Joseph Cole

One of his hands fists in the bedclothes next to her as he moans into her, completely enamoured with the taste of her and the sounds it brought out of her. 

My muse has been missing for several days. Send “Where were you?!?” For mine to suddenly show up at your muse’s doorstep, in rough shape.

She’s shaking, thirsty, exhausted. The grace in her soul has healed most of her smaller injuries- scrapes and bruises, small broken bones, a fat lip- but the larger ones take more time. 

"Hunters." She manages, stepping towards him. She’s not ready to lean in to him, not ready to collapse against him and let him take care of her; she’s too hurt and too afraid to let her gaurd down right now ,but just being this close and feeling his armth is enough. "They thought I was a supe. They tried everything they knew to find out what I was." Silver and brass and holy water, oh my. Blades and stakes and  daggers. Dead man’s blood.

But he files the thought on his to-do list, and he takes a breath, willing his eyes back to normal before he looks at her again. It nearly breaks him again seeing the tears in her eyes, but he steps forward, laying a hand on her cheek carefully as he mentally catalogs each of her injuries. 

His fingers brush the tears away from her cheeks as they’ve fallen and he keeps kissing her. “My darling…I love you…” His touch isn’t restrained anymore, and his hands move under her clothes, caressing her skin. His lips move down her neck, and he works to undo the buttons on his shirt more for her. 

But his fingers are tender as he brushes tears away, and he calls her darling and says he loves her, and he’s touching her like she is precious. She can’t quite make the words come out of her mouth, but she reaches for him, arching against his touch, her own hands running over his bare, hot skin. There is no refusal, only need. She doesn’t realize that she is making sounds of pleasure; she’s so lost in it, so needing, that all she is aware of his hands on her and that she can’t get enough. Her breath comes in panting intervals and she moves against him, nearly desperate.

One of his hands fists in the bedclothes next to her as he moans into her, completely enamoured with the taste of her and the sounds it brought out of her. 

Even though his eyes are closed, she’s all he can see. He can feel her around him, and every sense is on fire and begging for more of her. He breaks away from the kiss, taking a deep, shaky breath. He shifts, forcing himself to move her out of his lap. 

"Not here…get my blade, break the trap. Let me take you home, darling." Somewhere in the back of his mind it strikes him that it has felt like home again, ever since she’d been there with him. Lighting up each room she came into with her smile. 

He’s tense with need, and it takes everything in him to put himself away from her, to not just have her there and then. He looks up at her, trying to keep his eyes from sliding black again. “Let me take care of you, love.” 

"Okay," she says, letting him hold her hand for a moment before stepping out of the trap. She reaches for his knife, her whole body aware of the distance between them. She breaks the trap and drops the knife, going back to him instantly, pressing against him and poutting her arms around his neck.

"Joe," she murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing him in. Just feeling the heat of him again is enough to make her crazy, and she shudders and closes her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. "Take me home. Please. Take care of me." The words are quieter than a murmur; she hasn’t needed to be taken care of in years. She’s been good at taking care of herself. She’s had to be. Sophie was the first time in years someone else thought of Claire as important and necessary.

His fingers brush the tears away from her cheeks as they've fallen and he keeps kissing her. "My darling...I love you..." His touch isn't restrained anymore, and his hands move under her clothes, caressing her skin. His lips move down her neck, and he works to undo the buttons on his shirt more for her. 

His senses are flooded by her…the scent of her, the feel of her moving against him, and whatever in sin’s name they’d inhaled only made her even more tempting. 

He pulls back, but only to start kissing down her neck, hands roaming all over, but still resisting. He curses lowly against her skin as she starts rocking her hips, a low rumbling in his chest making him want to…have her. 

"…Claire, darling…never meant for it like this…but please, Claire, love…fuck…" 

Her head rolls back, eyes fluttering and legs trembling. She tries to say his name, but all she can manage is a wordless cry of pleasure as she reaches a peak. This is joy; this is love. This is earth-shattering desire and lust, and it’s a revelation to her.

She melts against him, breath hitching. They’re still both mostly clothed and she chuckles softly, pressing gently fingers to his cheek and lifting her head to look at him.

Even though his eyes are closed, she's all he can see. He can feel her around him, and every sense is on fire and begging for more of her. He breaks away from the kiss, taking a deep, shaky breath. He shifts, forcing himself to move her out of his lap. 

"Not here...get my blade, break the trap. Let me take you home, darling." Somewhere in the back of his mind it strikes him that it has felt like home again, ever since she'd been there with him. Lighting up each room she came into with her smile. 

He's tense with need, and it takes everything in him to put himself away from her, to not just have her there and then. He looks up at her, trying to keep his eyes from sliding black again. "Let me take care of you, love." 

Because of course she was right. He was in love with her. But this wasn’t the time or place…and certainly not like this. He couldn’t do that to her. 

When he felt her hands on his face, every part of him screamed for him to pull away. But he couldn’t. All he could do was sink into the kiss with a happy, relieved sigh… some of the tension the dust was causing fading at the contact, some of it only increasing. His hands came up, but not to touch her or pull her closer, but rather to rest against the walls created by the trap, white knuckles the only sign of how hard he’s fighting. 

She’d meant it to soothe him, to placate him, but as soon as she said them, she realized it was true. This was Joseph Cole and she was his darling. Smiling, shaking with desire and relief, she went to him, crawling into the trap and straddling his lap. his heat was delicious even through her clothes, and she pressed against him, rocking her hips against him a little just to see what it felt like.

It was delicous. The pent up desire in her flooded her, threatening to drown her, and she clung to him like a life line. She found his mouth with hers, ravenous for him.

His senses are flooded by her...the scent of her, the feel of her moving against him, and whatever in sin's name they'd inhaled only made her even more tempting. 

He pulls back, but only to start kissing down her neck, hands roaming all over, but still resisting. He curses lowly against her skin as she starts rocking her hips, a low rumbling in his chest making him want to...have her. 

"...Claire, darling...never meant for it like this...but please, Claire, love...fuck..." 

She looked so small in his jacket, but it still managed to hug around her perfectly. A voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should be the one wrapping it around her, holding her close and… 

He ducked his head, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his head clear. But the breath was a bad idea. 

All he could smell was her. Her shampoo, her worry, the tension in the air at her whispered words. He shuddered, wanting nothing more than to break through the trap and kiss her…show her how he felt rather than using pithy words that anyone could repeat and never mean. 

"Please, Claire… don’t ask me that, darling. Not now. Not like this…" 

"I’m not asking." She said. She kept a little distance between herself and the trap, but managed to smile at him. This close, she could imagine the heat coming off him; demons ran hotter than humans, and he would be feverish heat under her hands. "But you do. and I- I think I-"

But it was too much to say the words. Not like this, when she couldn’t be sure they were her own, or it would be too easy to say they weren’t later. She was afraid now, hands shaking from it, but not of him.  She moved to the edge of the trap and reached for him, his jacket sliding from her shoulders. She pulled him into a kiss, her lips soft on his and her knees still outside the trap.

Because of course she was right. He was in love with her. But this wasn't the time or place...and certainly not like this. He couldn't do that to her. 

When he felt her hands on his face, every part of him screamed for him to pull away. But he couldn't. All he could do was sink into the kiss with a happy, relieved sigh... some of the tension the dust was causing fading at the contact, some of it only increasing. His hands came up, but not to touch her or pull her closer, but rather to rest against the walls created by the trap, white knuckles the only sign of how hard he's fighting. 

But he looked up at her and drew himself to the edge of the trap, the closest he’d allow himself to be to her. “Look at me, darling. You are safe. He…that bastard isn’t here. He can’t hurt you again, Claire. He’ll never lay a finger on your again.” 

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, tossing it across to her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, darling.” 

"Joe-" she said, forcing herself to look at him. She expected a predatory grin, eyes darkened with ill-intent. But it wasn’t Alex who had locked himself inside the trap: it was Joseph Cole. Cole who didn’t ask questions, who seemed to understand what she’d been through, who was her friend without demanding anything.

Joseph Cole, whom she might be in love with.

She clutched his coat around her, swallowing hard. Her heart was pounding and she huddled under the fine wool as though it were armour that could protect her from a truth she wasn’t ready to admit.

She looked so small in his jacket, but it still managed to hug around her perfectly. A voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should be the one wrapping it around her, holding her close and... 

He ducked his head, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his head clear. But the breath was a bad idea. 

All he could smell was her. Her shampoo, her worry, the tension in the air at her whispered words. He shuddered, wanting nothing more than to break through the trap and kiss her...show her how he felt rather than using pithy words that anyone could repeat and never mean. 

"Please, Claire... don't ask me that, darling. Not now. Not like this..." 

The whispers were driving him mad, and his body was already buzzing for her. The thought of those whispers begging and pleading him for more was enough to make him groan lowly, and his head fell forward into his hands to try and block out the barrage of images playing through his mind. 

Whatever it was they’d inhaled, it was affecting him more than he’d like. But some part of him still had control. He couldn’t do that to her. He wasn’t McCoy. He couldn’t harm a hair on her perfect, lithe, damn near glowing body. 

He’d never force her. But that didn’t stop thoughts of her willing and writhing from crossing his mind. The thought of tasting every inch of her, worshiping her body as she called out his name…making her forget happily every terrible thing that bastard had done to her. 

"Won’t," she said, pulling her knees to her chest. She remembered Alex calling her Claire Bear, his hands gentle before inflicting pain.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about getting on her knees for Joe, looking up at him as she tasted him, the sounds he would make as her tongue caressed him. His hand would be in her hair, steadying himself, as he sucked in a breath and she took him to the back of her throat. He would groan darling at her, arching his back, and she would move with him…

Alex had called her pet names, mocking her, degrading her with pet and precious as he took her apart. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes. She hated Alex McCoy. not just for what he’d done to her then, but for lingering now. All she wanted was to go to Joe and let him take pleasure in her, but she couldn’t. Alex’s shadow stood between them, making her ashamed to want.

But he looked up at her and drew himself to the edge of the trap, the closest he'd allow himself to be to her. "Look at me, darling. You are safe. He...that bastard isn't here. He can't hurt you again, Claire. He'll never lay a finger on your again." 

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, tossing it across to her. "I won't let anyone hurt you again, darling." 

"Put the knife down," she whispered, because she couldn’t trust her voice not to tremble. He was fighting, so could she. She wanted to wipe the blood off his lip with gentle fingertips, but she refrained.

"I take it this is some kind of fuck-bunny magic," she said to him, closing her eyes. Her head was filled with him, with the urge to touch and taste and tease. She wanted skin on skin, she wanted the sting of sulphur in her mouth when she kissed him. She wanted to move against him, make him want so much he nearly went out of his mind. She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and bury her hands in his hair and feel the heat of him pressed all along her length.

But the last time she’d let someone touch her, it had come with betrayal and pain. The nerves on her back stung, as if to remind her of what Alex had done to her, how her grace had erased the scars on her skin, but couldn’t erase the scars he left on the essence of her self. She moved away from Cole, still on the floor but putting as much distance between them as she could manage.

The whispers were driving him mad, and his body was already buzzing for her. The thought of those whispers begging and pleading him for more was enough to make him groan lowly, and his head fell forward into his hands to try and block out the barrage of images playing through his mind. 

Whatever it was they'd inhaled, it was affecting him more than he'd like. But some part of him still had control. He couldn't do that to her. He wasn't McCoy. He couldn't harm a hair on her perfect, lithe, damn near glowing body. 

He'd never force her. But that didn't stop thoughts of her willing and writhing from crossing his mind. The thought of tasting every inch of her, worshiping her body as she called out his name...making her forget happily every terrible thing that bastard had done to her. 

His back was turned when the glass shattered, but he couldn’t move in time to avoid getting a lung full of the dust. Sweeping hands motioned for Claire to get back, and swallowing particularly hard he put a bit more power behind the motion, physically pushing her away. He sputtered, choking on the dust for a moment before doubling over. 

Whatever it was, it should have stayed in the bottle. He could feel heat rising in the room already, and his eyes sought out Claire, hoping she’d listened. “Don’t…breathe it in. Get out, Claire. Get out and go…” The urgency bled into his voice as he failed to get upright again, groaning as his vision blurred for a moment. He swore under his breath when it finally cleared. 

Looking up at Claire, his eyes were sheeted entirely black and all he could make out were the finer details of the blonde in front of him. The slight hint of panic in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks…his mind started to drift to where else she may be flushed. 

"Joseph?" She asked, getting a lungful of the dust, She felt her grace trying to fight the magic, but the magic was strong. She saw his black eyes and her heart started pounding; knowing her past, he hardly ever showed his demon nature to her.

"What in the name of hell-“ She began, getting down and reaching to stop him from locking himself in place. The moment her fingers touched the back of her his hand, a jolt went through her and her knees went weak; if she’d still been standing, she would have sank to the floor. She was dizzy, hot, and suddenly aware of Joseph in a way she had tried not to be for weeks: his hands, his shoulders, the slightly purring accent.

"Is it dusty in here?" Claire asked, poking at books and jars of things. "It’s definitely dusty in here."

She trailed after Cole, trying not to disturb anything; she’d lived with a witch long enough to know not to touch the weird jars. or books. or anything. “Uh, what were we looking for?”

She turned in the- whatever this was, work room, store room, library-  trying not to disturb anything. And that was of course why she knocked a jar of something off the end of the table.  The glass shattered, and a puff dust (probably magic dust, oops), rose up in a cloud from Cole’s feet.

His back was turned when the glass shattered, but he couldn't move in time to avoid getting a lung full of the dust. Sweeping hands motioned for Claire to get back, and swallowing particularly hard he put a bit more power behind the motion, physically pushing her away. He sputtered, choking on the dust for a moment before doubling over. 

Whatever it was, it should have stayed in the bottle. He could feel heat rising in the room already, and his eyes sought out Claire, hoping she'd listened. "Don't...breathe it in. Get out, Claire. Get out and go..." The urgency bled into his voice as he failed to get upright again, groaning as his vision blurred for a moment. He swore under his breath when it finally cleared. 

Looking up at Claire, his eyes were sheeted entirely black and all he could make out were the finer details of the blonde in front of him. The slight hint of panic in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks...his mind started to drift to where else she may be flushed. 

Allison managed to tear herself away from watching Joseph put the twins to bed, smiling sadly. They had never really talked about children when she’d been alive; after all the chemotherapy she’d been through they both knew it wasn’t really in the cards for them. 

But it was obvious how much of a natural he was with them, and the twins seemed to like him well enough that they listened to him with little fight. 

He was speaking with Claire now, and she pulled her focus away. It wasn’t her place anymore. As long as he was happy, or he could be happy that was what mattered. 

She knew she wasn’t the only one looking in on the pair cooped up in England though. It only took a thought now for her to find the young woman that looked so like the little girl her husband had just put to bed. Allison had taken to looking in on her, making sure she was doing well. 

For whatever reason, she was still here, and Allison wasn’t about to let her drift away like so many did after arriving. Her friends and family would bring her home; this was’t her place. Not yet at least. 

"The taste is slightly different than on Earth, but I brought drinks. I hope strawberry is alright?" 

She almost didn’t hear Allison, lost in her own thoughts. She was happy for her two friends—they seemed to have found each other, and maybe someone would get a happy ending. 

"Strawberry’s awesome. Thanks." She said, moving away from her spot to join the blonde. "Honestly, I’ve been craving one of these since I got here."

But they’d at least gotten used to just having him and Claire. Gemma stopped by a few times to check in, but otherwise they were left to their own devices. 

But she can live with it. Miracle of miracles, she can still smile and laugh and love Sophie’s children. She can carry on. Will wonders never fucking cease.

The twins were in bed, and Claire had a cup of tea steaming in her hand. She smiled at Cole when he came into the living room; it was his turn to tuck the kids in tonight. She’d never admit that she was extra quiet making tea, when it was his turn, so she could listen to him talk the children to sleep. He was gentle, loving, funny; he reminded her of how her own father had been, before.

"Fancy a cuppa?" She asked, nodding to the cup she’d left by his chair. 

But they'd at least gotten used to just having him and Claire. Gemma stopped by a few times to check in, but otherwise they were left to their own devices. 

"…okay." Claire said, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Her first reaction had been hell no bro because her friend wanted her to pose as the girlfriend for a weekend meet’n’greet with the parents.

Claire doesn’t give good parent. Other people’s parents look at her like she’s one snarky comment away from setting her friends drunk on raspberry cordial or something. When she was in high school, she was the girl breaking curfew and driving to fast and even- brace yourselves- drinking. (The precious snowflakes she hung out with all drank more than she did. So much for a suburban utopia.) She doesn’t know how to be that sweet girl next door because she’s not, she doesn’t have that kind of naivety or sweetness or whatever.

But she could use a huge favor. A favor of epic proportions. So maybe she could do this. For a price.

What are friends for, after all?

At that point he usually lost his temper and stormed out.