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Ellen keeps her back turned from the bar, won't acknowledge John's presence. He can't say he blames her. To come back here after all these years, sit down and order a beer... it takes balls, or maybe just stupidity on his part. But he's not entirely regretting it, not by a long shot when Ellen sends a young blonde over to him instead.
"What else can I get for you?" she asks, looking him up and down appraisingly. She's young, probably younger than his boys, and she looks like Mary, long golden hair swept back over her shoulders.
He smiles at her slowly. "You could give me another beer," he says, stroking the rim of the bottle with his fingers. "And you could give me your name."
"It's Jo," she says, and he hears Ellen make a choking noise across the room.
So this is Bill's daughter. He stares at her, trying to reconcile her with the little girl he remembers. Well, fuck.
"What's your name?" Jo asks, brushing his hand as she sets down another beer.
"John," he says, looking into her eyes. They're dark and intelligent. "John Winchester."
"This one's on the house," Jo says. "Just let me know if you need anything, John."
And she glides off, clearly aware that his eyes are on her. He watches as Ellen grabs her arm and pulls her aside furiously, whispers something in her ear.
Jo twists away from her mother, and doesn't keep her voice down when she answers. "I'm eighteen years old! You can't tell me what to do!"
Eighteen. So she's legal.
John knows he shouldn't even be thinking about it. But a minute later Ellen is tallying up some drinks for a group of hunters near the back, and Jo's suddenly on the other side of the bar, touching his arm lightly.
"You want to get out of here, John?" she asks.
And yeah, he thinks he does.
---
"Your mother's not going to be happy with me," John says, kicking off his boots just inside the door to the hotel room, but Jo puts her index finger to his lips. The skin is dry and warm.
"Do you really want to talk about my mother right now?" she asks, tilting her head and smiling at him. Jesus Christ, she looks like Mary.
He shakes his head, exhaling slowly, and she trails her finger down his chin. "Good. Because I thought you were going to fuck me."
"I... yeah, of course," John says, and he draws her head closer to his and kisses her. She kisses him back enthusiastically, placing her hands on his chest.
She breaks away away after a minute, but her hands stay where they are, fumbling with his buttons. "Let's get these clothes off of you," she says, and he's only too happy to help her. He shrugs out of his shirt, leaves it lying on the floor.
"You too," he whispers roughly, and Jo pulls her blouse over her head slowly. He realizes she's not wearing a bra.
"The bed," she says, steering him, and a minute later she's pushed him down and she's straddling his lap, kissing him again, her breasts pressed up against his skin. He reaches down a hand to stroke them and she thrusts her head back as his thumb finds her left nipple, erect.
She grinds down onto his thigh as he lowers his head and licks a stripe down her neck. Her skin tastes salty against his tongue. He hasn't done this in six months, or longer. With someone who looked like this? Not in twenty years. Not since Mary.
He brings his mouth to her right nipple, still stroking the left, and begins to suck, scrapes his teeth lightly across the skin. She's sensitive as all hell, by the way she's digging her hands into his shoulders. He'll probably find little half-moon bruises in the morning. And that will be the only way he knows it wasn't another dream.
"John," Jo half-gasps, her voice high and small. "John, please..."
He pulls away from her breast, looks her in the eye. "Please what, sweetheart?" he asks, the name slipping strangely from his tongue, and she bites her lower lip and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Please fuck me," she begs, still clenching around his leg. "Please, John, I need you..."
He lets his hands close around her waist. She's so small. "Up, then," he says, lifting her to her feet. Her jeans are tight, low-cut, and he unzips them with a little difficulty. She bats his hands away and yanks them down over her hips, kicking them off as she goes. John rises and unbuttons his own jeans, steps out of them.
"You have a condom?" he asks, and she shakes her head.
"It's okay, though. I'm on the pill and I'm clean."
John pulls back and looks at her. "What if I wasn't clean?"
"You're clean," Jo says confidently. "You'd carry them yourself if you weren't."
She's right, dammit, and John doesn't really feel like going out now.
"You do this often?" he asks, sitting back down on the bed, and she shakes her head, smiles.
"You're the first."
He pauses. "The first man you've picked up at the Roadhouse?"
She walks over and sits down on his lap, her skin smooth, and wraps her arms around his neck.
"The first man I've ever had sex with," she says, then looks up into his eyes. "Promise you'll be gentle?"
Mary said the exact same thing to him. Looked up at him, and said she was ready, but he had to promise to be gentle.
Sweetheart, you don't want me to be gentle, he had said then, and she had giggled and wrapped her arms around him.
"I'll do my best," he tells Jo, and she smiles gratefully.
"Lie down on the bed and spread your legs," he tells her, and she slips off his lap without a word and lies down, arms folded over her stomach, legs open.
He can see she's shaved herself, probably just that evening. Mary only ever trimmed.
"I'm going to make this good for you," he promises, and casts a quick glance around the motel room. He got what he paid for, and it came cheap. "Be as loud as you like."
She nods and licks her lips nervously. He gets down on his knees between her legs, places his hands on her thighs, and begins to tongue the outer folds of her labia. Her taste is heavy, but not overpowering. He can tell she's already wet.
"It's going to hurt less if you can relax before I start fucking you," he says, and she nods.
"I know," she says, and he can hear the twinge of tension in her voice. He moves his thumbs up her thighs until they're stroking the soft crease just below her vulva, and slides his tongue down to just below her clit.
"I'm gonna make you feel good," he promises, and he sucks down on her skin even as he wonders if she realizes he actually means it.
It's been a long time, but it's like riding a bicycle or shooting a moving target. Before you know it, you're as good as you ever were. He tongues her clit, gradually increasing the pressure, and Jo's hands reach out for his shoulders again. This time he knows the fingernails are going to leave marks.
He moves the pressure of his tongue to the left just a little, the spot that Mary always... It seems like it works for Jo too; she's thrusting up her hips, fingers tightening around his skin, breath quickening.
"Oh, God, oh, God, John," she breathes, and he licks again, feeling her quiver and then go rigid with shock. He eases off a little as she rides it out, but keeps his tongue circling slowly around the spot. He slides one finger up into her vagina, slick and easy.
"Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" he asks, feeling her sag a little beneath him.
"Y-yes," she whispers. "Please...."
"Don't worry," he says. "I'll go slow."
He's not a small man, but she's relaxed now, half-limp across the bed and still panting slow, heavy breaths. He straightens his back and leans over her, propping himself up above her torso with his forearms.
"Tell me if you need me to stop," he orders, and she nods her understanding.
She's still dripping wet as he presses the tip of his cock against her vagina, and she opens up quickly, allowing him to ease in. Her breath hitches after the head of his cock is inside her, and he pauses, just to be sure, but she shakes her head.
"Keep going," she whispers, and he brings one hand back to her clit to stroke it as he slides in another slow, sweet two inches.
"It's going to feel better," he says, remembering the way Mary had almost cried in his arms. "If you just trust me..."
Jo nods, her lips white and pressed together. And John decides to slide out, try and get a little deeper on the next time. He comes back out slowly, stopping at the head again, then thrusting back in, still gentle, still taking all his will not to shove into her.
Should have found something to use for lube, he thinks too late. She could have used it, wet as she is, and it's a sweet, slow torture not to be able to just shove into her. A lesson in patience, but then he has a lot of those.
He doesn't mind so much when he looks down at her face though. Small, determined features and that shining hair. He'd say she was an angel if he didn't know better.
His index and middle finger rub her clitoris as he goes, trying to find that spot again, trying to help her loosen up just a little and enjoy herself, and on his third or fourth thrust, he's rewarded by a squirm and soft moan from Jo's lips.
"Feeling better?" he asks, pressing the same spot a little harder.
"Yes," she hisses, and he grins.
He fucks her a little faster, and she opens a little looser as he works her with his fingers.
"That's my good girl," he praises, and the response is electric. She clenches back around him, whimpering a little as she comes again.
It only takes a few more strokes after that, quick and easy with Jo still trembling underneath him, for John to come inside of her. He pulls out slowly, carefully when he's done. His dick is coated in semen, just a small amount of discoloration that's probably blood. Jo takes a shaky breath.
"Thank you, John," she says, looking up at him.
He nods briefly before heading to the bathroom to grab some of the thin hotel tissues and clean off as best he can. When he comes back out into the room, Jo is slipping her blouse back over her head.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
She grins. "You just did, but go ahead."
Smartass. She reminds him of Dean in that way. And Mary. "Why me?" he asks.
She doesn't quite meet his eyes when she shrugs. "You seemed nice. I thought you would... make it good for me. And you did."
"I'm glad," he says. "Come on, I'll get you home."
---
As the truck pulls up in front of the Roadhouse, mostly empty by now, Jo looks at him, hard. "I can stay if you don't want to be alone," she says.
John shakes his head. "Get out," he says. "Your mother's going to be worried sick."
There's no point in telling Jo that he won't be alone, hasn't been alone the whole evening. He twists the wedding band where it's still on his finger. She never asked about it.