FIC: Mettle Of A Woman, NC-17, SPN
Feb. 28th, 2010 04:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elementalvTitle: Mettle Of A Woman
Author: elementalv
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John Winchester/Missouri Moseley
Spoilers: None
Summary: John never gives voice to the thought — he doesn’t like to think what Missouri would do to him if he did — but she is, to him, a miracle of forbearance and no-nonsense encouragement.
~*~*~
Post-coital, John Winchester is a lazy bastard who never wants to get up. He’d rather lay there with his woman in his arms and enjoy the last trails of pleasure — maybe even find a few new ones — before it’s time to get going again. It was a problem in Vietnam, and it might be a problem down the road, but today, sacked out in Missouri’s bedroom, there’s not a damn thing wrong with it.
He spreads his legs under her sheet, enjoying the purely blissful feeling of freshly washed linen under him and over him, and he thinks about Mary, who would have killed to get their bed sheets crisp like this. John knows, because he remembers endless conversations about how she wanted everything to be perfect for them, as if them being together in the first place wasn’t enough. It was a sore point with them for a while, and it didn’t really ease up until after they had Dean, when Mary finally gave up on the perfect homemaker routine in favor of keeping up with their firstborn.
John smiles at the thought, and Missouri calls up, “That’s nice. That’s really, really nice.”
He blinks then laughs a little at himself, because what the hell did he think would happen if he got involved with a psychic?
“‘Stupid is, as stupid does,’ John Winchester. You keep that in mind, you hear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he calls out through his laughter, knowing full well what her response will be.
“Then I don’t need to say it, do I?”
She sounds a little testy — more than a little testy, now that he thinks about — and John knows he should be sorry about that, but he isn’t. Missouri in a fury, minor or major, turns him on like nobody’s business, even if he’s getting a little too old for that kind of nonsense. Her silence from downstairs feels like agreement, and John imagines there’s probably a little amusement in there somewhere.
John never gives voice to the thought — he doesn’t like to think what Missouri would do to him if he did — but she is, to him, a miracle of forbearance and no-nonsense encouragement. He can’t count the number of times he’s shown up on her doorstep, beaten and bruised from his latest failure or success, only to have her wrap him in her strong arms and thighs, helping him to forget for a little while.
As he lies in her bed, looking at the way the afternoon sun seems to make everything just that much brighter, he thinks he really should get off his ass and ask her to marry him. She’d make a hell of a good mother for his boys, and it’s a thought he manages to keep for the ten seconds it takes her to come storming up the stairs saying, “John Winchester, you get that foolish notion out of your head right this minute, you hear?”
And yes, he’s probably meant to be cowering right about now, but instead, his dick is perking right up, because Lord, she’s beautiful like this, her robe — some goddawful floral thing — open just enough for John to see the curves he always gets lost in. She’s too pissed to get shy with him, which makes him glad, because that shyness is always strange. She knows, knows more than most women, exactly what effect her naked body has on John, yet she still thinks she has to compete with his memories of Mary’s slenderness. It’s stupid, he thinks, as he reaches over to grab her arm and tug. Mary and Missouri are as different as two women could possibly be, and there’s no comparison for him, other than the fact that they both could — can — get him ready to go in nothing flat.
Missouri lets him pull her down on top of him, and he ignores the hint of worry in her eyes that she’s too heavy to land on him like this. It’s ridiculous, considering his own solid frame, and he emphasizes that thought by holding her still on top of him, sinking down a little into the mattress while he gets lost in her soft, lush flesh. When Missouri covers him like this, John feels grounded, tied to life in the same way his boys make him feel, and that thought earns a startled look from her.
He runs his hands under her robe, follows skin smooth as satin down to her hips, and holds her tight, saying, “You didn’t think that idea came out of nowhere, did you?”
“John —”
“We could be good together, Mo, you and me and Dean and Sam. A real family.”
She shakes her head. “It’s too late for that,” she says, gentling her words with a kiss. “Dean’s a handful already, and there’s no way I can fix it. It’s someone else’s job to make that boy right with God.”
It’s a truth too big to ignore or shove to the side, but John isn’t ready to give up quite yet. “Sam —”
“He has his own path to follow, and I’m hardly anywhere near it.” Missouri frowns, then, and John tenses up, wondering what she saw, but before he can ask, she moves just so and captures his dick between her strong thighs. He groans how good it feels to slide his dick along her slippery warmth, and she says, “We’ve both got better things to think about right now.”
“Mo —”
“Hush, baby,” she croons, her voice humming with need and want and now, now, now. “Let me ease your mind.”
She sits up and shrugs off her robe, tossing it to the floor, and then she moves John’s hands from her hips to her breasts, encouraging him to clutch at the weight of them. He mutters, “Fuck,” and lets her change the subject from Sam, because as much as he loves his younger son, Missouri is here on top of him, and Christ, she feels so good when she moves like that.
“Good, baby,” she tells him. “You’ve got other things to think about just now, don’t you?”
Missouri lifts up and reaches down so she can pull John’s dick — hard, so wonderfully hard — away from his belly, and that’s when he catches a whiff of musk that’s pure Missouri. It’s almost enough to make him shoot even before he gets inside her, but he manages to grab the base of his dick in time.
But it isn’t her smell alone that has him ready to shoot like a boy who’s only found out what his dick can do. She’s so wet that he can see a moist trail down the inside of her thighs, and that’s too much for him to resist. Before she can sink down, he lifts his fingers to get a sample, just a taste, which he brings to his mouth. Missouri moans at the same time John does — when he sucks his fingers — and that’s it, there’s nothing more to think about or talk about beyond what’s happening between them.
She starts out riding him slow and steady and chasing almost every other thought out of his head so that all he has room for in his mind is how beautiful and warm and solid she is on this fine summer day. There’ll be time enough later to ask her about Sam, he thinks a little incoherently, but then Missouri clenches around his dick, and that last stray thought disappears into the bright glare of sparking want and heat.
Author: elementalv
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John Winchester/Missouri Moseley
Spoilers: None
Summary: John never gives voice to the thought — he doesn’t like to think what Missouri would do to him if he did — but she is, to him, a miracle of forbearance and no-nonsense encouragement.
Post-coital, John Winchester is a lazy bastard who never wants to get up. He’d rather lay there with his woman in his arms and enjoy the last trails of pleasure — maybe even find a few new ones — before it’s time to get going again. It was a problem in Vietnam, and it might be a problem down the road, but today, sacked out in Missouri’s bedroom, there’s not a damn thing wrong with it.
He spreads his legs under her sheet, enjoying the purely blissful feeling of freshly washed linen under him and over him, and he thinks about Mary, who would have killed to get their bed sheets crisp like this. John knows, because he remembers endless conversations about how she wanted everything to be perfect for them, as if them being together in the first place wasn’t enough. It was a sore point with them for a while, and it didn’t really ease up until after they had Dean, when Mary finally gave up on the perfect homemaker routine in favor of keeping up with their firstborn.
John smiles at the thought, and Missouri calls up, “That’s nice. That’s really, really nice.”
He blinks then laughs a little at himself, because what the hell did he think would happen if he got involved with a psychic?
“‘Stupid is, as stupid does,’ John Winchester. You keep that in mind, you hear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he calls out through his laughter, knowing full well what her response will be.
“Then I don’t need to say it, do I?”
She sounds a little testy — more than a little testy, now that he thinks about — and John knows he should be sorry about that, but he isn’t. Missouri in a fury, minor or major, turns him on like nobody’s business, even if he’s getting a little too old for that kind of nonsense. Her silence from downstairs feels like agreement, and John imagines there’s probably a little amusement in there somewhere.
John never gives voice to the thought — he doesn’t like to think what Missouri would do to him if he did — but she is, to him, a miracle of forbearance and no-nonsense encouragement. He can’t count the number of times he’s shown up on her doorstep, beaten and bruised from his latest failure or success, only to have her wrap him in her strong arms and thighs, helping him to forget for a little while.
As he lies in her bed, looking at the way the afternoon sun seems to make everything just that much brighter, he thinks he really should get off his ass and ask her to marry him. She’d make a hell of a good mother for his boys, and it’s a thought he manages to keep for the ten seconds it takes her to come storming up the stairs saying, “John Winchester, you get that foolish notion out of your head right this minute, you hear?”
And yes, he’s probably meant to be cowering right about now, but instead, his dick is perking right up, because Lord, she’s beautiful like this, her robe — some goddawful floral thing — open just enough for John to see the curves he always gets lost in. She’s too pissed to get shy with him, which makes him glad, because that shyness is always strange. She knows, knows more than most women, exactly what effect her naked body has on John, yet she still thinks she has to compete with his memories of Mary’s slenderness. It’s stupid, he thinks, as he reaches over to grab her arm and tug. Mary and Missouri are as different as two women could possibly be, and there’s no comparison for him, other than the fact that they both could — can — get him ready to go in nothing flat.
Missouri lets him pull her down on top of him, and he ignores the hint of worry in her eyes that she’s too heavy to land on him like this. It’s ridiculous, considering his own solid frame, and he emphasizes that thought by holding her still on top of him, sinking down a little into the mattress while he gets lost in her soft, lush flesh. When Missouri covers him like this, John feels grounded, tied to life in the same way his boys make him feel, and that thought earns a startled look from her.
He runs his hands under her robe, follows skin smooth as satin down to her hips, and holds her tight, saying, “You didn’t think that idea came out of nowhere, did you?”
“John —”
“We could be good together, Mo, you and me and Dean and Sam. A real family.”
She shakes her head. “It’s too late for that,” she says, gentling her words with a kiss. “Dean’s a handful already, and there’s no way I can fix it. It’s someone else’s job to make that boy right with God.”
It’s a truth too big to ignore or shove to the side, but John isn’t ready to give up quite yet. “Sam —”
“He has his own path to follow, and I’m hardly anywhere near it.” Missouri frowns, then, and John tenses up, wondering what she saw, but before he can ask, she moves just so and captures his dick between her strong thighs. He groans how good it feels to slide his dick along her slippery warmth, and she says, “We’ve both got better things to think about right now.”
“Mo —”
“Hush, baby,” she croons, her voice humming with need and want and now, now, now. “Let me ease your mind.”
She sits up and shrugs off her robe, tossing it to the floor, and then she moves John’s hands from her hips to her breasts, encouraging him to clutch at the weight of them. He mutters, “Fuck,” and lets her change the subject from Sam, because as much as he loves his younger son, Missouri is here on top of him, and Christ, she feels so good when she moves like that.
“Good, baby,” she tells him. “You’ve got other things to think about just now, don’t you?”
Missouri lifts up and reaches down so she can pull John’s dick — hard, so wonderfully hard — away from his belly, and that’s when he catches a whiff of musk that’s pure Missouri. It’s almost enough to make him shoot even before he gets inside her, but he manages to grab the base of his dick in time.
But it isn’t her smell alone that has him ready to shoot like a boy who’s only found out what his dick can do. She’s so wet that he can see a moist trail down the inside of her thighs, and that’s too much for him to resist. Before she can sink down, he lifts his fingers to get a sample, just a taste, which he brings to his mouth. Missouri moans at the same time John does — when he sucks his fingers — and that’s it, there’s nothing more to think about or talk about beyond what’s happening between them.
She starts out riding him slow and steady and chasing almost every other thought out of his head so that all he has room for in his mind is how beautiful and warm and solid she is on this fine summer day. There’ll be time enough later to ask her about Sam, he thinks a little incoherently, but then Missouri clenches around his dick, and that last stray thought disappears into the bright glare of sparking want and heat.