So this is the last chapter, which contains the basic idea I had in mind before starting to write the fic. Should probably have been a one-shot, but what can we do now, huh? Hope you enjoy it, 'cos it's my favourite chapter in this fic.
If you LOVE Sam/Jo, there's a community I've created here in . Our lovely Sammyluvr83 is part of the staff there, too, and if you check the comm, you will find there basically every Sam/Jo story in this site. Hope you enjoy it and find it useful.
Sam had been trying to finish page 125 for a good thirty minutes. He pretended he didn't, but he kept getting distracted by Jo's tossing around the bar and Ellen's voice, telling her what to do from the kitchen. He had offered to help, but Ellen had patted his head and told him to keep reading.
He could perfectly remember being 11 or 12, arriving home with the best of grades, so proud of himself, and then seeing neither his dad nor Dean cared. He would sit on the stairwell for hours, trying to make out why they didn't even try to like him a bit, appreciate the way he was and what he was good at. And then, out of the blue, Ellen would appear, pat his head, and tell him to go to the kitchen. She was not a sweet, delicate, smiling mom like the ones you see on tv-shows, the way he imagined Mary had been, but she was the closest thing he had to one. She would have some hot chocolate and cookies ready, and he didn't know if it was because of the chocolate, but he always felt much warmer after listening to Ellen say how he was doing great and school, and how he was a very good boy for always helping Jo with her homework.
Some days, he couldn't look her in the eye. She asked him about college when John or Dean weren't there to make a fuss about it, and he could only think two hours before he had her daugher writhing under him in the backseat of her car.
It didn't matter how he disguised the truth. He was betraying Ellen, he was betraying his dad, he was betraying his whole family, if the Winchester-Harvelle clans could be considered one.
Jo undid one of the buttons in her white shirt and smiled to herself. She had just finished cleaning the last but one table in the bar. The only one remainig had Sam sitting in it, with a pile of books next to him. Jo bended slightly, cloth in her hand, ready to clean the last table.
"Ahem," she coughed.
"Huh, sorry, sor..."
The situation was about to send her into fits of giggles. Not only he was still on page 125, but he had also stopped his eyes on the little piece of red lace under her white shirt. She could tell he was trying real hard to look her in the face, but he didn't seem to be able to take his eyes out of her cleavage. When he finally managed to do it, she bended just a little bit more, enough to give him a decent preview, and mouthed the words "it's new. Like it?" Sam nodded after checking Ellen was still inside the kitchen, and shallowed hard.
Jo's mom strolled to the front door, still giving orders on her way out:
"And when you finish with the tables, can you mop the floor?" she frowned, "I'm sorry you have to do it all, honey, but I need to hand these papers to the administration. I can't believe I had forgotten about them..." she shook her head, frustrated. "Will you be able to do everything?"
"Sure, Mom. Sam will gimme a hand," she smiled mischievously to him.
"I... I will, don't worry, Ellen, it's fine," he managed to say.
"What if someone enters the bar to...?" Jo asked.
"No way, Joanna Beth. You two alone behind the counter? No way. We're not open," Ellen changed the sign on the door to CLOSED. "Lock the door from the inside when I leave, ok? Will be back from town in two or three hours, I hope."
Jo bolted the door and walked slowly towards Sam. Moving his table to have enough room, she sat on his lap, facing him. Sam almost jumped in his seat.
"Are you having a death wish? Anyone can walk in and see us!"
Jo rolled her eyes in desperation.
"Mom's just left. Won't be back in a while."
"I know. I was here a moment ago," he replied, "what about Dean and my dad?"
"Hunting in Chicago. Will take at least two more days," she frowned, "You would probably know if you bothered to talk to them at all."
"Ash?" he asked, in the end.
"Rock festival. Still one more day to go," she answered, as she played with his hair, "isn't someone more absent-minded than usual?"
Sam didn't answer. Instead, he let her face get closer and closer to him, until she stopped with her lips half an inch from his. He had always wondered whether she remembered the first time they kissed.
She was eight and he was ten and it was too late for them to be awake. But they had been eating some gummy bears while Dean slept and John and Ellen were on the bar. Then, the infamous possessed hunter incident happened and they shared a bed for the first time. Jo thanked him a million times for staying with her, her voice lower and lower so that Dean wouldn't know how desperate she had been. Just before falling asleep, she thanked him for the last time and brushed her lips lightly against his, very softly, almost not touching at all. For years, he would wonder if she always tasted that sweet.
With that wicked smile of hers, she invited him to start the game. Sam devoured her lips like there was not tomorrow, left hand brushing her hair aside, preparing the imminent attack on the sensitive spot in her neck, right hand already up that ridiculously short denim skirt. The first moan escaped her mouth while he was sucking at her lower lip. Sam tried to think straight for a moment and remember all the good reasons why they shouldn't be doing that. He would soon go to college far away from the roadhouse, she was probably too young, and he didn't know much about psychology, but he was pretty sure the kind of relationship they had was far from healthy. Still, Jo always seemed to have the key to stop his doubts. He had just finished his ministrations on her neck. Breathing with some difficulty, she brought her forehead to his and smiled, flirting.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hey," he answered.
Jo looked like she was plotting something. She bit his lower lip for a second and then spoke.
"I've got two words for you."
"Just two?", Sam joked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, but you'll like them. Ready?" she asked.
He nodded and she brought her lips to his right ear, deliberately brushing it with them on the way. Sam's jeans started feeling tighter and tighter even before the words 'matching thong' left her mouth.
Sometimes he worried about wanting her too much, that maybe he was forcing her into things she might not have wanted to do just yet. And then she would come with something like that, or a daring caress, or some very graphic explanation of what she enjoyed the most when they were together, and it made him feel so stupid.
Jo began another kiss, very much deeper than the first ones, as her hands travelled under his t-shirt. Sam hugged her as tight as it was physically possible and decided that, if she was looking for trouble, she was going to get it. He got up from his chair, lifting her in his arms. She gasped in surprise, but didn't complain much. When he placed her on top of the table, she started sulking.
"I thought we were going, you know, somewhere," Jo whined.
"We ARE somewhere," Sam smirked.
Her face went white as a sheet.
"You don't mean you wanna do it HERE!", she managed to say.
Sam's left hand tightened the grip on her waist, as he moved to undo two more buttons in her shirt with his right one. Jo whimpered when his fingers caressed the soft skin by the edge of her bra. While he licked his way to the column of her throat, he felt her nails digging his back under his shirt, urging him to do something more. He smiled and took one step back, provoking some more sulking.
"It seemed that someone was feeling brave today," he teased.
"Well, I was thinking something more along the lines of sofa, or bed, or..."
Sam was then sitting in the chair in front of her, eyes darkening by the moment. He put his hand on her right knee and lifted it just enough to be level with his lips, and he brushed them against her milky skin. Softly, almost not touching, exactly the way she had kissed him for the first time. That night, many moans and lies later, she thought about that single kiss before falling asleep, she didn't know why. Five years after that, some moans, many tears, much anger and some forgiving later, she would think again about that kiss while Sam found his clothes in the darkness. He was carefully opening the door when he decided to go back to the bed where she was sitting and gave her a slow, sensual kiss. Sam said that she still tasted that sweet. She didn't know why.