june prompt: 23 - buttons
:)
heeeeey a million years later i filled this!!! thank you for sending it (and the delicious mary prompts)!!!
this can also be read as the latest chapter for "tender like a bruise" if anyone is interested in reading on ao3/commenting.
It’s hotter than sin in Austin, Texas, and Dean can’t fucking stand it. The humidity only compounds his discomfort, and as John drives them back to the motel, Dean can’t even take pleasure in their successful salt-and-burn for how miserable he is so soaked in sweat.
In the driver’s seat, John seems wholly unbothered by the weather. His forehead shines with perspiration, but still he hums along with the tape player and taps along on the steering wheel. It makes Dean madder, John’s decent mood, and every tippy tap of his father’s fingers lands in his ears like a blow from a hammer.
“What’s your problem?” John eventually asks, looking sideways at his son like Dean’s problem isn’t already obvious.
“I’m hot,” he snaps back.
He half expects John to cuff him on the back of his head for his tone, but John only quirks a brow. Dean counts himself lucky, and is determined to keep his temper in check from here on out. He thinks as long as he doesn’t open his mouth, he’ll be fine. John’s not usually the chatty type anyway.
Still, it doesn’t take long for Dean to break his own rule when John wordlessly pulls into a Whataburger drive-thru.
“What are we doing here?” Dean certainly feels too hot to eat.
John doesn’t answer. Doesn’t speak until he’s at the window to order.
“Two of your biggest cups of ice water,” he says. “And two large cokes.”
Oh, Dean thinks. He makes himself take a deep breath and wills his anger away. He doesn’t want to waste John’s tenderness on a shitty attitude.
John pays for and collects their drinks at the second window, handing the heavy cup tray to Dean to hold. “Drink that water first,” he says firmly, and Dean nods.
The ice water is a revelation that beats back the heat with every swallow. Dean feels it travel down his throat, burning an icy trail that’s almost painful for how fast he drinks it, but he can’t find it in himself to stop.
“Slow it down, sweetheart,” John mutters as he pulls into the motel parking lot.
Dean wipes at his lips and nods. He’s already got the edges of a brain freeze. Still, he’d take the brain freeze over the wretched heat any time.
“Carry the drinks; I got the bags,” says John before exiting the car, and Dean follows suit with his precious cargo in hand.
At least, he tells himself, the motel room has air conditioning. It’s a piece of shit machine, but it gets the job done, and as Dean steps into the room he feels himself relax a little further. Anything is better than the muggy heat from outside, even the muggy coolness of a poorly serviced AC unit.
“Are you feeling better?” John asks as he follows Dean into the room.
Dean’s cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Yeah. Thanks.”
John nods. “I know it’s fucking miserable.”
Dean sets the drinks down on the nightstand and sits on the bed. “It doesn’t seem to bother you.”
John shrugs. “It doesn’t hit me like it hits you.”
Dean tries not to feel like a failure for being touchy about the weather, but even that’s difficult when he’s as worn out as he is. The job had been easy enough, but the heat had taken most of Dean’s fight out of him, and he feels like a wrung out rag despite the simplicity of the hunt. And the fatigue makes him sensitive, much as he wishes it didn’t.
John knows it, always has, and he snaps in Dean’s face to knock him out of his internal spiral. “Cut that shit out.”
Dean sighs, leaning his head back. Then he nods. “I know, I know.”
John grabs one of the cokes out of the tray and presses it into Dean’s hands. “Sugar for my sugar,” he says.
“Oh my god,” Dean mumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Never say that to me again.”
John snorts and sits on the bed beside Dean, his own cup of water in his hands. “Since when do you make the rules?”
He leans into Dean, head tilting.
Dean leans in too, eyes closing. “Since you started saying shit like that.” Their lips meet.
With cold, sweating cups in their hand, things don’t get too heated. Besides, Dean’s still feeling wiped out. He does feel better, though, for the water and AC and John’s mouth against his own.
“Lay down,” John murmurs a few minutes later. He puts his cup back in the tray, and then takes Dean’s and puts it back, too.
Dean does as he’s told, laying on top of the blankets and looking at John through half-lidded eyes. He watches as John moves to fit himself between Dean’s legs. His hands slip under the hem of Dean’s shirt, making the muscles of his stomach flutter.
His fingers push up the fabric, exposing Dean’s stomach and chest, nipples hardening at the touch. Dean closes his eyes and lets John do as he pleases, hands roaming where they will. He gasps when John’s beard scratches against his right pectoral, lips taking a nipple gently between his teeth. Dean’s hands go immediately to John’s hair, pressing him further against his skin.
He sighs when John unlatches and pulls back, forcing Dean’s hands to let go of John’s locks. John’s arms go to either side of his torso, caging him in, and Dean readies for another kiss as John’s face lowers to meet his own.
“Haven’t tasted you in too long,” John whispers against his cheeks before connecting their mouths.
The kiss feels almost as transformative as the ice water had. John’s tongue is deft as it slips into Dean’s mouth and licks against his own, and though he isn’t hard, he moans in pleasure as John grinds his hips against Dean’s.
Dean is still too hot and worn out to get it up, but he enjoys the solid length of John through his jeans anyway. Loves knowing John finds Dean’s body so arousing, even when he doesn’t feel particularly sexy himself.
“Up for anything?” John asks softly.
Dean’s hands drift to John’s sides. “Not right now.”
John leans in and kisses him again. “That’s okay.”
John adjusts himself so he’s sitting back on his heels. He pulls off his shirt, and leans back over Dean to help him tug his own top off given his reclined position. Then his hands go down to the button of Dean’s jeans.
Dean watches as John rubs at the small round of metal, the pad of his thumb circling the edge of it, toying with the idea of slipping it through the button-hole. Dean thrusts up gently in encouragement.
“Are you going to play all day or actually help me undress?”
John gives him a look. “Thought you weren’t up for anything?”
“I’m not,” Dean says with a grin. “Just like pushing your buttons how you’re pushing mine.”
John huffs at that, and then presses the palm of his hand against Dean’s crotch. Dean’s cock fills feebly, still hobbled by fatigue.
“How’s that for button-pushing?” his father asks.
Dean groans. “Come on, Daddy.”
“All right, all right.”
Finally, John works Dean’s button open, then moves to release Dean’s zipper. He rests his hands on Dean’s thighs and rubs the muscles there.
“Feels nice,” Dean says, eyes closing.
“Yeah?” John murmurs. “You want these on or off?” He hooks his fingers under Dean’s boxers.
Dean pushes up on his elbows. “Off.”
He wants to feel John, skin to skin.
He watches John finish undressing him, removing his boots and socks, tugging down his pants and underwear. Then he gets naked himself and lays back on the bed.
Dean’s still a little warm, but he doesn’t let that stop himself from pressing up against John. They’re both sticky with residual sweat and gritty with grave dirt, but it’s worth it for the closeness.
“You did good today,” John says, voice gone soft with his own growing tiredness.
Dean smiles. “Learned from the best.”
A quiet snort from John.
“I think you’ve earned a nap,” John whispers.
“You, too,” Dean slurs, already feeling sleep overtake him.
“Me, too,” John agrees.
And so they settle in to rest.
