therapeutic thump

i like your moxie, sassafras!


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(Chances Are This Is) How John Winchester Got His Groove Back - 8/13 - John
het!, his strong fingers on her thigh
innie_darling



"John," she said, closing the gap between them, and the way she shaped that one little syllable was just how she did it every night in every dream, pleading and loving and devilish at once, and he found he couldn't wait, so he hauled her in, erased the last few inches between them, and tilted her chin up for his kiss.

He didn't have so far to tilt this time; she was taller now, the top of her head just above his eye-line, but her hair still smelled sweet as strawberries. "John," she said again, and there was a little more mischief in her tone that time, matched by the teasing quirk of her lips as she pushed him down onto the bed. God, it had been too long since he'd had her warm weight on him, rubbing up against him just right, all the things he'd forgotten wrung out of him now with her silky thighs and dexterous hands.

She bit at his earlobe, a sharp nip that made him smack his palm against her ass. "You always were a handful," he rumbled out, meeting her lust-filled eyes.

"I think I'm a little more than a handful now," she teased, bringing his hand up to her breast, which spilled over his palm; she was right - she'd grown in all the right ways. He squeezed, just enough to know from her answering moan that she still didn't like it gentle, and traced the roundness of her perky little ass with the other hand. He could feel how wet she was against his thigh; he picked her up by the hips, positioned her, and let her slam her weight down on him. All his carefully built-up endurance, from years of deprivation, vanished like it had never been and he only stopped himself from howling her name by burying his face between her breasts.

"Really?" she asked, tumbling his rough hair. "You're done now?"

He was going to wipe the smirk off her face and dry up every tear he could see welling in her eyes. "Not even close, cupcake," he said, lifting her off his dick and getting his mouth reacquainted with the sweet taste of her pulsing beneath him.

*

She snuck back to the room that had been designated as hers, and ten minutes later he called out a "Good night, Sammy," that sounded too hearty to be anything other than a lie.

He settled down, trying to forget that all he'd lost was just one thin wall away, when he heard a stealthy shuffling coming down the hall. Dean, he thought automatically, before memory caught up and reminded him that the boy wasn't around to sneak out and go tomcatting. No, that was Sam, tapping lightly at Jess's door and asking to be let in. He could hear Mary's panic in her frantic whispers. "Go away! Your dad is right next door!"

He could almost see the disappointed slump of the kid's shoulders, could pretty much predict the way he would try to woo her all over again in the morning, with pancakes or flowers or the promise of a day spent together in the sunshine, away from school and deadlines and parents. Sam loved the girl he'd brought home to meet them.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes. God, what was he doing?

*

"What're we even doing, Mary?" he asked after Sam was safely out of the house on a wild goose chase that would take him all day at the library. She was riding him, steady and slow, her hair tossed back and tickling his thighs, her heavy breasts in her own eager hands.

She bent down to lick at his mouth. "I missed you so much," she said, and the words felt like they were true but would never be enough, and he let his hands linger on the soft skin of her hips. She covered his left hand with her right and stroked the wedding band that she'd had engraved with Love Always.

"He loves you," was all he could say, helpless against her determination, needing her reassurance.

"He loves her, and she's not here," Mary said. "I don't know where they pulled me from or how I got jammed in here." She rocked back, sharp and sudden, pulling the breath out of him. "All I know is that I wanted this, want this, for however long we've got it."

She'd always been single-minded and direct, and John needed orders to follow, wanted answers from somewhere. He raised his hands to touch her skin, flushed all over, and closed his eyes.

*

She hummed as she cooked dinner, and Sam kept shooting him glances; John couldn't tell if he was meant to apologize for letting their supposed guest take over kitchen duty or if Sam was trying to get him to leave the two of them alone together. Whatever the case, John wasn't budging.

"What's that you're singing?" Sam finally asked.

"Just something that's been running through my head all day," she answered easily, like the words hadn't cost her a single pang, and John marveled again at the strength of his wife. He knew that the melody was from the mobile they'd hung over Sammy's crib; they'd had a different one, with angels and a bright, major-key tune, for the baby they'd expected to be Deanna instead of Dean. "Wash up," she said; "dinner's almost ready."

She dished out the food while Sam got sodas and a beer out of the fridge. "No," she said, "that plate's for Sam; I put extra peppers on it because they're his favorite." John looked up, wondering how she had the nerve to bluff now, but she had always been a cool customer, and Sam smiled his thanks and dug in. John ate slowly, wanting the time with her safe and happy under his roof to last as long as he could stretch it out.

Sam didn't say much throughout dinner, and John got spooked enough by the uncharacteristic silence to shoot Mary a helpless look, but she seemed unperturbed, so he settled down and savored his meal and sipped his beer. When Sam nodded off over the book he held on his lap after dinner, though, John had figured it out. "What'd you give him?" he asked.

"You know very well he hasn't been sleeping," she said, hands on her hips in the old familiar way. "Like I was going to let my baby drag himself through another day with those bags under his eyes."

"How long will he be out?" John asked; she was the same old spitfire, and there was no point in protesting what was already done.

"He'll wake up tomorrow morning feeling great," she said.

"So we've got plenty of time. Mary," he said, advancing on her, "I need you to tell me everything you can remember about the thing that killed you."


Mary

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