Trust

The door slammed behind him, shutting the world away...shutting his father out. Not that that would last for long.

Right on cue...pounding on the door, orders shouted loud enough to wake the dead...Dean gave a humorless laugh at that one...he was one of the few people in the world who knew just how easy it was to call a rise and shine to the passed.

Fucking orders...nothing's changed, never will. He did everything right, filled the evil bitch full of silver buckshot, saved his old man's life, and what was the first (the only fucking thing) he said after hauling his wounded ass back to the car; "I told you to circle through the woods, not past the goddamn railroad tracks. Next time you do what I fucking tell you or start walking. I can't use a soldier I can't rely on."

Use a soldier...can't rely on...unsheathe the Bowie knife, Dad; at least the cut'll be a little cleaner.

"Dean, open the damned door, now!"

"Fuck off!" Oh shit, did he just say that out loud? So the fuck what? For once, he didn't care. "You told me to walk and I'm walking. See, Dad, I can still follow orders like a good little soldier." His voice cracked on the last of the sarcasm; way to impress the man with your conviction, Dean.

"If you make me shoot the fucking lock off, you're gonna land my ass in a county cell."

"What-the-Hell-ever. Hey, I know, why dontcha call the golden boy to get you out? Maybe he could use it for extra credit 'cause I don't give a shit anymore!" Oh shit, oh shit...he was so gonna get his ass kicked. What was wrong with him today? Maybe the bitch had hit him after all or maybe it was a latent possession or maybe he'd just had all the beating down he could take in this lifetime.

"Dean, open the door, son. We need to talk." That voice, he hadn't heard that 'there's no monster in the closet, all safe now, baby boy' voice for over twenty years. "Dean, please let me in."

"Go away, just go the fuck away, I can't take this anymore. You're right, you can't rely on me, I'm just your son, right, Dad? Well, you go find yourself that perfect soldier, because I'm done!" Words torn from that deep should make ya bleed when breathed life, shouldn't they? Hell, maybe he was already bleeding so bad inside, more was relative.

"I...I'm sorry for what I said, now please, let me in."

He’d hurt his father, scared him enough to apologize. Christ, how fucked up was he, that the apology hurt more than the insult. It was so far past time to get out. But unless he could shave about 4 inches off his shoulders, his only way out was through that door, so…

Too damn tired to lift his head from its resting place next to the door, he simply twisted the knob…trusting his father to take care of the rest. He didn’t even have the strength of spirit left to brace himself for the razor-edged weapons he knew were about to hit him. “Get the berating over with, huh, Dad. I gotta pack. Long dri…walk, ahead.” Shit, guess he’d be sleeping in the friggin’ bus stop for a couple nights ‘til he could hustle up a decent stake for the road.

The hand falling softly on the back of his neck was a shock, to say the least. The ‘softly’ part, anyway. And when fingers begin to card just as gently through the blonde-tipped spikes, well, let’s just say a stiff breeze would have blown him straight through the next two counties.

“Kinda surprised you didn’t take off through the bathroom window.” Palming his son’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the pouting lips John used the other hand to ease the tense (fucking understatement, and whose fault is that) man around to face him. At the look his ‘window’ comment got, he had to chuckle, “Couldn’t fit, hmmm? Guess you need all that extra muscle to compensate for the faux hawk, huh?”

“Dude, I like my hair. I think it looks kick ass.” Pissed again, Dean pushed past his dad to throw the gear in his duffle and fucking escape…at least that was the plan. This, however, was not a good night for plans. Okaaaay, didn’t see that coming…when his father lifted his mouth (good, hot, wet, God, so good) away from his, he clutched at him, not sure who’s grip was the more desolate. What the fuck?

“I love your hair…not so sure ‘bout this ridge thing but…if it’s what you want.” John was desperate to make Dean understand; determined to make him stay…if he had to do this alone…he might as well carve the invitation into his flesh. ’Insanity welcome, this way please’. He was no good with the damn speeches, actions were his way. But he’d try.

John let his hands trail his words, “I love those broad shoulders that kept you from leaving me.” He laid a thumb over the lips, stilling words he refused to hear. “These lips that can call the angels to earth and the joyful spirit that could hold them here for an eternity, never able to break free from its amazing radiance, and never wanting to.”

John blushed, embarrassed by the pretty words, and wondering where the hell they’d come from, as true as they were. “I know that feeling, Dean. I live it every day.” He took a better grip on his boy’s arms, dark eyes intense, as he tried to explain, “But right alongside it…the gut-wrenching terror that one day they’ll take my son because I couldn’t protect him.”

“I am sorry for what I said, Dean. There’s no one else in this world…or anywhere else,” there- a shadow of the cock sure grin Dean seemed to have perfected-“that I can depend on to be there for me as much as I know you will be. No matter what I do or say, you’re always there to watch my back.” He didn’t even attempt to control the breaking pain in the whispered words, “I almost shot you, baby boy, I wasn’t expecting you to come from that direction…please…understand. I ride you so hard because one day you and your brother will be alone and I need to know I did everything…taught you everything you need to survive.”

Oh, God, so that was it…the mind numbing fear that you couldn’t protect…that no matter what you did, how good you were…someday it wouldn’t be enough. Christ, he knew that feeling, alright. He went to sleep with it and greeted it every day right along with his morning wood. Dean’s body finally relaxed while he let the revelation melt the pain away…no guarantees tomorrow wouldn’t bring another fight but the sweet, if weird coming from his uber-male father, words his father had given him tonight would remind him of why…that was good enough for him.

“I get it, Dad, but you need to trust me too, trust that there’s some things, not many, but some things I can do better. I may not be a fucking A+ student anymore, but I know the things that matter.” He pressed hands strengthened and scarred from years of training by this man he idolized, flat to his heart, “I swear I am not an idiot. There was no time for a heads up, I knew your position and exact line of fire at all times, and I knew more about the enemy than she did about her surroundings. Yes, I altered the plan on my own, but only because I was 100% sure I was right. I remember everything you’ve taught us and so does Sammy, you just gotta trust your training to stick. We do.”

“I can take care of myself…and you, old man.” Dean sucked in a deep breath as he remembered the man’s injuries still needed to be taken care of. “C’mon, Dad, st’down, I wanna get a better look at those cuts.” He maneuvered them both to the only chair in the room. Kneeling between his father’s legs, he ruefully mused, John must really be messed up ‘cause he was following every order Dean gave him…shit!...more air sucked deep as that thought spiked the blood straight to his dick.

John heard the sharp indrawn breath at the same moment he felt Dean’s cock twitch against his thigh. Well, well…seems his dominance kick might be inherited after all. Interesting; since the night he’d consigned his soul to the ninth level of Hell in exchange for the wicked joy of spilling his seed inside his eldest son’s hot, perfect ass, Dean had been sweetly submissive every time John had been too weak to keep his perverted desires reined in.

Reaching to drag the boy to him, John had a flash to the night’s hunt…he’d frozen, brain screaming STOP! But the trigger was pulled and the bullet launched…straight at Dean’s unsuspecting back…or so he’d thought. Christ, if he’d listened to the man the moment he’d signaled for a consult, but shit, he was tired and not thinking straight. Dean had seen the iron tracks and realized the fucker was trapped on three sides, meaning it was not what they’d come to kill.

All it took was one shaft from the crossbow and she’d gone down. John’s bullet wouldn’t have done fuck-all. Dean had saved his life and all he’d got for it was an angry kiss-off. Despite this, and knowing what Dean had said tonight was right; he still didn’t have the bone-deep certainty that he needed to change things. Maybe…if the boy could take charge…

He leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs wider, offering himself up to the young hunter. “Whatever you say, son.” John just hoped the look on his face was as debauched as he felt right now.

Oh fuck me, praying he was reading this right…(he took a few fast seconds to do just that, didn’t really believe, but figured…it can’t hurt) Dean murmured in his best ‘fuck me’ voice, “You’re the only man I’ve ever been with, Daddy, and you always do the fucking. Can I? I want to know how hot it is in there after I’ve fingered every ridge, caressed and pressed so deep inside you’ll feel my touch on your spine, made lightning spark over every nerve…there’s so many for such a small, tight space, did you know that, Daddy? Soft spots and even some that tickle. Yeah, yeah that’s what I’m gonna do, I’ll show you all of ‘em, it’ll feel so good when my cock scraaapes over each and every one.”

The whole time he was talking (taunting) Dean hadn’t moved one inch closer; now he closed the distance between them and raided his father’s mouth, plundering all its riches, taking what he wanted and giving back only the same. He held John’s hands trapped under his, not allowing any contact but their lips.

If he didn’t stop talking right-the-fuck-now, John was going to abandon the program and fuck the boy senseless on the nearest surface. Those damn hips were swaying; making little pumping motions…fuck…John would lay every cent he had on the table that Dean wasn’t aware he was even doing it. Then he got a good look at the smirk (there it was, in all it’s sexed up glory) on his face and realized he’d lost the wager. Where the hell was the yes, sir son he’d raised?

“Christo.” Eyes wide, Dean reared back, then collapsed on the floor, hysterical laughter bubbling out. John added his own to the room as he watched his boy rolling ‘round, arms grasping his heaving sides. Dear God, more please; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Dean laugh. He snorted the word back at John, tears streaming.

“Okay, that did it, I’m dead now. Good one, Dad. C’mon, we really do need to get those taken care of.” Sporadic giggles still escaping his throat, Dean considered half a minute, “Bathroom…it’ll be easier to wash the blood off the tile than the carpet.” He helped the older man to his feet and throwing an arm ‘round him, led the way.

He’d been planning to do a quick clean-and-stitch, but when John stripped the shirt over his head, and Dean saw the dirt and unmentionables smeared over and in the wounds, he knew more was called for…and hot water…cascading over the planes of his father’s powerful body…soap that might just…slip out of his hands…oh, yeah…

“Shower, Dad. I need water pressure to get that shit outta there.” He turned back from adjusting the temperature to see the trouble John was having. One particularly nasty scratch at the hip was pulling as he tried to get his jeans off.

“Here, let me help.” Dean knelt on the hard tile and pulled the muddy boots off. Tossing them to the side, he literally peeled the jeans down, getting harder at every new bit of flesh exposed to his hungry stare…Sammy could bitch all he liked…there were advantages to too tight jeans besides being the ultimate chick magnet…his Dad’s engorged cock was doing the happy dance at being released from its prison.

John groaned as the cool air brushed over his throbbing dick, damping the fire just a bit. “Thank you , bab…” he stopped, no baby…this was the man in charge.

Standing, eyebrows raised at the aborted word, Dean backed up so John could climb into the shower. He kept one eye on him while he stripped his own clothes off. Seemed steady enough…but better safe than sorry.

John tipped his head back, letting the hot water wash away the grime and blood (his blood, Thank God, not his son’s). So worn out, he didn’t even flinch when he felt Dean step in beside him.

The younger man turned him, putting his back to the wall. Strong, knowing hands kneaded their way down his weary body, soaping the last of the dirt, fingers gently probing the wounds, thoroughly evaluating the damage.

“Looks like you got luc…off pretty easy, Dad, none of these are gonna need stitches. I’ll slap some Neosporin on ‘em and you’ll be good to go.”

“Always am with you around, son.” He felt a burst of satisfaction at the ‘well, duh’ expression that brought to his son’s face. Number seventeen in the Dean Winchester ‘no big deal, do we have to talk about it’ repertoire of expressions designed for maximum avoidance. And that was possibly the last completely coherent thought John was to have for approximately the next ten minutes.

Now sure that his father’s injuries were not serious, Dean decided it was safe to end the night with a bang…or at least a fairly explosive orgasm. Pressing close to the soap-slicked body, never breaking eye contact, he slowly slid down ‘til he was kneeling before this man he loved in so many ways…anticipation growing at the thought that tonight he was adding one more.

Seeing the lust spill into Dean’s eyes, blowing his pupils, the shining green totally eclipsed by the black…John took his own cock in hand and used the weeping tip to paint those pouting lips until they glistened. He licked his own as that perfect mouth closed over the head. “Uhhnn…fuck, so fucking good at this, better than the best Hanoi whore.”

Teeth scraped over the sensitive bundle under the crown as the wriggling tongue swept circles around it, pressed flat against the heavy pulsing vein. Dean swallowed an inch more, wrapped one hand ‘round the base, using the other to fondle his Dad’s heavy sack. Taking another inch, swirling spit, slicking the length, still cradling the living weight on his curling tongue, giving his throat a minute to get used to the stretch, he heard the blissed out pleasure in the words raining down on him.

“Deeper, need more, please, please, all of me, God…Dean oh, oh fuck…this is…you don’t have to do…this was supposed to be for you…gah…yes…like that…just…”

Oh it is, Dad, it was…Dean fucking loved making the man come undone like this, loved the brief feeling of power it gave him to watch the dangerous soldier crumble into a boneless pile of mush. Time to finish this though…so much more to do, so little lube.

The world cracked. He was swallowed whole…the moaning and humming; sensations from the fluttering tongue driving him crazy…rippling through the tight skin behind his balls, he could feel it in his asshole, electric build at the base of his spine, so close he could taste…John cursed in frustration when his balls were pulled down and that sinful mouth withdrew…the tip of Dean’s tongue darting out to lick at the line of spit still joining them together…uuugghh…

“Uh huh, not yet…we’re doing this my way, ‘member?” Dean smirked at the fierce glare his father shot at him. He rose to stand tall and proud; determined to see this through all the way...and damn the consequences. “I don’t want you to come ‘til I tell you too, understand?” He pulled at John’s sack once more, just to get the point across, “Tonight, these belong to me.”

Helpless, stuffed full…of his son…groaning at the images, he thought ‘I am going to Hell on the express train’, but what he said was, “Yes, Sir. Understood, Sir. My balls belong to you, Sir.!”

Dean’s face flushed even redder, coloring his neck and chest, bleeding (always blood in their lives now) to purple as it trailed to his swelling cock. Yeah, he liked this. Liked it a lot. He needed to get them horizontal as soon as possible, like now.

“On the bed, soldier, yesterday.” They stepped out, foregoing the towels. No point in drying off when you were just going to get sweaty again. John went first, letting Dean appreciate the view. And it was a very nice view. He was a forty- five year-old with some heavy living on him but you would never know it from looking at the sinewy body sculpted by years of self-enforced training. The powerful shoulders that barely tapered to the waist, broad ass that was anything but fat, with heavily muscled cheeks he couldn’t wait to spread apart.

John turned when he reached the foot of the bed, waiting for further instructions.
He had to admit, this role reversal was turning him on more than he’d thought it would. He stood tall, damned proud of his hard body, that Dean sure as hell seemed to be appreciating.

Oh, shit…Dean was sporting a full blown smirk …this should be interesting. He held his hand up, then inverted it, spinning one finger counter-clockwise; the universal sign for
‘uh uh…turn the other way’. Ookay…the seasoned vet did so with a trace of hesitation that was obviously picked up on by the younger Winchester.

“Don’t worry, Dad, you’re gonna love this. Cross my heart.” Dean worked quickly now, before his father could change his mind. He urged him down and arranged him with little pushes until he had the man practically spread-eagled on the cheap-ass sheets every mid-west motel must own stock in, his cock in a vertical line down over the edge. “You know, for this to be really special, we should have pink satin sheets.”

John was almost too absorbed in trying to find a comfortable spot to nestle his aching hard-on to register his son’s comment…almost. “Pink?”

“Pink. Perfect against your skin tone.” Dean pretended to consider it, “Maybe hot pink.”

John shook his head, “From now on, no more cable. I knew you were paying way too much attention to that ‘Queer Eye.”

Dean’s laughter came less often lately but when it did it was completely uninhibited. Sometimes John thought it was the only sweet thing left in his world now, especially now that Sam was gone. Bittersweet...if his youngest hadn’t run away, he and Dean would never have turned to each other for comfort. They wouldn’t have this… thing… that neither of them seemed capable of giving up.

“Never bottomed for anyone I’m guessing, Dad?” At the nod, Dean smiled reassuringly.
“S’okay, I’ll take my time, want it to be perfect.” He knelt and bending over the edge, placed his hands on his father’s ass; his thumbs just skimming the pucker one to each side, rubbing softly up and then down his crease. Each time he touched the rim he pushed just a little, getting his dad ready for penetration.

Funny, he’d always thought the whole rimming thing was plain gross, but now, staring at the rosy hole, he maybe understood why they did it. Bet it felt really good, what with all those nerves he’d teased his father about. But figuring that might be pushing the envelope for John, he decided to double-check his parameters.

“Don’t talk, just nod. Tonight is all about me giving the orders, right?” A nod. “And you following them?” Another nod. “Good, then I’m ordering you to keep an open mind.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean stuck the tip of his tongue to the quivering hole…bleh! He didn’t like that…but the little jump his Dad’s hips made told him he did. That and the fact that his ass was still where Dean had put it, and not halfway back to Kansas. Okay, so a little taste of ass might not be so bad…right. Oh, well, promising his tongue the mouthwash was close, Dean commenced operations.

Oh, oh…this is so wrong; his son just licked (LICKED) his asshole. John should have been traumatized, not struggling to keep his ass still. He had about a second’s warning before the wet little muscle came darting back in…and around…small tight circles and long, wet licks along his crease. Fuck, fuck, fuck…now he was humping the friggin’ bed, God, if Dean didn’t stop soon, order or not, he was gonna blow. John didn’t even care that he was begging…the hell with pride!

Ever the soldier, John needed the permission he’d agreed to wait for.“Stop. Dean, you need to…to stop. I can’t hold on…I…please, baby, I need to come so bad, please let me come.” Still licki…his hips jerked so far off the bed, his balls were dangling free.

His tongue…his son’s tongue, was so deep in his ass he could feel the soft lips pursed around it. Oh fuck…that smart-ass tongue that had caused him so much trouble before was laving his prostrate! ”IF YOU STOP NOW, I’LL STUFF YOU IN THE TRUNK AND PLAY YOUR BROTHER’S TAPES ALL THE WAY BACK!”

Not one to ever ignore a threat like that…Dean gave one last, long lick from the hole to his balls and leaned back on his heels, grinning in satisfaction at a job well done…his normally taciturn father was doing a very good job of communicating. Whoa, was it even possible to fit a .45 there? “Nice one, Dad, but do you really think you should be putting those kind of idea in my head right now?”

John growled his frustration into the mattress, he fucking hated this submissive shit, hot or not. And if the kid didn’t get on with it fast, he was going to show him how much he hated it.

Dean gripped his father’s hips tight, he could see how much it was costing to hold himself still; his arms were corded from the strain and the veins in his neck looked ready to pop. Maybe love wasn’t a word he heard from the man often, but sometimes actions said it better.

“Roll over, Dad; I want to see your face.” Dean eased the turn by taking the man’s cock in hand and lifting it away from his body. Once his father was settled back, he released it with a gentle squeeze. He stood up to grab the lube from the duffle where he’d thrown it earlier that night. When he once again faced the bed, Dean was struck dumb by the look on his father’s face.

His son was absolutely breathtaking. John had no difficulty in seeing why women, and more than a few men, went crazy for the man. He wanted to kiss and suck and slam his mark onto and into every beautiful inch. He wanted to run his tongue over the flat pink nipples until they puckered into the hard little nubs he could bite and nurse at ‘til the sun set. Licking his lips, his mouth started watering; he could almost taste the copper as the salty drops bled from the abused flesh.

“Dean, I need you here, please boy, c’mere.” John was reclining on his elbows, gazing intently at the beautiful man standing on the wrong side of the room, his cock at full salute. Dean’s lips were moving…he said something, but John was so absorbed by the thought of what that impressive member was going to do to his ass, he missed it.

"I didn't catch that, Dean. Say it again."

Green eyes suddenly clouded with pain, begging for what, he had no idea, Dean squared his shoulders and demanded, "I said, call me baby boy."

His gaze softened at the yearning in those simple words, “I want you here with me, baby boy. In my arms. Please?”

The heart skip hearing those words brought took two seconds, at three he was sailing across the room, hell bent on smothering the man with all the 6’0 length of his body. Pressing down as hard as he could, trying to sear their bodies together so no one could ever leave, Dean buried his face in the crook of his father’s neck. He inhaled the smell of gun oil and strawberries that was uniquely his Dad’s. He didn’t care how pathetic it was; he needed this, just for a few minutes, that’s all.

Snuggling in closer, breathing deeper, eventually his dick’s demand for attention eclipsed his need for comforting, not that he was in any mood to argue with it. Sitting up, he straddled his father’s stomach, hands buried in the thick thatch of salt ‘n’ pepper hair covering the powerful chest. He leaned over to offer his nipples, knowing the kick sucking them raw gave his old man. Mmmmm…yeah, good, so good.

Absorbed by the taste of apples, John inhaled deep, licking and biting at the sensitive skin. He knew from experience just how susceptible Dean was to nipple play. Couple times he’d come from this alone. Taking what he offered was not out of line with the game plan for the night.

John relished the silent vibrations he could feel coming from his son’s throat…Sammy may have looked more like a cat but it was his older brother who did the purring. Whoa, John shook his head to clear any memory of his youngest, there was no place for him now.

Dean jerked as his father worried the nub his teeth were fixed in…fuck, he arched into the pleasured pain, any other time he’d be happy to let it go on all night, but not tonight.
He gripped his father’s shoulders, pushing at them until the man released his prize, growling a muffled promise, “Later for this boy, I’m going to suck these until they bleed for me.”

Dean couldn’t agree more, but later, much later. He had plans…and they involved blowing his father’s mind so good he’d demand a replay. He urged his dad to slide farther up the bed, then gripping both ankles, he planted them flat to the bed.

“Dad, I warded the room before we left. It’s still good, the blade’s under the pillow and my shotgun is right next to the bed.”

“And your point, Dean?”

Here goes…”Payback, handcuffs, completely at my mercy, stuff like that.” Quick, duck and cover, Winchester! Waiting for it…nothing? “Dad, did you…”

“I heard ya, boy, and I’m just wondering if the plan was for me do it myself?”

Oh, o,o,o…he was back from the bag before he’d left, cuffs dangling, smiling like the serpent himself. So excited his hands were shaking, Dean stretched his Dad’s arms over his head, securing one with a quick kiss, then the other. Oh, yeah.

“Okay, Dad?” Dean couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if a thousand killer gnomes were landing on his ass. “I’m gonna get you so wet I’ll slide in slicker than a dream.” Dean didn’t bother going back for the tube he’d dropped. “And I’m gonna do it sans lube, Dad.”

His dad wasn’t the only one who could pretty his words up, but all the same, seeing the wary look on John’s face he pitched his words low to calm, “C’mon, Dad, trust me; I’ll make this amazing for you…I swear I’ll make you feel so good you’ll beg me to fuck you every chance we get together.”

John watched as Dean hit his knees and ducked his head. Damned if his hips weren’t actually wriggling with anticipation. Yeees! That sweet little muscle must have come straight from Heaven. And…oh, shit…something else was rubbing against his balls, tickling the underside of his dick…aw, hell…”Oh, yeah, like that, I like that.”

Dean mumbled what sounded like ‘thanks’, obviously unwilling to stop what he was doing. John had absolutely no problem with that, never stopping was good for him. Son of a bitch! His cock was begging for attention he couldn’t give it with his fucking hands cuffed! Fuck, what the hell was that tickling at the underside of his aching shaft.

Man, a guy could really get into this. His Dad’s hips were working like a pivot’d been installed in his lower back; hips thrusting his ass, trying to get Dean’s tongue deeper, then rolling ‘em down, rubbing at…what the fuck, ”Dad, are you humping my head?”

“No. Dean, never change your hair again.” Fuck, those stiff feathers felt like little fingers running up and down his over-sensitized cock. Sweet! “Dean!”

Surging to his feet, Dean grabbed hold of his father’s cock, so swollen it was purple.
“Okay, Dad, now.” It took all of three firm strokes to send the come spilling into his cupped hand, “Perfect.”

John repeated the word with the last breath he could manage as Dean coated his own beautiful dick with the seed he’d coaxed from him. Long, sure strokes that took long seconds to travel the length of it; the thick, swollen, pulsing length of it.

“Dean, baby boy, please?”

Oh, but he was in the mood to tease and he wanted his father hard again, wanted him begging for relief when their sacks started slamming together, begging him for it. He let the corner of his mouth quirk, knowing it drove John crazy, “What’d ya need, Daddy?”

“You, I need you in me.” John yanked at the cuffs, more than a little pissed at himself for agreeing to being restrained. “I fucking need to touch you!” Oh Hell no, the boy was doing the lap dance thing, presenting his dick like the desert course of the night. The blood hit his cock so hard it jumped.

“Yeah, that’s what I was waiting for.” Dean propped his body over John’s and slowly lowered his hips, letting their erections rub together a few tantalizing seconds, thoroughly enjoying the moans, groans, and nearly unintelligible pleas spilling from the writhing man trapped beneath him.

His fingers made a quick return visit just to make sure his dad was open and still willing…yep, good to go judging by the fact he had to fight the suction to get ‘em out.

Dean pressed the head to the hole and pushed; set to be gentle, he nearly killed his father when his whole dick slid home like a well-oiled bullet. “Holy shit! Sorry, Dad, ya must be a little more relaxed than I thought.”

John oomphed once more as Dean levered off him with hands splayed against his belly.
“No…uhhng…problem, boy, but ya maybe wanna…unnn…fuck, baby, move.” He took his own advice, lifting and wrapping legs tight around Dean’s waist…God; the burn was turning sweet, the pressure changing from uncomfortable to Oh, My God More!

“Move, move, move.” John whispered, almost to himself. He opened dark eyes to see Dean staring down between them, licking at his bottom lip. John followed his gaze knowing exactly what Dean was feeling.

Dean watched as his thick shaft disappeared into heaven inch by pulsating inch. He couldn’t believe how tight, how fucking hot it was in there. Burning walls pushed and pulled at him, working a perfect counter to his rocking. He’d been so close already no matter how much he wanted this to last; Dean knew he was seconds from shooting.

“Uhhnnngh.” John’s powerful legs squeezed his son, stilling him, “Dean, say the word, baby, its yours anytime you want it, my pleasure.”

That did it, that fucking did it! Dean lost control, pounding into his father, fucking his mark deep in the man, every thrust punctuated by a growl, “You’re mine, this is mine. Listen to me, gotta trust me.”

John yelled promises he knew he could keep, his boy was no child. “I promise, fuck, Dean, love you, promise!” Oh, Lord…fucking into the tunnel Dean formed ‘round his cock, his ass clenched as his body let go. Nnnnn, it felt like every cell in him was coming, “Deeeeaann! His bellow filled the room, almost drowning out Dean’s yell.

His muscles went rigid with his NEED to come, his back locked; buried balls deep in a vise, Dean exploded with a scream, hips pumping slower and slower as his Dad milked every last drop from his fading cock.

Matching grunts echoed while the men slowly fell back to Earth, both sucking air in heaving gasps. Dean had heard the words, but he needed to hear them again, now and forever.

“Did you mean it, Dad? Are you going to let me help you?” He was talking to his father’s hairy chest on account of he was dead- only reasonable explanation for the total lack of bones in his wasted body.

John wasn’t much better, throat raw from yelling, his own muscles twitching like they’d been put through an industrial sausage press. “I’m not promising we won’t butt heads or that I won’t expect you to follow my orders.” He felt the sated smile folding into a frown.

“No, don’t do that, son, smile’s back I am giving you my word right now, I will listen to you. If I ever treat you like a dumb grunt again, I’m giving you permission to kick my ass to hell and back, fair?”

“Can’t I just put the cuffs back on ya?”

“Back?”

“Ah, hell, sorry.” Dean grabbed the key and unlocked the metal bracelets. Pulling his Dad’s arms down, he massaged the pins and needles away, cooing endearments the whole time.

John tugged his exhausted son down to lie beside him, “Okay, baby, I’m good, just wanna sleep.”

“’Kay, Dad. Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Cool as you letting me fuck your ass is, you were still a jerk.”

“I know. I was tired.”

“Right, that’s a great apology, Dad.”

“Three days of no sleep…”

“Oh yeah, sorry, sir. Guess it was really rude of me to sleep in the back…oh, wait, I was the one driving.”

And four hours later the sun rose to the sound of bickering lovers.


The End