Chapter Text
John is screwed.
He’s never been one to become a victim of his instincts, but lately everything has become so fucking unbearable he’s afraid he’s gonna snap soon.
The problem is Dean.
Pretty, lovely, adorable little Dean, who’s growing up to have the plump, lush, obscene cock-sucking lips of a twink porn-star, the bright, innocent, wide-open green eyes of a fucking Disney princess (John’s never seen the appeal before but oh, how he sees it now) and the pert, small, perfectly rounded ass of a underwear ad model.
So yeah, John is fucked.
Especially since Dean, apparently, has a natural talent of turning into maddeningly erotic porn even the most mundane tasks.
Like when he dresses, first shimmying into his way, way too tight jeans, then slowly buttoning his shirt, pink tongue peeking at the corner of his lips, then bending over to tie his shoelaces, firm, apple-round butt in the air for all to see.
Or when he cooks dinner, dancing and twirling around the kitchen on Taylor Swift’s Shake it off, rolling his narrow hips and shaking his ass like it’s his job.
Or even when he eats that dinner, wolfing down the food with filthy noises rumbling in his throat as he licks forks and spoons clean of any trace left, leaving his father try to sit comfortably with a guilty boner hard between his legs…
To all that, add Dean’s natural tendency to submissiveness, the way he bends his head when John comes into the room or the way he whispers yes sir in his sweet, sweet voice, and understand how John is going out of his fucking mind.
His solution, for now, is to go out as much as he can, using his rugged Winchester charm to pick up girls (usually with pink, pouty lips and bright, green eyes) and fuck them into the mattress of their bed, while his boys sleep soundly in the seedy motel he left them at. And it works out, you know. John can release some of the tension and avoid his now so irresistible boy… everyone is happy.
Until, of course, it all comes crashing down.
“You didn’t come home last night,” Dean says suddenly one morning, his tone unmistakably accusing.
John frowns at his boy and his little hands, settled on his skinny hips like an angry soccer mom.
“You never come home anymore,” Dean continues, brows angry and body tensed, and John can’t help but feel guilty at the sad reproach in his son’s voice.
“I… I’m sorry?” he offers.
“Where were you?” Dean asks, green eyes gleaming with defiance.
John sighs.
“I… went to a bar.”
“You left us to go drink?” Dean says, a betrayed expression crumpling his pretty face.
“Not… exactly.”
Dean frowns, apparently thinking.
“Is it about the big hard thing in your pants you sometimes have when I sit on your lap?”
John swallows, mortified.
“Yes, it, uh… that’s it.”
“Do you go find someone to share it with, like you explained to me?”
God, he’s so young, John is going to hell…
“Yes, I do.”
“So you just abandon us to go and make love,” says Dean harshly, using the same expression his father did to explain the basics of sex, but in a painfully wrong context.
“It’s not—” John starts, frustrated. “What I do with these women, it isn’t love. It’s just… fulfilling a need.”
Dean huffs grumpily, clearly not convinced.
“It’s not any more enjoyable to me than it is to you or your brother, Dean, you must understand that,” John pleads. “It’s a simple physical function, but one I have to take care of.”
Dean bites on the inside of his cheek, seemingly pensive.
“Is it better if it's love, though?”
John nods emphatically.
“Yes, yes it is. It definitely is.”
“And does it have to be a woman?” prompts Dean. “A girl?”
John blinks.
“Well, it is easier…”
“Could it be me?” blurts out Dean.
John blinks again, not sure he heard his son correctly or if his fantasies finally got the better of him and threw him in a reality-like pit of madness and temptation.
“What?”
“Could it be me?” repeats Dean, impatience seeping into his voice. “Could it be me instead of those women?”
“I’m not sure you really understand what you’re saying, Dean…”
“Do you love me?”
John’s eyes widen, a horrified feeling squeezing his chest.
“Of course I love you, Dean, you’re my son. Of course I do.”
“So with me it would be love. You just said it’s better if it’s love.”
John tries to talk, but nothing comes out. What is happening?
“Dean, you… you don’t understand.”
“Do they have something special, then? I know I’m prettier,” pouts Dean.
John gulps, his throat suddenly dry at the plush, pink pucker of his son’s pursed lips.
“I’m sure you are,” he admits calmly, “but they have special parts that you don’t have, Dean. A special hole that only ladies have. You remember what I explained about boys and girls? You’re not a girl, are you now, Dean?”
Dean crosses his arms on his chest.
“But I have a hole too, and I know it’s pretty because Coach told me so when he saw me change the other day. Is my hole not good enough?”
John feels a fleeting sense of relief that he’s not the only one to see Dean’s alluringly adorable demeanor, but he chases the thought away.
“Of course it is good enough, you’ll always be good enough, but your hole wasn’t made for taking a man like me,” he explains calmly, trying not to freak out as his discusses his son’s asshole with his son. “You would need to be prepared, stretched and lubed up, it would take time and would probably hurt you…”
Dean shrugs.
“I’m not asking for the specifics, dad. I trust you. I’m just asking if it could be me, if you could use my hole and then stay home and have breakfast with Sammy and me. Would it still be good for you? Would your… need be fulfilled?”
He seems hesitant, a bit shy and so, so eager to please… but John is an adult, he’s a father, he can’t be swayed by his son’s pleading, bright eyes, he cannot… which is why John has no idea what possesses him to open his mouth and say:
“Yes, it would. Of course it would.”
Dean smiles then, blinding and beautiful and what did John just say.
“Awesome, dad,” says Dean with a delighted laugh. “Then tonight you’re staying home. We’re having lasagna and playing Uno with Sammy after dinner, and after you've fucked me you’ll stay for the night. That way tomorrow morning we’ll all have breakfast together.”
With that, Dean leaves the room, and John’s eyes follow instinctively the curve of his pert ass as his son walks away.
What the fuck just happened?