she’s suitably wet, suitably ready. He’s no gentleman - he doesn’t even know her name, and by tomorrow she’ll be just another faceless body, added to the scores of faceless Mary-replacements he’s already used and left behind - but if she enjoys herself, he supposes that’s something.
When he pulls his slickened hand out of her and starts to undo his own jeans, she’s there helping him, undoing his zipper. He’s not wearing underwear (yes, he knew exactly what he was hunting when he came to the bar tonight) and she laughs and wraps her fingers around him, strokes him.
He’s impatient, though. The point of this isn’t his pleasure, it’s release. It’s reclaiming a part of his past that the Demon took from him. It’s an act of conjuring, recreating his Mary, if only for a few moments. So he’s soon fumbling the condom out of his pocket and slipping it on, before shoving himself into her.
She’s hot and tight and her nails are biting sharply into him again, even through leather and cloth, but it’s exactly what he needs. Right and wrong, so wrong, at the same time.
The bricks scrape at his knuckles as he twines his hands around her hips, pushing harder and harder into her. Backing out and pushing in, closing his eyes to better enjoy the friction, to better overlay Mary’s face over this nameless girl’s.
She’s gasping now, urgently, and he reaches one hand between them to press hard against her clit. It’s another ‘thing’ of his. He doesn’t get them off every time, but he tries. It’s all part of giving something back, so he’ll feel less dirty when he wakes up alone tomorrow and hits the road again.
She arches her back and comes apart around him. He’s not close himself, however, so he continues. Pushing into her shuddering body, still imagining another place, another woman. Another time.
The white heat finally explodes and races through him, and John sags against the rough wall, pressing his forehead against it, instead of her. It’s safer.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, and he means it, though probably not for the reasons she would think.
“I should thank you!” she laughs, still trying to catch her breath. “Care to take this back to my place?”
“Sure,” he agrees, but he won’t. It’s time to make his escape, and he’s glad she just unknowingly offered him the easiest one. “Why don’t you go wash up, and I’ll meet you out front?”
Of course the moment she disappears back into the bar, he’s in his truck all right, but he’s pulling away and down the road. She’ll be mad and maybe feel used, but he sees this as the easiest way to end things. He promised her a fun time, she opted for the back alley, they both got what they wanted. She’ll get over being stood up, or so he tells himself. Better that than spending the night together, and then in the morning, she sees the truth in his eyes. Sees that she’s just a stand-in.
Besides, it worked. He feels better, feels human again. And he remembers Mary. He always seems to remember her more clearly after he does this, which is why he does this. And he remembers why he’s doing this - hunting her murderer, despite the potential costs - til the bitter end.
He remembers love.
FIN
Crossposted to AO3