If I Knew

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/23651173.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/F
Fandom: Supernatural
Relationship: Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle
Characters: Charlie Bradbury, Jo Harvelle
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Strap-
Ons, Face-Sitting, Top Charlie Bradbury, bottom jo harvelle
Language: English
Series: Part 11 of spn kink bingo 2020, Part 5 of skydust!verse
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020
Stats: Published: 2020-04-14 Words: 1,380 Chapters: 1/1
 If I Knew
by hellhoundsprey

Summary

After weeks of pining and yet another mission that left her too close to the afterlife, Charlie
makes her move.

2020 kink bingo square 02: f/f

Charlie’s grin widens. She’s not aware she’s been stirring her drink all this time, and she’ll
never be.

“What do I have to do to have you sit on my face?”

Jo’s drunk little face lights up some more. Her lips peel thin with her mischievous little smile.

The crowd around them is oblivious. Partying on. It’s a good night to be alive. To have
survived, again.

Jo asks her, “That’s your line? Seriously?” and Charlie laughs.

“I love watching you blush.”

Jo slaps Charlie’s thigh—all affectionate, no violence. Pleads, “Stop it,” with a glint in her
eye fucking threatening Charlie to absolutely not, under any circumstances, stop.

It’s a good thing. A best thing.

But, “You don’t have to play games with me, you know?” and it’s her turn to put her hand on
that leg, that darling little knee. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking here for it as long
as we agree on rules, first.”

“‘Rules’,” Jo splutters. “Like what?”

“Like if you look at me like that, you give me permission to turn you out.”

Jo laughs again; that airy-breathy thing that’s anxiety and excitement and helplessness all in
one, and she unnecessarily tosses her light-blonde hair, flexes her bare shoulder. Charlie
keeps up her predator eye contact. Keeps her pinned where she wants her.

Softer, barely-covered vulnerability: “You talk like this to all the girls?”

Charlie promises, “Only to the ones I want.”

Jo tastes like the Zkiix she nursed on, held onto; abandoned. Gasps her moan right against
Charlie’s mouth as her back meets the wall, as Charlie crowds in on her, hands immediately
on her ass while they eat at each other’s mouth and she drapes her twig-arms around
Charlie’s neck like that’s how it’s supposed to be.

And it is. It fucking is.

Girl barely needs an incentive to shiver. Lets Charlie squeeze her tight little ass in these
cruelly tight jeans and Charlie wrestles a thigh between those legs asap.

Fuck, she’s gonna come undone in a fucking bathroom stall.

“Let me take you home,” slurred against that drippy mouth, the peach fuzz on Jo’s lip.
Charlie rubs her over her leg, all intention and muscle, and drowns for how sweetly her face
is getting cupped, how desperate Jo breathes for her. “I got a bed.” Kiss. “And a mean coffee
machine.” Kiss. “And my place doesn’t smell like piss.”

“How far?”

“Three blocks,” and, because Charlie’s an asshole, “Why, worried you’re not gonna make it?”

Jo shakes her pretty head. Laps into Charlie’s mouth again. “No, just.” Kiss. “My mom’s
gonna freak.”

“Parents love me,” vows Charlie, double-vision now with how badly she needs to get inside
of this girl. “Lemme talk to her, ’s gonna be fine.”

Charlie doesn’t end up talking to Ellen; Jo beats her to that. Smiles all wide and polite and
waves as she’s getting glared at all the way across the bar, but queen mother doesn’t interfere
with her offspring beelining back into her greedy hands, doesn’t run after them when Charlie
leads her lady out the door, down the street.

Jo gets a hold of her hand, huff-smiles all sweet.

Oh, this is bad.

So so bad.

Jo observes how, “That’s a lot of locks,” while Charlie sets them all back into place with
blind habit.

Would tell her, “Comes with the job,” if she wasn’t busy pulling that tank top off her,
crowding her straight into the bedroom.

It’s a small apartment. She doesn’t need much. Easier for when she has to move base, again
(‘when’, not ‘if’).

“Sweet baby,” she tells Jo, sports bra now gone as well and her tits are the fucking cutest
little things, barely-handfuls and Charlie’s hands are not gonna leave them alone again, not
ever. Feels her breath hitching against her tongue, her nipples hardening immediately.

She pulls on them. Gets those arms back around her neck and Charlie hums all pleased, all
hungry and so fucking wet she hopes Jo can fucking smell it on her.

“I need you naked,” she informs, “and on me. Pronto.”

It’s a joined struggle to peel her out of her pants; booze and anticipation be damned. Charlie
lets her strip her in return, lets her peek and smirk and flirt from underneath her lashes up
until her pants are pooling around her still-booted feet and she can grab and throw her onto
the bed.
Charlie toes off the remnants of her battle gear, still mouth-to-mouth with Jo. Climbs after
her, has those hands roaming right to her ass, those fingertips skirting along the holster and
knife on her thigh; grins wide for that hungry flutter of lashes.

“You want me to keep that on while I fuck you?”

Jo uh-hums with her legs all spread, with Charlie licking into her mouth. Clasps her doe-legs
around her lower back and pushes her fingers into her hair as she dips down to suck one tit
into her mouth, tends to the other after.

Squeezes those thighs and groans, “Move, c’mon, I need you.”

Jo’s so fucking slender, such a lightweight. All firm from combat and poverty and Charlie
sighs in-love up against that pussy, has her face straddled and pulls her like she needs her and
Jo nearly loses balance; a sweet chortle and one hand on the wall, one tucking her hair behind
her ear.

Distant gasp and shiver as Charlie closes her mouth over that slick mount, when her tongue
pushes forward immediately and feels her out.

Sweet sounds, drowned out.

Charlie pushes her hands up that sliver of a belly, finds the softness of those tits and plucks at
them, kneads at them with that clit making out with her tongue.

Jo huffs. Groans, deep and blissed-out. Charlie peers up and finds her eyes closed, lips
parted. Finds that stomach rippling and those hips begin to grind soon, unconsciously.

Charlie purrs. Feels her getting wetter and wetter until she’s shaking, until her breath grows
erratic and she gulps, whimpers—before she comes apart.

So beautiful. Grinds and groans and Charlie lap-sucks at her slower now, firm and mean to
drag it out, make it count. Keeps it up until Jo whines, hand in Charlie’s hair now and, “Stop,
stop,” and Charlie lets up on her because she’s not that kind of cruel.

Asks her, “You gonna let me in here?” her chin soaked and her voice gravel and god Jo’s so
fucking slick where Charlie crams her fingers. She doesn’t shove them in before Jo’s
stammered her, “Y-yes, yes, gods,” curls and bangs that g-spot out for several blissed strokes
that have Jo shaking anew, before she retracts them, climbs out from underneath her girl.

“Not what I meant by that,” she informs, gets out of bed on shaky legs just to yank open a
drawer, retrieves her strap.

Jo gushes, “Ohmygods,” and stays on her back like the good girl she obviously is.

“Exactly.”

All geared up—and Charlie thinks this one’s a good choice because Jo’s a fucking hungry
thing—and Charlie’s back between those thighs, practiced and lubed and the press-in is so
adorable; Jo’s wounded little face, the pink O that’s her mouth.
Stammers, “Oh,” and again, “Oh,” and Charlie kisses her through it, one arm steadying her
on the bed and the other free to play with a tit. Feels those baby-hands cupping hers in return,
both of them, feeling them out and god she’s tight, so fucking small and it’s a struggle to get
all of that dick inside.

Doesn’t quite make it; rocks in place, up against her cervix. Gets another weak moan before
she settles in to snap her hips right.

“Sweet baby,” pink-drunk and against that cheek, one palm pressing flat where her belly
bulges for Charlie’s gut-deep dick.

Hears, “Please,” and there’s no words after that.

Charlie wakes to the mattress shifting, the pitter-patter of naked feet on her floor. Hears the
toilet flushing eventually, dozing off again. Jo crawls back into her arms, all bare and cold.

Charlie kisses her, blindly. Mumbles, “Fuck,” and, “you’re freezing.”

Covers tighter around them and Jo sighs all comfortable, her face buried in Charlie’s chest,
one leg thrown over her hip.

Outside, the city slowly creeps back alive.

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