“Dad…Christ, this song’s awful. Lemme-“
“Change that song and I’m kickin’ your ass outta the car and letting you walk to Kentucky,” John warned gruffly. Dean grumbled, folding his arms, and sunk back into his chair. After all these years, his father still knew how to make him feel ten years old. The older Winchester glanced over at him and chuckled.
“You know I was kidding, Dean,” he assured while reaching over to ruffle his son’s hair, “I wouldn’t make you walk to Kentucky. Missouri, maybe, but…” He looked over again, expecting his son to be smiling. But something else must have settled itself on the man’s shoulders.
Every once in a while, since Sam left for Stanford, he would get like this: moody, quiet, something sad in his green eyes - his mother’s eyes. The closest thing to them, anyway. John had no way of comforting him, wasn’t used to it, so he simply kept his hand at the younger man’s head, fingers touching the nape of his neck.
“Dad…what’re you doing?”
“You know what I mean,” Dean replied. John’s gaze once again flicked over to him, but this time it lingered. He seemed to realize that he had been tracing circles on the back of Dean’s neck, saw his son fidget uncomfortably, and worse yet - he still hadn’t pulled away.
John Winchester had just let far too much slip. Enough that he wasn’t even sure where it came from.
“Dad, look out!” Dean surged over, gripped the steering wheel tight, and pulled it toward him. They just barely rolled out of the way of an eight-wheeler going 70 miles an hour. They would’ve been bugs on a windshield. John pressed down on the breaks as they darted onto the shoulder, the grass, until they were well into the field. He could have slammed down and stopped them quicker, but the Impala was his baby – long before he’d cradled Dean’s infant head in his arm – and he wanted to strain her as little as possible.
“At least watch where you’re driving,” the younger Winchester groaned, “Jesus, we’ve already fixed this thing three times this month. You think you could keep your eyes on the road for five damn-”
“Shut the hell up, Dean.” The man shut his mouth, looking straight ahead at the windshield. He couldn’t look at his father, not with his hand still holding onto the steering wheel by a few fingers or with his heart beating faster from more than their near collision. For years, longer than he cared to admit, he’d harbored feelings for his father that were more than a son should feel.
It had begun when he caught John walking out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist. His fifteen year old body had stirred at the sight and the older man’s expansive and well-built chest dusted with damp, short, curled hair had only been the beginning. After that, Dean couldn’t help but notice the way his face crinkled slightly when he smiled, the way his hands would warm him over with a simple clap on the back or a quick shoulder grab, or when the younger man took his shift to drive that John would fall asleep beside him, leaning towards him, arms crossed, lips slightly parted…
By the time he turned nineteen, Dean Winchester had it bad. And now, at twenty-five, it had only gotten worse.
“It’s just…been a while since I’ve been with someone,” John began and his son felt his heart rise to his throat. He swallowed it down though, and kept his gaze away from the man. The driver continued, “I guess I miss being close with a woman like that so I started…and without thinking, I…”
“Dad, it’s fine. Now let’s go; there’s a ghost in Kentucky that we need to get rid of,” he muttered, his words spilling out so quick they nearly melted together. His father was staring at him, hard, as he tried to figure out his son. Dean’s attention was set on the fact that he was finding it hard to pull his hand away from the steering wheel. No, that hand wanted to drop to his father’s knee, down his thigh, and grab what he’d only dreamt of catching a glimpse of.
Women were great, he assured himself. He always did. But they were, and he enjoyed having sex with them as much as the next guy. Then, after a night of fun, he’d leave and would never see them again. It was for the better, John had told him. They couldn’t be with the people they loved, not when they lived the life of a hunter.
There was the rub, though. Dean loved his dad. Loved him because he was strong and brave and had these moments where he was the nicest guy Dean knew, and because he was the one who stayed. No matter what happened – Mary dying, Sam leaving– John was always there.
“Alright. Next time we hit a town, why don’t we stop by and have ourselves a break? You could use one too, boy, with all that stress wound up-”
“Forget it. I’ll grab a burger and a beer; you go take care of yourself.” Now Dean managed to pull his hand in to cross his arms.
“You’re telling me that my son is gonna pass up gettin’ some-”
“Jesus, dad, just because I don’t need to have sex left and right doesn’t mean anything’s wrong!” Not tonight, he couldn’t lose it tonight. It was too late, he was too tired, and he could still remember John’s fingers on the back of his neck, almost as teasing as what his whiskey tinted breath would feel like.
“No one said anything was wrong…” John had caught the younger man. He hadn’t expected to tap into Dean’s issue, whatever it was, but congratulations to him he’d cracked some kind of code.
“I’m just…I’m tired, dad. Keep driving, I’ll probably feel up to it in a couple hours.” He could salvage this, no problem, and everything would go back to the way it had been only a few minutes ago.
“I don’t think so, Dean. You tell me what’s going on or I’m really gonna make you walk-”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Then what the hell do you want instead of a woman?” He was expecting Dean to confess to smoking, gambling, drinking more heavily than he had been – something a Las Vegas kind of night could fix.
“You, dad! Fuck it all, I want you!” he shouted and his head turned to face the man. Only a second later and he realized what he’d said. Dean looked back to the windshield, every swear slamming into the back of his eyes, and murmured, “I mean…I just want you to shut up. That’s all. Just shut up…and drive the car.” It was weak, but he didn’t know what else to do. He hadn’t slept in days, hadn’t fucked in twice as long, and he could feel his father’s unintelligible gaze boring holes into him.
“Just fucking drive.”
“You’ve lost a lot because of this life, and I’m the one who pulled you into it.”
“Dad.” It was a desperate plea. He didn’t want to have this heart to heart, didn’t want to taste the rejection starting to coat his mouth. But it was too late, and he didn’t have to look over at John to realize it.
“If that’s what you want, then…let me give you as much as I can.” Dean’s head spun so quickly he was afraid he’d get a bad case of whiplash. But his neck was fine – it was the only thing fine at the moment, actually. Because John was shutting the car off, unbuckling his seat, his eyes never leaving his son’s green hues.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” he asked. Rather than giving him words, the older man leaned over and pressed his lips to his son’s own parted ones. He kissed him like that, gentle and hesitant, for a minute or so before pulling away.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” he said before nearly adding something else. Instead, Dean grabbed his coat in his fists and yanked him back for a rougher kiss. He murmured something against the older lips, but he couldn’t remember, couldn’t care. All he could think about was how wonderful it felt to kiss his father – god, his beard was going to chafe the younger man’s face an awful lot – and then he was unbuckling himself, sliding over to let his father sit on the seat with him, the older man’s calloused hands sliding up his thigh, towards his hardening cock, and when his tongue flicked along Dean’s lip was when the man lost it.
“Dad,” he croaked, losing his breath as his father palmed him through his jeans.
“Son?” John replied, his eyes closed. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but all that mattered was that it was for Dean. After all this time, there wasn’t much he could do for him. So if a few kisses and a handjob could start to make up for keeping him away from a normal life then it didn’t seem so wrong as he unbuttoned the younger man’s jeans.
“Fuck, I can’t believe this,” Dean breathed while lips found their way to his neck. The hand was already done with his zipper, trying to push the material of his pants down enough to stroke his stiff cock through his Hanes.
“Shut up and lean your chair back.” His son obeyed quickly, surprised when John fumbled around until he was straddling his son’s thighs. The hand was still down at his underwear and had begun to tug at the waistband. Dean tilted his head, hoping to expose his neck to more of his father’s burning kisses and his nips. When the man started to suck on his skin, a primal growl passed his lips. He wanted to be covered in marks. In the mirror, he expected to see a line of predatory hickeys – signs that he belonged to his father.
And then his boxers were shoved down with his pants so John could give his shaft fuller strokes. Dean was clinging to his father’s jacket now, up to his eyes in the musky scent of his patriarch.
“Let me take care of you,” John rumbled while his hand hastened until he was pumping the younger man. He liked the groans and moans Dean was making, liked the way he kept licking his lips – it was enough to stir up his own lust until it strained painfully against his own pants and underwear. But Dean was the focus here, and it wasn’t hard to remember that fact.
After he made his boy come, John would drive them to a motel and finish the job.
Because that was all he could do for his son anymore.
And he’d be damned if he ruined that too.
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