
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/450245.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Smith/Jo_Smith
  Character:
      Dean_Smith, Jo_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Sibling_Incest, lapsex
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-03 Words: 2148
****** Like a lonely house (till then my windows ache) ******
by brokentoy
Summary
     It goes deep, this thing you have, deeper than anything you might
     ever hope to know. You've lost the battle and the war and you can't
     complain about it; you've been defeated with no shame, and you won
     the right to rest your head upon her stomach, her hands threading
     into your hair and scratching at your scalp in soothing motions
 
 
She finds you in her room, sitting on her bed as you idly take stock of all the
changes made in here in the months when you were gone.
There were dolls before you left; old, cracked porcelain things piled together
in a corner since you both were kids. You wonder where they are now, but truth
is you never really liked them, their glassy stare heavy and so judgmental that
they're better off hidden somewhere in the attic for all you care.
That's how she finds you and that's how you smile at her when she opens up the
door and looks at you like you're not real, like she's trying to decide if this
time it's really you and not a fantasy or a dream or just the shadow of a
memory.
It hasn't been that long but long enough; ten, twelve months since the last
time you saw her, get togethers with your family as rare as once a year since
you left for school. Time is relative by now and yours has been slipping slowly
through your fingers as you kept your thoughts as far away as possible from
here.
It didn't really help, for the moment she's smiling down at you, radiant and
beautiful like she found the only piece that ever dared go missing, you're
undone and there's no hope.
And you never had a chance, not really. Not against her, sweet and stubborn and
a perfect line of youth, walking softly on the carpet of her room with intent
in her eyes and laughter dying in her throat. Something changed about her; you
think it might be a haircut but it might as well be the shadow of independence
that the end of high school brought forth upon her.
She changed so much and she's not even trying to hide it, her step sure and
bold as she lets the door fall shut and walks to breach the distance that a
year put between you.
You don't talk because there's just too much to say, so much that silence is
your only option, and it must be fine with her because her dimpled smile never
wavers, golden strands of hair that frame a face so dear to you it seems like
you can't breathe.
It goes deep, this thing you have, deeper than anything you might ever hope to
know. You've lost the battle and the war and you can't complain about it;
you've been defeated with no shame, and you won the right to rest your head
upon her stomach, her hands threading into your hair and scratching at your
scalp in soothing motions. You want to take her hand, spread her fingers on
your chest and feel how far inside you she can get when she steps inside the
space between your legs, folding herself around you like she's the one supposed
to bear the weight of what you make together. Like she's the one to just take
care of you and your choices, innocence dripping from her lips as she peppers
kisses on your forehead.
She wears a skirt instead of jeans and boyish shorts like she used to; it's a
white, flimsy thing made for summer, soft to the touch and it almost feels like
worn out paper as your hands slip underneath. She's holding you so close you
can feel the erratic beating of her heart through the cotton of her shirt,
straining against flesh and bones and fabric in a vain attempt to dig out of
her and inside you, reunite with your own heart.
You want to tell her how much you missed her; how hard it was for you to keep
away this long and how much you need to do it, but the swell of her lips is
soft against your temple as her mouth slides down to kiss your eyelids, and you
think she already knows.
She takes her time. Things have changed and it's not like it was before, when
it all had just begun.
She's a grown up, now, almost eighteen and out of here and all the efforts that
you made have come to nothing because you just can't seem to keep away. You've
crossed the country on a scholarship, held her crying in your arms the night
before you left, and you whispered in her ear that nothing would change. But
then it did, and she did, a year of telephone calls and emails and lame excuses
for not visiting, and the first time you came back she climbed into your bed
and opened up for you. She whispered in your ear how much she missed you, how
much she felt like dying because you just weren't there, and you were powerless
against her resolution.
What once had been just stolen kisses and fumbling hands under the covers
changed in the space of a night as you covered her with your body.
The rest of your summer holiday was spent ignoring the world and fucking her
sweet and slow into your bed when your parents went out for shopping, her
laughter ringing in the empty house as you climbed inside her body and wished
to never leave. She would let you bend her over on the couch and take her from
behind, and you would pin her down into the mattress and come inside her,
shivering and cursing and loving her too much.
There were promises to be made but you refused to lie to her, and when you left
you wished she'd find somebody she could call her own in the light of day. You
kissed her cheek and held her hand, and she didn't shed a tear when you left
again knowing you'd do your best to keep away.
You look at her now, your chin digging into her belly as she rakes her fingers
through your hair: the smooth, respectable haircut gone to hell with each
gentle scrape of nails and isn't that ironic? Your perfect new exterior, a man
in the making on his road to success built on bricks of little lies, secrets
and crimes that hurt nobody but yourselves.
She leans down again and you're nose to nose, dark eyes looking straight
through you and still you haven't even spoken. You want to kiss her but you let
her choose the moment, and when she does her lips are sweet and pliant against
your own, opening like a secret you know all too well.
Her tongue slides against yours, soft and languid, rolling in your mouth and
coaxing out a sigh when she bites down lightly on your lower lip. She moans her
contentment, your fingers digging deep into the flesh of her thighs and pulling
her closer into your body. She slithers forwards in one smooth motion, settling
on your lap in a seamless slide: her weight hasn't changed, her waist slim and
delicate in the circle of your arms.
She spreads her legs further to accommodate you better, sliding down and
rocking over you in sweet, sweet motions; she whispers words of love into your
skin and you want to tell her there's no use, no way this could go on, but you
know you want it just as much as she does so why bother.
You hold her to your chest, feet planted in the carpet of your childhood home
and hips pushing into her as your hands slide down her backside and beneath her
skirt again, cupping the firmness of her buttocks and spreading her open with a
careful grip.
She smiles into the kiss, draws her head back and when you look at her she's
glowing with intent, lips red and teeth shining as she bites on them, a roll of
her hips pressing her farther into you.
“I missed you,” she murmurs, and you make her squirm a little on your fingers
as they creep between her legs; you try and distract her from the truth of this
even if you groan deep in your throat at the wetness you find, middle finger
slipping wet and unresisting along the seam of her panties.
She's quick and wicked in her ways, her little hands trailing down your body as
she reaches for the button of your slacks. Tomorrow you'll be wearing jeans and
t-shirts, summer clothes you left behind when you packed your bags for college,
but right now it's black pants and a well pressed shirt; no tie and jacket yet,
but they will eventually come along with business meetings and suspenders.
You kiss her hard and deep, sucking into her mouth, licking your way in as her
small hand wraps around you and takes you out of your boxer shorts in one
swift, knowing motion; you're hard and aching, and you moan against her lips at
the mental picture of your cock inside the cage of her fingers, so big trapped
inside the delicate grip she has on you. You want to lower your head and watch
as she pumps up a slow, sweet rhythm but you craved her kisses most of all and
you don't want to give them up just yet.
She writhes on your lap and grinds against the little pressure you're applying
to the wet underside of her panties, and your fingers slip inside smoothly,
welcomed into her body as she sighs in relief and bites down on your lip. Warm
and damp and yours again, her wrist moving faster on your cock as she follows
the way you move between her legs.
The gasp that falls from her mouth when you add a third finger has you opening
up your eyes, watching her lean forward and let her head snuggle into the crook
of your neck; she bites you lightly in the naked space your shirt allows and
you press her to your chest a bit more, rubbing yourself into the tight space
in between with a desperate grunt.
You can't wait much longer than this, wondering how you ever could believe this
thing between you would just disappear with time, and she comes willingly when
you start pushing up against her, her hand leaving you and fastening in your
hair.
The wet head of your cock is slick against the smooth skin of her inner thigh,
leaving trails of precome to mark her right where no one would think you had
any right to be. But she's yours like nothing ever was before, and she takes
you inside herself with grace and greedy love in one tight, perfect motion. You
don't spare a thought for the ruined pair of panties digging inside your flesh
as your hips roll and chase her warmth, your hands spreading her further in
your lap as you fuck your way deeper into what you once claimed and can't live
without anymore.
It's perfect and it's home, and you don't regret it and never will because she
starts riding you like this is what she waited for all along; like this, this
moment here when you're both one and together and inseparable forever is what
got her going through the motions when you kept yourself away. She moves around
you with ease, taking you and keeping you in there as her fingers touch your
face, her lips kissing the skin of your cheeks in reverence as her hips make a
perfect figure eight around the pulsing heat that you've become.
It doesn't take much, just the soft pressure of your thumb to trig her off and
have her clenching hot and scalding around you, your name slipping off her
tongue and falling into your mouth honey-sweet and grateful. She comes and
comes and milks the orgasm out of you, and you swell and pulse heavy into that
perfect hold, loving her more with each frantic upward thrust until you're
done.
You stay like this, hugging her shivering form to you for minutes; your heart
thumps loudly in your throat and her chest meets yours with each breathless
gasp of air as you both try and fail to make sense pf what you are.
“Jo—” you murmur into the skin of her neck, sweat-damp and flushed as you feel
her pulse hammer against your lips. You lick the taste of salt away, lap a wet
line up before you take the lobe of her ear between your teeth and tug
slightly; you suck it into your mouth and you move her one last time over the
softening length of your spent dick, wetness sliding down and making a mess of
your underwear and pants. The trail of come mixed with her own juices drenches
the cotton and makes it uncomfortable for you to sit there without squirming;
it makes her laugh and hug you even tighter, and all seems perfect in this
moment as long as you don't dare to move. “—I missed you too.”
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