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Sam was 14 years old the first time John had walked in on anything more than kisses and snuggling.
He hadn’t been gone for long, and he hadn’t said that he’d be gone for long either. There was no logical explanation as to why they had chosen that exact time to have sex on the couch. They must have known that he could walk in on them at any given time.
Later he wondered if having him walk in on them had been their intention.
When he walked through the door though, John hadn't thought about that. He hadn't thought about anything for the first few seconds actually, hell, he hadn’t even been able to move.
He did know at that time. Knew what they were doing in the dark, behind his back, but he had still been able to repress it, act like it wasn’t true. Looking at them like that though, made it very hard to ignore what was going on.
Dean was lying flat on his back on the small sofa, naked as the day he was born and Sam, Sam was riding him, he was damn well rocking up and down on him and, oh God, he did not want to see that. He couldn’t look away though. All his carefully build up walls and illusions were shattering to pieces around him as he tried to comprehend that that was his Sam, his sweet little Sammy, moaning wantonly while fucking himself down on on his big brother, and that said big brother was groaning, seemingly falling apart under him.
Dean was mumbling, muttering phrases that barely made sense, but the words was clearly making driving Sam even more crazy, incomprehensible or not.
The shock didn’t last long. Mostly, John suspected, because it wasn’t a surprise. He had never acknowledged it, but he was neither blind nor deaf, and he knew what was going on. They weren’t silent when they did this. He’d heard them plenty through doors, but he’d never seen it and he would have liked it to have stayed that way.
What he was surprised about, was that they weren’t hiding, acting normal, like they usually did when John was around to see.
As the feeling of slight shock that had made him unable to move faded away, it was easier to distinguish the words that were being said.
Besides the tell-tale sound of flesh against flesh, and the loud moans that Sam let out every time Dean thrust up into him, John could make out the meaning of the words spilling from Dean’s mouth. It wasn’t that John wanted to hear them, but suddenly he could, and once he'd tuned in on the sounds, the moans, and most of all, the words, tuning out again proved to be damn near impossible.
The entire scene fuelled the feeling of pure revulsion that had settled in his gut the moment he stepped into the room, but hearing Dean almost made him throw up right there and then.
“Oh God Sammy, so fucking tight, so tight for me little boy. You love it don’t you? You fucking slut, so hungry for me, aren’t you? Want me to fill you up, over and over again, want me to stuff you full, God Sammy, never wanna stop, so fucking good.”
It was a never ending stream of praise and threats and pure dirty talk, and Sam seemed to love it. He just moved faster and moaned louder, and it made John feel even worse, made him feel like crying, and that was when he realized that there was no way he'd ever be able to drown that in whiskey.
He could taste bile in his mouth, tears was threatening to spill and that was when he finally regained teh control of his body. He wanted to get out, away, and he took a step back, then another one. He could go to the nearest bar and attempt to distract himself, so that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to go to sleep without thinking about how nothing would ever be the same again. That seemed like a great plan. To try and distract himself with booze and bar fights, and not think about the boys that he had raised and how horribly wrong that had worked out. Not think about what he could have done, what he should have done so that what he was seeing would never have happened.
He kept on walked backwards, tried to get out of the room with an eye on the boys to make sure they didn’t look up at him.
Walking backwards though, also had the the disadvantage that he didn’t know how far to walk until he reached the door. So when his back collided with it, it was with a sound that was loud enough for them all to hear.
There was a second where everything seemed to slow down, and then Sam and Dean turned their heads to look at him.
The look of slight confusion visible on their faces subsided quickly. John’s eyes sought Dean’s by habit. If something was wrong, he always looked at Dean first. Dean would check Sam before he as much as looked at himself or John, so when he got a nod from Dean, confirming that everything was fine, he knew that that applied to Sam too.
As he stared at his oldest son though, he wished he had looked somewhere else. He could see how Dean's eyes began to darken, how the heat in them seemed to become even more intense as he stared back at John. The look on Dean’s face was of someone who wanted to be embarrassed, and knew that they should be, but was way to turned on to feel anything other than arousal.
The hand that Dean had curled around Sam’s cock hadn't stopped moving for even a second, not even while Dean looked at John. Sam though, he had stilled his hips when he turned his head to look at John, and was just sitting on Dean while his hands were dancing all over Dean’s upper body, lightly pinching a nipple, stroking Dean's neck.
Sam didn't take his eyes of John until he reached down to kiss Dean.
It was a sweet kiss, tender and John couldn't hold in the tears anymore.
It didn’t last long. Sam let go of Deans head with a small sigh and turned to look at John again. He looked John right in the eyes, smiled big when he noticed the tears, and then he started to rock his hips again.