Neither the characters -- or any other associated properties -- of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
nor those of Supernatural
belong to me. I'm just letting them have a little fun. Come on, if anyone deserves to have a little fun, it's these two.
"What's wrong?" he asks, the first time she hisses and pulls away. "Did I hurt you?" They're making out like a couple of teenagers and he'd just slid a hand under the crook of her knee to lift her leg out of the way.
"No," she says. His face is on her throat right now, along the lines of muscle up to her ear, but he feels her skin shift and stretch as she smiles, feels the breath on his own skin as she laughs a little. "Just ticklish."
He's got more important things at hand right now, but he stores Buffy's ticklish behind her knees
away even as she slides her legs a little further apart so he can settle between them. But she's in a skirt, a sweet little cotton thing that's loose enough for her to move in, and he's far too concerned with how easy that makes his job to really focus much on it for now.
Next time she's in a skirt, when she's jumped down from the truck at a gas station and gone inside for a Coke, he catches himself watching her go. As he's taking in the shape of her legs, powerful thighs and lean calves inside a pair of cowboy boots she insists she's wearing "ironically, and because the heels are super-solid, makes it lots of fun to kick stuff", he remembers it all of a sudden. Buffy's ticklish behind her knees
comes to him unbidden, and he has to laugh at himself a little, fooling around with this girl in a way that would probably put even Dean to shame -- but the thought doesn't quite go away. Doesn't help that it seems like she uses her Slayer-sense for evil, too, lifts her foot to rest it on the dash and lets the skirt slide down so that if he looks away from the road he might never look back because he's pretty sure he could see her whole damn leg.
"I'm too old to play these kind of games, you know," he says, but he's grinning as he does, with the sun settling down into the stretch of land behind them as they look for a place to spend the night.
"Please," she says, rolling her eyes and stretching her leg out a little just to screw with him some more. It's been a quiet few days, only the occasional vampire or small-time monster to keep them busy. What takes him three days of strategizing and equipping for takes her two minutes of brawling with whatever's at hand, and this is a life he chose but it's what she was made for, so what is, for him, downtime to savor and prepare in is time that has her crawling the walls. She keeps him busy sparring, when there's space, but more often she keeps him busy by fucking him boneless, letting him watch while she goes through the forms her Watcher taught her or letting him eat her until she's too sensitive to handle more for the moment.
Buffy's in a good mood today, and she makes it even easier for him to try it. She jumps up on him as soon as they're inside the motel room, so that he falls against the door hard and catches her as she wraps her legs around his waist. They've done this a few times, and he sets her on the dresser, shoving a lamp aside and running his hands back and forth along her legs. She shaved them just this morning, and there's a little sandpapery scrape against his palms as he slides them up to her knees again; as always, he wants to take in every little detail of her, can't accept even after these few weeks that there will be another time. He has to bend a little to kiss her, and when she wraps her legs more tightly around his he runs his hands from the front of her knees to the back, and slides them from the backs of her thighs to the backs of her calves, just lightly.
He has to hand it to her -- nothing breaks her rhythm. This only changes it, makes her gasp out a breath and makes every inch of her he can feel tighten a little instinctively, and he pauses, but her mouth curls up against his as he breaks the kiss to stop. He understands, somehow, feels her indulgence and interest as she presses herself a little tighter against him, gets hers back by deepening the kiss.
A few minutes of it, kissing and touching and spidering his fingers along the backs of her legs, and John's got her really laughing, gasping for breath only so she can laugh some more. It's the sexiest he's seen her yet, so that she's probably more in control than she is, because he can't stop his hips rolling, can't stop himself from thrusting a little against her even with both of them still fully clothed, like he's a goddamned teenager. If she were any other girl he'd ever met he'd say she was laughing helplessly, red-faced and raggedy-breathed, but,
a voice that sounds a lot like Bobby's in his head, like most of his sensible thoughts, let's remember who you're talking about here, boy
-- helpless doesn't stay in the same zip code as this girl. When Buffy decides she's had enough, she doesn't hit him, which is a pleasant surprise, or even shove him off, just tries to catch her breath, and then grins as she unfolds her legs from around his waist and grabs hold of his shoulders.
"Okay," she says, and kisses him hard, with something in it that tells him that the gloves are coming off. She's still breathing a little unsteadily as they fall onto the bed, but it's not enough to stop her from moving fast, shoving him down and straddling him roughly, quickly, so that he's harder than ever. Buffy pauses, then, takes him in, and as she settles herself a little more on top of him, she causes his fly to rub against him in a way that makes him gasp, too, though, which makes her grin and shift a little more. "Just to put you in your place, Winchester," she says. He's got his hands on his waist, but she grabs hold of them, and quick as a wink, she's got them pinned, with one hand, above his head.
Buffy leans down to kiss him, her free hand sliding under her and working him through his jeans, making him jerk against the light, powerful weight of her. It's his turn to smile, even as his breath rushes hard against her skin. John's been driving for a long time, and alone at that, and he's long past ready to let someone else take the wheel for awhile.