Burning

Author: pixel
Title: Burning
Part:1/3
Pairing:Dean/John
Rating: NC17
Feedback: always welcome
Concrit much appreciated and possibly needed
Warnings/Squicks: incest, kink, voyeurism, D/s, spanking, fisting
Beta(s): don’t have one
Summary:~ no spoilers, just some introspection, smut and a little angst. Set pre season-one.



Burning ~ from the inside, part one

I’m going to hell one of these days. I figured out a long time ago that the choices I’ve made and the things I’ve done in the name of vengeance; mean that there ain’t no way the pearly gates will be opening up for me. So the way I figure it, if I’m gonna burn, I might as well enjoy my pleasures while I still can.


And there’s nothing in this world, or the next, more pleasurable than being with my sweet boy; my lover, my slut, my beautiful son. I know exactly how wrong this is, but I can’t bring myself to care any more. It’d be easy enough to assume I took advantage, forced him into something he didn’t want. Truth is I always wanted him, from the time he was little more than a boy.


Wouldn’t have acted on it, at least that’s what I tell myself. Took the feelings, buried them deep inside so he’d never know, never have to face the fact that his father’s a twisted fuck. But he figured it out; he always says he just knew, that he could sense the way I felt, though that seems fanciful to me.


Fifteen he was, the first time he made a move on me; plastering his lips to mine as we cowered in some rain-slicked gully, waiting to kill the monster of the week. I was too stunned to do anything, that first taste of him sweeter than I’d dreamed it could be. When I realised I was enjoying it way too much; I shoved him away so hard he landed flat on his ass. And when we got back to the motel, I bent him over a chair and took my belt to him.


First time I’d done that. I may not have been up for father of the year, but I’d never raised a hand in anger to one of my boys. I figured I could beat it out of him; scare him so bad he’d never try it again. Looking back I should have known it wouldn’t work. Sure he yelled and screamed and cursed; but not once did he tell me to stop.


Told myself I was doing it for his own good, trying to stop him from doing something he’d regret. Tried to ignore how right it felt to see him bent over for me, tried not to listen to the little gasps and moans I was ripping from his body. Most of all I tried to pretend that the whole damn thing didn’t have me so turned on it hurt.


It wasn’t ‘til he stood back up, and I saw he was just as hard as me; that I truly understood how fucked we both were. I’d about beaten his ass bloody, but his eyes held lust and a kind of desperate need. Even now I can hardly believe I had the strength to walk away that night.


Well maybe ran would be a better way of describing it, I packed us up, drove four hours in grim silence and dumped him with Pastor Jim. Then I found the nearest bar and dived head first into a bottle. Didn’t work, no amount of alcohol could drive that image from my mind; every time I closed my eyes I saw Dean, flushed and needy and wanting something I couldn’t afford to give him.


He’d always been more Mary’s son than mine; he’d inherited her sweet, loving nature and her stubborn sarcastic mouth. So it really shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d gotten this side of her too. I’ve never been able to talk about this side of her to Dean. Mothers are forever madonnas to their sons; and I figure if I try to tell him how things were I’ll get a punch in the mouth for my trouble.


He doesn’t want to hear about the way she was for me, doesn’t want to know about the way I could strap her down to the bed and make her cry and plead and beg for more. Doesn’t need to know how much his submission reminds me of hers. No son wants to hear that he got his mother’s kinks along with her eyes.


I still didn’t give in, once I sobered up I figured out a plan of sorts; keep from being alone with Dean and I’d be able to keep my hands to myself. The next couple of years were hell on both of us, he never gave up trying to get me alone, and I grew harder and meaner as I struggled to do the right thing by him.


Then one night just after he turned eighteen he came to me again. But this time he was quiet and serious; none of his usual teasing, tempting games. He just sat me down and told me he was leaving. That it hurt too much, being around me when I hated him. So he was going to do us both a favour and get the hell out of my life. It was only as he stood to go that I realised he was serious, and his last whispered words; Why couldn’t you love me? just about broke my heart.


All the time I thought I was protecting him, and what I’d really done was hurt him so bad that he’d broken. I’d convinced him that I hated him, when the truth was I’d never loved anyone this much. Even what I’d felt for Mary paled next to what I feel for him. The thought of him being gone spurred me into action and before I realised what I was doing I had him in my arms. Kissing him, touching him, whispering desperate words in his ears, pleas and promises; anything I could think of to get him to stay.


I still don’t know exactly what I said that convinced him, but I’m too grateful to care. He was in my bed from that first night, but it took a long time for me to get back all the trust I’d destroyed when I pushed him away from me.


Every time I left, there’d be this look in his eye that said he wasn’t all that sure I’d be coming back. I had to work so damn hard to make him believe in me, believe in us.


He’d push and shove at me, test my control in every way, pushing past the few limits I had left. Always wanting more from me; more sex, more pain, more love. It scares me sometimes, how willing he is to please me. It’s like there’s no line he won’t cross, no depths he won’t sink to, if he thinks it’s what I want.


Like the time he took my fist; and lord knows that was another case of me trying to save him from himself. When he first brought it up I said No in no uncertain terms. I might be willing to hurt him when he needs it, but I’m damned if I’m going to damage him. He went quiet on me, but he stopped talking about it, so I figured I’d got my message across.


No such luck, a couple of weeks later we were stuck in some shitty motel, waiting for a storm to clear so that we could move on. He came out the bathroom, wearing only a towel, but before I could reach for him he asked again, turned out the little shit had been doing research on that crappy old computer we’d picked up. He told me straight out that he wanted it, that he’d got everything we would need and he’d been preparing himself for me.


Then he slapped a tube of some special lube in my hand, dropped the towel and bent over the bed; showing off his perfect ass. I nearly stopped breathing when I saw his hole, stretched impossibly wide round the biggest plug I’d ever seen. Presented with an offer like that, who the hell was I to say no.


I still remember every moment of that night, the way he begged and pleaded with me for more. The look on his face when I folded my thumb and started the last push inside; the way it felt when that tight muscle closed around my wrist. How he thrashed and writhed and tried to make me move, and the sounds he made with every gentle thrust of my fist. He keened and whimpered and moaned, every little noise sending desire rushing through me. And when he came, screaming his release, I followed him over the edge, without ever touching my cock.


Seeing him like that, knowing he is mine completely, is the closest to heaven I’m ever likely to get. It’s in those moments, when he breaks for me and lets me see his soul; that I remember what it means to be happy.


Eventually he settled, seemed to get that I wasn’t going to turn from him again. We both had what we wanted, and it was sweeter than I’d ever imagined. He was mine, to touch, to fuck to punish; it was my every dirty dream come true.


Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t make things easy; he doesn’t give his submission, I have to take it. He kicks and curses and fights with everything he’s got; until that little switch inside him flips and my boy’s ready for his daddy.


Then he’s sweet and compliant, becomes daddy’s sweet little slut, never happier than when he’s getting fucked or spanked. I’ll take him over my knee and he’ll wriggle and twist until the first blow lands. Then as his butt turns red, he’ll start to talk, a litany of pure filth pouring from his mouth. “Please daddy……need you….. want your cock daddy… fuck me daddy…..i’m yours daddy…..your whore…. Your baby…. Please daddy…. Please….”


Who am I to deny him when he begs so very sweetly, and when he’s on his knees, that sinful mouth of his wrapped tight around my cock, I know I’m just as caught as he is. He’s my weakness and my strength; for him there’s nothing I won’t do.


Sometimes I even fantasise about the future we could have. That once we’ve finally killed the demon we can settle down. We could stop hunting, find a quiet town and just live. Deep down I know that’s bullshit, there aren’t any happy endings in the cards for me, but I still have hope for him.


Some day he’s going to have to find another way to live, find someone else to love. Not yet though, for now he’s mine and there’s nothing that could make me give him up. Every moment with him is worth an eternity of fire and I don’t plan to waste a single second of the time we have.

tbc………