Steam
Title: Steam
Pairing: John/Dean
Rating: NC/17
Warnings: dub-con, control issues, parent/child
Summary: John is delusional. Dean is fucked up. So, business as usual.
Written for salt_burn_porn but not within the timeframe for posting. Alas.
“Hey.” John reached across the truck’s front seat to palm Dean’s cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Dean stretched, groaning a little as his shoulder joint popped. He sat up slowly, letting his jaw slide from his father’s touch with one last small, catlike, rub. “Just a little stiff. Hopefully the shower at the motel isn’t crap and I’ll be able to work out some of the kinks before I hit the rack.”
“You did good back there,” John said and Dean sat up a little straighter.
“Did you see that thing light up?” he said with a grin, soot from the ashes they’d scattered streaked across his nose and the odor of charred meat clinging to every bit of both of them.
Dean’s smile was like whiskey burning down John’s throat as the road hummed beneath the truck’s tires. Sam had hit the road for Stanford six months ago and that breathtaking smile hadn’t been seen much lately. It was beautiful, almost intoxicating in its rarity and John shifted in his seat, fighting the need to just seize the moment. He could wait until they got back to the room, until Dean was ready for that shower he was craving. Well, they both needed one and if Dean didn’t object, John would join him under the hot, pounding spray and maybe they could both get their kinks out.
The room was dank and chill, frigid air seeping through the cracked glazing of the windows. Extra blankets filled the shelf in the closet but John planned on warmth from other sources tonight. He hadn’t chosen this motel by accident. The showers here were first rate for some unfathomable reason; unending hot water and pressure like a fire hose. The only thing better than a long soak under the oversized shower head would be fucking Dean into the grimy beige tiles while his muscles went lax in the heat and steam.
John checked and stowed the ordinance while his son replenished the salt lines before groaning and collapsing into the room’s only chair. As Dean bent to unlace his boots, John’s dark gaze followed the broad, curving line of his back, still hidden under layers of checkered flannel and tattered cotton. The barrel of the shotgun might have snapped closed with more force than John was originally intending as Dean headed for the bathroom, but it had the desired effect when Dean looked back over his shoulder and caught his father’s eyes.
Dean hesitated for a heartbeat then turned back toward the bathroom door. John waited silently. Dean would either continue on like nothing happened or he’d do an about face and see what his father had in mind. Either way worked for John. If he didn’t get an invite, he’d wait to take his own shower and the opportunity to jerk off. If he did, he’d join Dean and they’d both work off some tension. It was always Dean’s choice. John had never once forced the issue.
The breath Dean let escape was silent, his head bowed slightly and his shoulders dropped. Good. His boy was already starting to relax.
“You comin’ in?” Dean asked, low and rough, turning to John with a twisted smile. He was flushed and trembling and John licked his lips, already tasting that freckled skin on his tongue.
“Oh, I’ll be along,” John said with a slow smile. “But don’t you think you’re a little overdressed for a shower?”
Dean’s mouth opened then snapped shut as he tilted his head toward the bathroom. “I was gonna…”
“Be a much better show if you stripped out here.” John slid the shotgun into the weapons duffle and set the bag by his bed. “Better yet,” he murmured, crossing to Dean. “Why don’t you let me do it for you?”
Dean was already tugging up the hem of his t-shirt, exposing a strip of taut belly but John could see pain flit across Dean’s face as his injured shoulder protested the movement. One quick step brought him near enough to grab his son’s wrists, squeezing them tightly until Dean’s hands released the death grip they had on his shirt.
“I said,” John whispered, leaning so close his breath ruffled Dean’s hair, “let me do it.” It took a few seconds longer than John would have liked, but Dean relaxed in his grip, dropping his hands and his gaze. John didn’t let go right away, just to make his point, but soon he was slipping Dean’s shirt over his head, good arm extended, before sliding it down over his hurt shoulder. Dean shuddered a little, but his father just enjoyed the sensation and the view of Dean’s nipples perking up in the chilled air. The rough calluses of John’s thumbs caught on the peaked nubs and Dean let out a soft gasp. “Half way there,” John murmured pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck.
Dean fumbled for the snap on his jeans, and John stepped back, letting him go for it. He’d like nothing better than to lower that zipper one snick at a time and slide his hand in to cup warm, soft flesh, but he knew how much Dean loved to strip for him. It would be selfish to not let him do at least part of it. The jeans opened with a soft pop and the zipper slid down, a little too fast John’s taste.
Goose pimples dotted Dean’s arms and he shivered as he ran his hands up and down them a time or two before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, he lowered them, catching his boxers too, until the jut of his hip was showing. Pausing, he looked up at his father through his eyelashes.
John took a seat on the nearest bed, legs spread to accommodate the erection straining his jeans. “Don’t stop now, kiddo,” he murmured.
With one more downward tug and a slight shimmy of hips, the jeans puddled around Dean’s bare feet. John took a long moment to drink in Dean’s beauty, gaze lingering on the muscles of his arms, the tight cut of his belly and those long, strong legs. His eyes came last to Dean’s cock, still small and soft in its nest of curls. John ran a slow hand over the bulge in his own crotch and Dean flushed. It was yet another thing John loved about his boy; the pink blush that stained Dean’s skin, highlighting all those beautiful freckles. John just smiled. Dean was a slow starter but his daddy always brought him home eventually.
John kicked off his own boots and peeled off his clothes in record time. He wanted to get under the spray of hot water before the cold had a chance to sink further into Dean’s bad shoulder. John reached for Dean’s hand, twining their fingers together as he led the way into the bathroom.
The water was just as hot and pounding as John remembered and the floor of the tub was rough, non-skid, just exactly right for what he had in mind. Ashy rivulets streaked downward for the first few minutes as they stood under the spray, John scrubbing Dean and then himself until the water ran clear. John lathered up Dean’s hair next, running his fingers through the dark, soapy strands, tugging on it to pull his boy close for a kiss. One heavy hand bent Dean’s head under the flow to rinse and only a smidgeon more pressure would put the kid on his knees. The moment stretched out, Dean not resisting but not giving in either until John relaxed his grip, hand following the flow of water down Dean’s back to slap his ass.
John leaned Dean against the yellowed tiles and kissed him, hands tight on Dean’s waist. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.” John’s voice was honey over a heated blade. Dean obeyed and his father’s grasp found his hips, pulling him back, angling his body until his arms were only slightly bent. Dean’s right arm shook at the pressure on the sore joint and John gripped Dean’s wrist and slid his arm down, trapping it inside his own as he wrapped around Dean’s waist. “Right there. That’s it.”
Dean’s back was a tense line and John rubbed his palms in slow circles over rock hard shoulders. His own tight muscles were relaxing in the heat but Dean’s must have had more stress on them after the hunt than his father realized. Digging in hard with his thumbs, John massaged down one side of Dean’s back and up the other until Dean let out a soft, shuddering groan. John’s hands dropped at the sound and slid to Dean’s waist again, cock riding the crease of his son’s slick ass.
“I’m sorry, baby.” John nipped at Dean’s ear. “Daddy hasn’t forgotten what you really need.”
Dean’s breath hitched, his body, in spite of his father’s best efforts, not remotely relaxed. John’s hand wandered down, sliding around Dean’s thigh and back up. He bit back a sigh, rolling Dean’s balls gently in his palm. Dean was stiff and rigid everywhere except where he should be. “All those waitresses you tomcat after don’t complain about how much work it takes to get your motor running?” Dean shook his head in sharp denial, and John huffed out a soft laugh. Obviously they knew what he knew. His boy was worth the wait.
John pressed against Dean’s thighs and smiled against his neck when they obediently parted. “Good boy,” he whispered and Dean shivered beneath his touch. Skin already pink with heat bloomed a bruise as John fastened his lips against Dean’s throat, teeth meeting to draw blood to the surface and John was beyond ready. Dean would just have to catch up. Wouldn’t be the first time John had to start and finish for both of them.
Careful not to jar Dean’s bad arm too much, John turned his boy toward him, slid his hands down to grip Dean’s ass and hoisted him up the slick tiles until they were face to face. “Legs around my waist, sweetheart. C’mon now, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, thighs separating as he maneuvered himself until his ankles were crossed behind John’s back, just above the curve of his ass.
“That’s my boy,” John rumbled as he crooked a finger under Dean’s chin raising his son’s bowed head until their eyes met. Dean’s lips parted as the rough pad of John’s thumb brushed across them and he leaned in for a quick kiss, Dean’s mouth soft and giving against his. John’s hands wandered lower, fingers drifting lightly over taut nipples and circling down Dean’s ribcage to land with a heavy double slap against his hips. “Time to get this show on the road.”
Dean let out a soft gasp as his father manhandled him into position, and John grinned in anticipation of the sounds he’d make once his sweet spot started taking the pounding it was about to receive. Blunt fingers traced the curve of Dean’s ass, sliding into the crack to probe Dean’s hole. “Haven’t done this in a while. Gonna be tight and nothing but water to slick our way, but we’ll go slow and easy and you’ll loosen up real nice for me, baby, just like you always do.“
Dean drew a deep breath in and let it out again as the head of John’s cock nudged its way inside. “That’s it, sweetheart. Relax.” Short, steady thrusts worked Dean open, inch by inch, his gasps a soft counterpoint to his father’s harsh grunts until John’s balls press against Dean’s ass and he’s stopped, frozen by the sensation of his dick buried in Dean’s tight flesh. John dropped his head to rest against his boy’s. He could stay here all night.
As Dean shuddered in his father’s grasp, the jerk of his hips made an end run around John’s control and slow and easy flew right out the window. Feet braced on the floor, firm against the swirl of hot water, John pressed Dean harder against the wall and began to slam into him, the breathy, almost hurt moans that escaped Dean’s throat spurring him on. Stamina wasn’t ever an issue on the rare occasions he fucked Dean; he always did his best to make it last, make it good for his boy. Tonight the water started to run cool before he finished, coming with a smothered scream, mouth buried against his son’s neck.
“’s cold, Dad.” Dean’s teeth practically chattered as he sagged in his father’s arms and John swore as he noted Dean’s pallor and the blackened bruise spread across his shoulder.
“Shit, Dean, why didn’t you say something?” John pulled out faster than he meant, grimacing at Dean’s pained hiss and slowly guided his boy down until he was standing in front of him. “We didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“Wanted to.” Dean’s reply was almost inaudible as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “It was a good hunt today. You know, the two of us, working together. We should do that more often.”
“Can’t always,” John said. “You know that.” He didn’t miss the subtle change in Dean’s expression before his face disappeared in the threadbare towel he was using to dry his hair. “But I think I can find a hunt or two that I’d need a hand with in the next little while.” Dean’s soft exhale of relief didn’t go unnoticed either and John grinned behind his son’s back. Keeping Dean close while he healed would be good for both of them. He slapped Dean’s ass as he headed back into the bedroom. “C’mon, dry off and get into to bed. Daddy’ll finish up what we started in there.”
He turned away, pretending not to see a repeat of Dean’s gorgeous flush but he’s not going to pretend he didn’t notice Dean’s cock only half hard when they’d finished. A nice, slow, hand job was in his boy’s immediate future and John knew they weren’t going to hunt together long term, but Dean was right that there were things they needed to do more often.
Pairing: John/Dean
Rating: NC/17
Warnings: dub-con, control issues, parent/child
Summary: John is delusional. Dean is fucked up. So, business as usual.
Written for salt_burn_porn but not within the timeframe for posting. Alas.
“Hey.” John reached across the truck’s front seat to palm Dean’s cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Dean stretched, groaning a little as his shoulder joint popped. He sat up slowly, letting his jaw slide from his father’s touch with one last small, catlike, rub. “Just a little stiff. Hopefully the shower at the motel isn’t crap and I’ll be able to work out some of the kinks before I hit the rack.”
“You did good back there,” John said and Dean sat up a little straighter.
“Did you see that thing light up?” he said with a grin, soot from the ashes they’d scattered streaked across his nose and the odor of charred meat clinging to every bit of both of them.
Dean’s smile was like whiskey burning down John’s throat as the road hummed beneath the truck’s tires. Sam had hit the road for Stanford six months ago and that breathtaking smile hadn’t been seen much lately. It was beautiful, almost intoxicating in its rarity and John shifted in his seat, fighting the need to just seize the moment. He could wait until they got back to the room, until Dean was ready for that shower he was craving. Well, they both needed one and if Dean didn’t object, John would join him under the hot, pounding spray and maybe they could both get their kinks out.
The room was dank and chill, frigid air seeping through the cracked glazing of the windows. Extra blankets filled the shelf in the closet but John planned on warmth from other sources tonight. He hadn’t chosen this motel by accident. The showers here were first rate for some unfathomable reason; unending hot water and pressure like a fire hose. The only thing better than a long soak under the oversized shower head would be fucking Dean into the grimy beige tiles while his muscles went lax in the heat and steam.
John checked and stowed the ordinance while his son replenished the salt lines before groaning and collapsing into the room’s only chair. As Dean bent to unlace his boots, John’s dark gaze followed the broad, curving line of his back, still hidden under layers of checkered flannel and tattered cotton. The barrel of the shotgun might have snapped closed with more force than John was originally intending as Dean headed for the bathroom, but it had the desired effect when Dean looked back over his shoulder and caught his father’s eyes.
Dean hesitated for a heartbeat then turned back toward the bathroom door. John waited silently. Dean would either continue on like nothing happened or he’d do an about face and see what his father had in mind. Either way worked for John. If he didn’t get an invite, he’d wait to take his own shower and the opportunity to jerk off. If he did, he’d join Dean and they’d both work off some tension. It was always Dean’s choice. John had never once forced the issue.
The breath Dean let escape was silent, his head bowed slightly and his shoulders dropped. Good. His boy was already starting to relax.
“You comin’ in?” Dean asked, low and rough, turning to John with a twisted smile. He was flushed and trembling and John licked his lips, already tasting that freckled skin on his tongue.
“Oh, I’ll be along,” John said with a slow smile. “But don’t you think you’re a little overdressed for a shower?”
Dean’s mouth opened then snapped shut as he tilted his head toward the bathroom. “I was gonna…”
“Be a much better show if you stripped out here.” John slid the shotgun into the weapons duffle and set the bag by his bed. “Better yet,” he murmured, crossing to Dean. “Why don’t you let me do it for you?”
Dean was already tugging up the hem of his t-shirt, exposing a strip of taut belly but John could see pain flit across Dean’s face as his injured shoulder protested the movement. One quick step brought him near enough to grab his son’s wrists, squeezing them tightly until Dean’s hands released the death grip they had on his shirt.
“I said,” John whispered, leaning so close his breath ruffled Dean’s hair, “let me do it.” It took a few seconds longer than John would have liked, but Dean relaxed in his grip, dropping his hands and his gaze. John didn’t let go right away, just to make his point, but soon he was slipping Dean’s shirt over his head, good arm extended, before sliding it down over his hurt shoulder. Dean shuddered a little, but his father just enjoyed the sensation and the view of Dean’s nipples perking up in the chilled air. The rough calluses of John’s thumbs caught on the peaked nubs and Dean let out a soft gasp. “Half way there,” John murmured pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck.
Dean fumbled for the snap on his jeans, and John stepped back, letting him go for it. He’d like nothing better than to lower that zipper one snick at a time and slide his hand in to cup warm, soft flesh, but he knew how much Dean loved to strip for him. It would be selfish to not let him do at least part of it. The jeans opened with a soft pop and the zipper slid down, a little too fast John’s taste.
Goose pimples dotted Dean’s arms and he shivered as he ran his hands up and down them a time or two before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, he lowered them, catching his boxers too, until the jut of his hip was showing. Pausing, he looked up at his father through his eyelashes.
John took a seat on the nearest bed, legs spread to accommodate the erection straining his jeans. “Don’t stop now, kiddo,” he murmured.
With one more downward tug and a slight shimmy of hips, the jeans puddled around Dean’s bare feet. John took a long moment to drink in Dean’s beauty, gaze lingering on the muscles of his arms, the tight cut of his belly and those long, strong legs. His eyes came last to Dean’s cock, still small and soft in its nest of curls. John ran a slow hand over the bulge in his own crotch and Dean flushed. It was yet another thing John loved about his boy; the pink blush that stained Dean’s skin, highlighting all those beautiful freckles. John just smiled. Dean was a slow starter but his daddy always brought him home eventually.
John kicked off his own boots and peeled off his clothes in record time. He wanted to get under the spray of hot water before the cold had a chance to sink further into Dean’s bad shoulder. John reached for Dean’s hand, twining their fingers together as he led the way into the bathroom.
The water was just as hot and pounding as John remembered and the floor of the tub was rough, non-skid, just exactly right for what he had in mind. Ashy rivulets streaked downward for the first few minutes as they stood under the spray, John scrubbing Dean and then himself until the water ran clear. John lathered up Dean’s hair next, running his fingers through the dark, soapy strands, tugging on it to pull his boy close for a kiss. One heavy hand bent Dean’s head under the flow to rinse and only a smidgeon more pressure would put the kid on his knees. The moment stretched out, Dean not resisting but not giving in either until John relaxed his grip, hand following the flow of water down Dean’s back to slap his ass.
John leaned Dean against the yellowed tiles and kissed him, hands tight on Dean’s waist. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.” John’s voice was honey over a heated blade. Dean obeyed and his father’s grasp found his hips, pulling him back, angling his body until his arms were only slightly bent. Dean’s right arm shook at the pressure on the sore joint and John gripped Dean’s wrist and slid his arm down, trapping it inside his own as he wrapped around Dean’s waist. “Right there. That’s it.”
Dean’s back was a tense line and John rubbed his palms in slow circles over rock hard shoulders. His own tight muscles were relaxing in the heat but Dean’s must have had more stress on them after the hunt than his father realized. Digging in hard with his thumbs, John massaged down one side of Dean’s back and up the other until Dean let out a soft, shuddering groan. John’s hands dropped at the sound and slid to Dean’s waist again, cock riding the crease of his son’s slick ass.
“I’m sorry, baby.” John nipped at Dean’s ear. “Daddy hasn’t forgotten what you really need.”
Dean’s breath hitched, his body, in spite of his father’s best efforts, not remotely relaxed. John’s hand wandered down, sliding around Dean’s thigh and back up. He bit back a sigh, rolling Dean’s balls gently in his palm. Dean was stiff and rigid everywhere except where he should be. “All those waitresses you tomcat after don’t complain about how much work it takes to get your motor running?” Dean shook his head in sharp denial, and John huffed out a soft laugh. Obviously they knew what he knew. His boy was worth the wait.
John pressed against Dean’s thighs and smiled against his neck when they obediently parted. “Good boy,” he whispered and Dean shivered beneath his touch. Skin already pink with heat bloomed a bruise as John fastened his lips against Dean’s throat, teeth meeting to draw blood to the surface and John was beyond ready. Dean would just have to catch up. Wouldn’t be the first time John had to start and finish for both of them.
Careful not to jar Dean’s bad arm too much, John turned his boy toward him, slid his hands down to grip Dean’s ass and hoisted him up the slick tiles until they were face to face. “Legs around my waist, sweetheart. C’mon now, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, thighs separating as he maneuvered himself until his ankles were crossed behind John’s back, just above the curve of his ass.
“That’s my boy,” John rumbled as he crooked a finger under Dean’s chin raising his son’s bowed head until their eyes met. Dean’s lips parted as the rough pad of John’s thumb brushed across them and he leaned in for a quick kiss, Dean’s mouth soft and giving against his. John’s hands wandered lower, fingers drifting lightly over taut nipples and circling down Dean’s ribcage to land with a heavy double slap against his hips. “Time to get this show on the road.”
Dean let out a soft gasp as his father manhandled him into position, and John grinned in anticipation of the sounds he’d make once his sweet spot started taking the pounding it was about to receive. Blunt fingers traced the curve of Dean’s ass, sliding into the crack to probe Dean’s hole. “Haven’t done this in a while. Gonna be tight and nothing but water to slick our way, but we’ll go slow and easy and you’ll loosen up real nice for me, baby, just like you always do.“
Dean drew a deep breath in and let it out again as the head of John’s cock nudged its way inside. “That’s it, sweetheart. Relax.” Short, steady thrusts worked Dean open, inch by inch, his gasps a soft counterpoint to his father’s harsh grunts until John’s balls press against Dean’s ass and he’s stopped, frozen by the sensation of his dick buried in Dean’s tight flesh. John dropped his head to rest against his boy’s. He could stay here all night.
As Dean shuddered in his father’s grasp, the jerk of his hips made an end run around John’s control and slow and easy flew right out the window. Feet braced on the floor, firm against the swirl of hot water, John pressed Dean harder against the wall and began to slam into him, the breathy, almost hurt moans that escaped Dean’s throat spurring him on. Stamina wasn’t ever an issue on the rare occasions he fucked Dean; he always did his best to make it last, make it good for his boy. Tonight the water started to run cool before he finished, coming with a smothered scream, mouth buried against his son’s neck.
“’s cold, Dad.” Dean’s teeth practically chattered as he sagged in his father’s arms and John swore as he noted Dean’s pallor and the blackened bruise spread across his shoulder.
“Shit, Dean, why didn’t you say something?” John pulled out faster than he meant, grimacing at Dean’s pained hiss and slowly guided his boy down until he was standing in front of him. “We didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“Wanted to.” Dean’s reply was almost inaudible as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “It was a good hunt today. You know, the two of us, working together. We should do that more often.”
“Can’t always,” John said. “You know that.” He didn’t miss the subtle change in Dean’s expression before his face disappeared in the threadbare towel he was using to dry his hair. “But I think I can find a hunt or two that I’d need a hand with in the next little while.” Dean’s soft exhale of relief didn’t go unnoticed either and John grinned behind his son’s back. Keeping Dean close while he healed would be good for both of them. He slapped Dean’s ass as he headed back into the bedroom. “C’mon, dry off and get into to bed. Daddy’ll finish up what we started in there.”
He turned away, pretending not to see a repeat of Dean’s gorgeous flush but he’s not going to pretend he didn’t notice Dean’s cock only half hard when they’d finished. A nice, slow, hand job was in his boy’s immediate future and John knew they weren’t going to hunt together long term, but Dean was right that there were things they needed to do more often.