I took a shower, making the water as cold as I could manage. Hoping against hope that it would cool down my flushed and overheated skin. It didn't work. I came out of the shower, still as frustrated as I'd been when I scampered upstairs after faking exhaustion. Without the usual steam blocking the mirror from my use, I could see that my skin was still too pink, my nipple hard enough to hurt, and I couldn't see it from the mirror, but Jesus, between the wet and want between my legs, I felt like I'd burst into flames.

I'd tried, in the cool water of the shower, to take things into my own hands. Tried being the operative word in that sentence. My fingers fell far short of what I so obviously wanted and needed. Damn John Winchester, no doubt downstairs with Dad and his boys, drinking and cleaning God knew what cache of weapons. Feeling superior and smug for working me into a state, in front of my Dad, and leaving me hanging. Shit.

I yanked on my nightgown, a shirt that I realized I'd pilfered from John. Accidentally of course, since he left it behind at my apartment. It was long on me, since the man was basically a mountain compared to me. And since it was plain black, I'd wore it here at Dad's without fear. I pulled on a pair of black panties and ran a brush through my wet hair, I sighed. Sleep would be a fucking nightmare to even try in this state, but I had to give it a go, especially if Dad sent me packing in the morning.

I had just entered my room, when the arms belonging to the very man I had been cursing wrapped around me from behind. I hadn't expected it, but I didn't jump this time. I was way too keyed up from his hands under the table. I turned, and without a word, pulled his head to mine. Our lips met and I felt one of his hands leave me to shut my bedroom door, then the click of the lock turning. His hand came back, cupping my ass and pulling me tight against him. He pulled away to give me a warning I didn't need.

"They're still downstairs working, I begged off for sleep, so you have to be fucking quiet, princess." I nodded, and then our lips met again, and I stifled my moan as I felt his hand snake up under his stolen shirt. His lips moved and I felt his smile as his breath played against my wet lips. "This looks and feels pretty familiar, Pari." And then he licked back into my mouth and words were rendered useless.

His shirt came off over my head. My panties met it on the floor. The shirt he was wearing joined the pile, then I worked his belt free as his mouth was tasting my freshly washed skin. Soon his boots, jeans, and boxers were in the pile and he was pressing me into my mattress. We both heard the squeal of the springs and stopped. Our breathing heavy, we listened, wondering how loud the bed really was outside my room. He shifted and the headboard creaked. Fuck, really, bed?

I closed my eyes, feeling certain that we'd both end up fucking irritable from being this close to fulfilling the very promise of being together, when he kissed me once, and pulled away. I started to sigh, but his hand tugged on mine and I opened my eyes. "Come on, baby girl, toss the pillows and blankets on the floor. Can't be louder than that damn bed."

I smiled and together we created a semi-soft place to continue on the floor. And then, laying back on the pillows, John hovering over my body we heard the pounding of feet on the stairs. Are you fucking kidding me? My body was almost vibrating by this point, so near its goal, and yet so fucking far.

"John?" My dad's voice called, and I closed my eyes and let my head settle back into the pillows. Luckily, the only light in my room came from beyond the open curtains, so he wouldn't think to check here. Then I heard him jingle the doorknob, and my eyes locked on John's. I felt mine widen and watched him mirror them. Shit. Dad was grumbling as he stomped along the hallway, still in search of John.

"Do you think he-" I started, barely breathing out the words. My heart was thumping painfully, and while I was still feeling slightly tingly well, the thought of Dad shooting John had dampened the fucking mood.

He brushed his lips against mine and started reaching for his clothes. "I don't know, sweetie, but I should probably go find a way to explain why I wasn't in the room he assigned me." He was grinning, but it was somewhat forced. "Don't worry, Parisa, it'll be fine."

He dressed quickly and then stood by the door listening intently. I watched as he turned the lock as quietly as he could and then cracked the door. Dad was gone and we could both hear him downstairs talking to Dean and Sam. He blew me a kiss and crept out. I got up and relocked the door, just in case Dad decided to recheck when he finally came to bed. I pulled the blankets and pillows back on the bed, and then put my panties and John's shirt back on, when I realized, his scent was too fresh on this one. Looking down I nearly groaned, he'd left the wrong fucking shirt behind. And this one, the one I had put on, as I walked toward the window, wasn't black. It was red. Shit.