Lessons

Dean’s crawl back to consciousness was slow and easy; until the stinging ache to the side of his jaw decided to dance into the ball. And then the strain on his arms made itself known. The young blonde looked up…what the fuck!? Cuffs? He was handcuffed to the fucking shower rod! The last memory he could gather was…oh, Dad picking him up at school…from the principal’s office. Weeelll, apparently he didn’t agree with his oldest son’s skipping his biology semester final…oh, shit, now Sammy was gonna rag his ass too. Ow, fuck, these things hurt and were maybe just a tad bit over reactive. A tad…

“Damn it, Dad, let me out of these!” When there was no reply from the other room, Dean cussed and yanked at the shower bar. “Only freakin’ double-bolted shower fucking bar in the whole freakin’ state of fucking Tennessee.” Goddamn thing wasn’t even shaking, even when the pissed-off hunter swung his whole weight on the bar. SHIT!

“I said I was sorry, what the hell else do you want me to do?” Nothing. “C’mon, my arms are killing me here. Dad?” He was answered by…Mr. Dead Silence. “Errrhhg...Fuck!” Okay, growling and cursing not a big help at escaping handcuffs, but it did make him feel better…a little. Next time he ducked out of a test, he’d make damn sure to keep out-a-site of head-in-their-ass science teachers.

No paperclips, no blade (well, at least he knew his Dad was still out there. He wouldn’t leave his kid helpless and unarmed). Yeah, trying real hard not to think about the helpless part, Dean weighed his options.

One- he could try apologizing again; fat chance, if his father was angry enough to cuff him to a shower, he was pretty sure it was way past time to apologize.

Two- he could beg for mercy and promise to never do it again; nope wouldn’t work, not lying to his family was as inherent to him as the need for air.

Three, and the least appealing- explain why he did it. “Yeah…no, not an option…ever!”

“What was that, Dean? I’m well aware of the value of a higher education, sir. I mean, I realize that an uneducated hunter is next to useless. Any of this ringing a bell, son?” The owner of the sarcastic voice stepped into sight, his shoulder rolling around the bathroom doorjamb. “Answer me, Dean.” His father lounged in the opening, the knife in one hand stroking it across the whetstone in the other. Beautiful.

John Winchester was an imposing man. At 6’2, all broad shoulders and hard muscle, although he didn’t exactly tower over his 16 year old son, it sure felt like it as he stalked over to stand before the apprehensive boy. From his restrained position, Dean could only move a few feet in any direction. The dark eyes which had always defied understanding stared at him with an intensity that made the young man extremely uncomfortable. He struggled to talk his way out of this.

“I...c’mon, Dad, when am I ever gonna use this sh…stuff, anyway? How are math and English going to help me flame a Wendigo or banish an evil spirit? And somehow I missed the sign up sheet for Grave Robbing 101. Don’t know where I was that day…oh wait…I think I was tossing a match on a rotting corpse.” Dean was pretty sure his Dad missed the frustrated sarcasm…yeah, right. Could be, he just didn’t give a damn.

“How are you going to exorcise that spirit if you can’t read the Latin? You’ll only take the cases that speak ‘Midwest twang’? And unless my recall has faded to black, math is an integral part of explosives manufacture.” John closed the distance between he and Dean with a sarcastic smile of his own. He laid the sharpening stone on the corner of the sink; and raising the blade, pressed the tip lightly against the base of his son’s throat.

Deciding discretion was definitely the better here, Dean stifled his automatic fight or flight response…not like he was going anywhere anyway. His knew his father wasn’t really going to hurt him…not with the knife, not for some stupid test. He tried for a subtle flex of his broad shoulders, the long muscles were sore as hell already and there was no telling how long he was here for.

John circled the lean waist with one arm, offering support for a moment. He had plans, and they didn’t involve an exhausted Dean…not at the beginning, anyway. There, that unnecessary arch to his back, confirmed what he had suspected for some time now. He dragged the serrated edge lower, taking care not to mar that golden skin. “Hold very still, son, we’re running low on bandages.”


Shit, shit, shit. Dean fought to hold his lower body (cock, you freakin’ coward, if you can’t even think it…) away from his father’s. Ditchin’ a biology test was ‘where are your priorities’ bad, but sporting a raging hard-on for your Daddy was ’you’re never coming near me or your brother ever again’ depraved. Too fucking late! He could feel the head of his cock pressing at his Dad’s thigh. No way he could miss it…fuck, nooo…this had been a bad fucking idea. What the hell had he been thinking? Should’ve just taken the stupid test. He was so gonna get thrown out on his ass.

Alone, he couldn’t protect them if he wasn’t with them, who’d watch over Sammy if Dean was gone. He was only 12, still just a kid. And his Dad, Sam was too young to take care of the damage the hunt did to him. That was Dean’s responsibility. Real panic wiped the knife from his mind; he bucked his body, desperate to keep his perverted secret.

The hand falling softly on the back of his neck was a shock, to say the least. The ‘softly’ part, anyway. The loving grip steadied his neck against the blade… 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.

One hand still feathering across his son’s scalp, John used the other to ease the trembling in his eldest’s body. Blade still in hand, he rubbed small, gentle circles down Dean’s chest, and up his back until his frantic jerking stilled. On this last pass, his hand continued up the bowed spine, caressing the sinewy biceps, rising to the bound wrists, soothing the burn, but not releasing them just yet. Dean’s low, gasping moans at its progress were punctuated by small, tight, almost unconscious movements of his lean hips.

“Christo.” John chuckled at the bewildered look on his son’s face. “Just want you to be absolutely certain that this is all, and only, me.”

“This?” Hesitant fingers curled down as far as they’d reach, knuckles brushing past cold steel, and linked with his father’s, squeezing. When John squeezed back, Dean cracked, “Um, Dad, if this is only you…what’s the fun in it for me?”

John’s answering grin was anything but fatherly. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you’ll get what you want, but first, there are a few things I need to get clear on before we go anywhere else with this.” He bent over to press a closed mouth kiss to Dean’s lips. “One word answers only, soldier.” Obedient as ever, he nodded “Sir.”

“Did you skip out on that test because you couldn’t pass?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you lying to me, Dean?” He started to answer but the next word out of his mouth was less a word and more a groan…”Nnnn.” The full bottom lip trapped between brilliant white teeth was stained cherry red and swollen. It quivered, begging for more.

John almost hit his knees when the blissed out look on Dean’s face caused the blood to speed double time to his already hyper-sensitive dick. Fuck me sweet Jesus, if a couple of simple touches brought this…God, the need to get inside that sweet perfection had turned lightning quick into a relentless ache throbbing through his entire body.

Licking the mark he’d just sucked along Dean’s jugular as he removed the not-so-fatherly hand from his son’s pants, John groaned in satisfaction. Gripping the boy’s t-shirt, “Don’t move, Dean” he pulled it away from the trembling body and ran the blade from collar to hem, shoulders to cuffs. He dragged the tattered remnants off, laying bare the tanned flesh just begging to be caressed by loving hands. His gaze followed the faint treasure trail his tongue fair ached to follow.

Realizing his hand was now shaking hard enough to make wielding the knife a real danger, he bent over to rest it on the tub’s ledge. He sucked in a quick breath as the angle rubbed his engorged cock against metal teeth, reminding the aroused man why going commando under heavy denim was maybe not the best idea. On the other hand…straightening slowly did have the added benefit of prolonging the time he had to appreciate the tight bubbled curve of ass inches away, tight cheeks flexing rhythmically under the painted on jeans.

Constant swimming that was all the exercise assorted motels could offer had given Dean the perfect build. Powerful shoulders tapering to ripped abs, lean hips spilling to hard muscled thighs and calves. John palmed the heaving pects, and feeling the dusky brown nipples rise to hard pebbles under his twirling thumbs, had a sudden piercing vision of playing until they puckered into 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 in the salty drops bleeding from abused flesh. Not yet…he had to be sure…nothing had ever seemed more important than this moment that could change everything.

He’d been fairly certain of the previous, but now came the crucial question that would determine the relationship between he and Dean. Although, judging from the chest literally heaving against his to the ‘substantial’ “that’s my boy,” he said proudly, bulge twitching under his constricting hand, this answer was just as predictable…

“How long have you been wondering if my dick could really fit in your ass?”

…as the last ones. Trapping the laugh in his throat, John milked Dean through the last few pulses of his explosive orgasm. “Finished faster than I thought there, kid.” He raised dark eyes to meet hazy green…and the urge to laugh died a quick death.

God, the look on his face was so familiar it ripped a hole in John’s heart. He’d seen it too many times in Dean’s short, hard life. Every time he’d heard no, we have to… or because Sammy needs…, the look that begged something, anything, for himself even though the words never touched air. He recognized the blatant fear that once again the shiny toy would be torn out of his hand.

And just like that, what had started as a lesson in control became so much more.


John’s heart was breaking…images of what should have been and memories of what had been were battering through his mind. God forgive him, nineteen years and every other one was that face on his son accompanied by the same words…rearranged to fit an age.

Seconds that seemed like days ended suddenly with an epiphany for John…God wasn’t the one he needed to beg forgiveness from…it was Dean. Words would never be enough, but he could show him…and keep showing until Dean believed it.

He cupped his hand under his son’s jaw, leaned in to kiss that perfect mouth the way he’d wanted to since the moment he’d dragged a protesting Dean out of the car. Two feet inside the cheap apartment, he’d clocked the defiant kid hard enough to knock him out. Christ, he’d looked so young without the usual weight on his shoulders John had almost abandoned his plan, almost.

Now, the hesitant hope he saw shining in hazel eyes made him thank whatever gods watched over wayward hunters that he hadn’t. John let his tongue trace protective patterns across Dean’s throat, blessing and apologizing both. He licked up, over golden stubble, urging. He didn’t try to stifle the sounds he made when swollen lips parted to his questing tongue. Dean’s matching groan tightened John’s jeans, reminding him; although the mechanics of fucking involved little more than tab A into slot B, making love required much more.

He backed away, only to return in a rush, wincing at the resigned sigh that seemed so familiar coming from those lips, it hurt. “No, Baby, don’t. You get to have this.” A promise set in steel, “You get to have this. I promise you, no one will take it away.”

He heard the words, understood ‘em even, but believed them…no way…things didn’t go like that for Dean Winchester. It had to be another part of his Dad’s lesson on ‘why education is good’. Maybe he was supposed to use strategy to spot the trap or psychology to see the lies or something. He couldn’t be what he’d been dreaming of for like, the last year. He wasn’t Sammy, no, big brother only got the leftovers and let everyone think he was happy to take ‘em. He’d learned to live with it, it sucked, but then that was his life.

Dean hadn’t known his eyes were closed against the reality until his Dad ordered him to open them. Then he couldn’t have forced them any wider if he’d asked Malcolm McDowell for pointers. The man was naked! His father was stark, standing tall naked, his cock jutting out proudly from the thick mesh of fur that had sparked that first illicit thought in a hormonally charged fifteen year old boy.

He forced his eyes up, determined to commit every imposing inch to memory, if this was a dream then thank you, Subconscious. His Dad wasn’t moving, talking, doing anything but…staring…at Dean’s crotch. He was fixated on it like a starving stray after a T-bone. Oh, he liked this…and fucking loved the next seconds when his father jerked forward and ripped his jeans open so hard metal buttons were bouncing off the bathroom walls. He felt the jeans being peeled off, his Dad’s hands sliding tight to his skin, following, caressing as they lifted first one foot and then the other, until they both stood as bare and unprotected as the day they were born.

Nope, not believing it, not for me. Dean repeated the mantra in his head, shoring up his own pathetic barriers, but maybe if he thought it loud enough he wouldn’t have to hear his heart break when the inevitable rolled over him. When the stolen fantasy ended…soon…

He watched John drop his formidable bulk to the cold tile (not for me, not believing it), caught his breath as strong hands curled around his shaft and cupped his aching balls (not b…believing it), held it, terrified…and FUCKING PISSED that the friggin’ dream would shatter at the place it always did…where his knowledge ended. The embittered boy begged his traitorous brain, “Wake up, just fucking wake up, Dean (not for me! Not for me!), you can’t dream what you don’t know and don’t get, idiot!”

“Ow, son of a bitch!” Dean jumped, and jerked away from the sharp pain in his ass.
“Why the hell’d you pinch me?” The fact that once again he got no answer really didn’t bother him this time. In fact, Dean was down with the silence to the Nth degree ‘cause he was an understanding kind of guy, reasonable to the extreme, and if his Dad wanted to suck him down to the root, he was willing to hang there and take one for the team.

“Holyfuckingsweetbabyjesuswhatareyoudoingtomedadgooddontstopohgodpleaseiliedidontwannawakeupever!” Enjoying the non-stop talk raining on his head, John relaxed his throat and swallowed the impressive girth deeper. When Dean’s breath began to hiccup and his contributions degenerated to whimpers, hips pumping uncontrollably, John slid his hands around to knead the hard ass, one finger teasing at the tight pucker.

“Stop Dad, please stop…don’t wanna…” John pulled off immediately at the breathless pleas. He tilted back until he focused on Dean, “Oh God, son of a…I’m sorry Dean, I thought…” Christ, what the fuck was he doing, his son…he was doing his son…worse kind of evil…but he’d been so sure. John stood up; sick to his stomach at what he’d almost done to his beautiful boy. He grabbed the key and after unlocking the cuffs, stumbled into the other room with blind eyes.

Too many thoughts bouncing around his brain to focus right away, Dean watched his father careen out of sight. How the hell had things gone from happy, happy, joy, joy to his dad gagging at the sink so fast? Wait, what’d he said…Oh shit! Dean sped out of the bathroom on trembling legs, frantic to catch his father, to explain. Fuck! Where the fuck was he?

“AHHH!” Dean jumped a mile as John popped out of the closet, clutching some clothes that he quickly lowered to cover his crotch. He backpedaled fast but there was nowhere to go that way but the wall. Perfect, thought Dean. His dad obviously didn’t agree. He tried to push past Dean without touching him...something the hyper excited blond was not about to let happen.

Dean may have been smaller but his strength was fueled by desperation. He shoved the bigger man back, yanking at the bundled clothes, but John wouldn’t let go. A silent tug of war ensued, each one trying to gain the needed leverage. Finally, Dean had had enough…”God damn it Dad, leggo! I wanna see it again. I wanna touch it.” With one last jerk, he wrenched them loose. “Yes!” He did the two second touchdown dance and spiked the jeans. “I win!” He grabbed his prize with a triumphant grin.

“Holy shit. Damn it, kid make up your mind.” Frustrated and still a little freaked, John spoke more sharply than he’d intended. Thankfully, Dean wasn’t fazed in the least.
“You didn’t let me finish, Dad. What I was trying to say was I… I don’t want to come til you’re inside me.” His voice sank to a whisper in embarrassment. Hazel eyes gleamed
at him from under mile-long eyelashes that dropped to hide everything, a deep breath, and, “I wanna know what it feels like…when…I mean if…we never do this…’cause you don’t wa…I’d understand, Dad, it’s weird, I know that..that I wanna…” the stuttering explanation ground to halt as John pulled his son tight against his body.

“This is not the only and last time, Dean. Have I ever broken a promise to you or your brother…ever?” He waited quietly for a response.

“No, sir, never. But, I thought, I mean I only said that in the bathroom ‘cause I thought it was just another stupid dream ‘cause…”

“Because I don’t get to have this. It’s not for me? Dean, don’t make me pinch you again.” John stroked a thumb across pouting lips, “Yes, you said that out loud, at least towards the end.” John spoke softly, reassuringly, “Listen to me, Dean, you get to have this. I want to give it to you, but you have to promise me one thing. If the time comes you want it to stop, you have to tell me. I know you, baby, so we have to be clear on this; you promise me you will not keep doing it just to make me happy. Are we clear?” At Dean’s empathic nod, John continued, “Good, now why don’t you take the next step, anywhere you want us to go.”

Dean knew what he wanted but wasn’t sure if it was all around weird, or just Dean weird. Oh well, in for a penny…A red flush washed from his ears to his chest as the man just stared at him, the definition of patience. Dean lowered his body and laid the heavy cock on his shoulder with a little pat, like trying to gentle a kitten. Then he leaned in and buried his nose in the mat of hair. He inhaled the heavy musk. Yeah, it was so much stronger here at this juncture of heart and soul that had produced Sammy and him. It smelled like SAFE. It really did. Dean huffed in satisfaction before he spoke up.

“I saw you in the showers, you know, back at that crappy campground last year. You were scrubbing yourself raw, trying to get the smell off but your arm was busted, and you couldn’t reach it all. After you passed out I finished cleaning you up…and…I…ever since…I couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout…if you smelled like…you…all over.”

John’s body sagged in absolute relief. He wasn’t nuts, wasn’t sick…well, maybe he still was your garden variety sick but at least the son he’s perving on isn’t unwilling…at all. Okay, time to get back on track then. First, the research- John knew his son was something of a teenage Cassanova, with women; but did he have experience with men?

“Dean?” John tipped the pretty face upward, “Have you ever had sex with a man?”

Dean twisted his chin free, a blush painting the perfect features. But his voice was firm.
“Yes, Sir. I just…I had to know what it’d feel like. Dude was cool. He knew what he was doing so it was okay, I guess. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch when he stuck it in even with all the grease he put on it.”

“And after it was in? Did you like it?” John wasn’t really worried about the answer; if it was no, he’d be more than happy to let Dean fuck him, but Hell, he was selfish enough he wanted to be the one buried balls deep in welcoming heat.

Dean stalled…he was afraid if he told his dad the truth he’d stop at blowing him and then he’d never get fucked by the one he’d wanted all along. Aw Hell…he couldn’t lie.
“It never stopped hurting.”

When he saw the protective look forming, Dean rushed to head it off, “but I told him not to stop and sometimes he hit this super cool spot that made me wanna shoot like crazy every time. That was freakin’ aces! It was only a couple months ago and…then I bought this thingy I’ve been…aw c’mon Dad, don’t make me say it.”

“A dildo? You’ve been using a dildo on yourself, Dean?” The exasperated huff was adorable. Oh, this was going to be fun. John was looking forward to furthering his son’s education in something that for once, didn’t involve hunting demons.

He pulled Dean to his feet and pointed, “Baby boy, I want you to go get that dildo, and then hit that bed belly down, ass up and waiting for me. GO!” Once he could see through the vapor trail left in Dean’s wake, John headed back into the bathroom to grab the berry lube from his duffle…hmmm…nah, rimming was for the next time. Besides, he wasn’t sure his control was solid enough to get him through the prep Dean was gonna need…so foreplay was out.

Preoccupied with reciting the multiplication tables in a mostly failed effort at calming his raging libido, John had reached the foot of the bed before he opened his eyes.

Lord, whatever I’ve done to please you, let me continue it to the day you call me home so long as I can keep this.

Dean had followed orders as he always did. He was splayed on his stomach; the two pillows tucked under his hips displaying that flawless ass to mouth-watering perfection. His knees were pulled up, spreading long-muscled thighs wide open to the sides.

God help him, John could have drunk in the angelic vision before him all day. At this moment he was blessed with the absolute certainty his beautiful boy would never go to hell. A merciful God wouldn’t allow his angels to weep from the loss of him.

Suddenly focusing on the quivering hole waiting just for him, John felt, literally felt, the air leave his body…less than an inch of a dildo peeked out from his son’s dusky pucker. A…John collapsed next to Dean, laughing so hard he had the bed shaking…trust his boy to take it there.

“Pink, a baby-pink dildo...oh, oh, oh Dean, have I ever told you I love everything about you.”

“What? It was the only one that didn’t look like sum’n King Kong left behind. C’mon, man, all the boy colored ones were…were…” Dean rested his weight on elbows and held his hands about two feet apart…”and ‘bout half as wide. Freakin’ impossible, it can’t stretch that much…can it?”

“Yeah, it can,” John used his finger to wriggle the…pink, oh…dildo just enough to coax a whimpering moan. “And one day, soon, I’ll demonstrate just how…much…you’re capable of taking in, Dean. Tell me son, in your research, did you happen to come across something called fisting?”

Oh Shit! Only his hunters’ trained reflexes allowed John to grab a hold of the dildo’s end before it was sucked into the spasming hole completely. “Guess that was a yes then, son?” He slid the toy free. Oh sweet, stretched but still tight, perfect.

“Very funny, Dad. Even more hilarious would be spending the day explaining to some ER doc why I have a PINK cock stuck in my ass. Ya gotta WARN a guy before you say sum’n like that.” Dean was quiet a moment, considering; “Yeah, maybe you could…”

“Uh huh, baby. I was thinking more along the lines of showing you from the bottom.”
John rolled to his knees; “But that’s for another day and we never finished your lesson for today.” He positioned himself behind Dean, his cock lined up slick-sliding along the crease.

“I know you want this, Dean, but there is the matter of a skipped test to be dealt with.”
From the frantic squirming John guessed that neither of them was going to last long so he ditched most of his plan, figuring he could get maybe a couple of questions in before he lost it. Lessons on control, right, physician heal thyself. He smiled at the grumbling. “So, let’s have a little biology test of our own.” He licked a long, wet, stripe up Dean’s spine.

Oh, fuck no! He was so close to getting what he wanted and now this shit. Damn, he’d known it was too good to hold true. Dean sighed in pained resignation. He dropped his head to the mattress.

“Fine, let’s get this over with so I can go to bed.” Dean jumped when his dad’s fingers wrapped his cock in warmth. What…?

“First question- what is another term used to refer to the head of a penis?”

“C…crown?” Dean stuttered his answer, falling a little behind events, pretty frickin’ sure this wasn’t on Mr. Grayhard’s test.

“That’s one. And the term for this?”

He pressed against his son’s opening, the head of his cock entering just until it was trapped behind the first ring of muscle. He grunted from the amount of pressure he had to exert. “Fuck, Dean, still so tight, so fucking hot and good. The answer, baby?”

Dean was damn sure he was dying from the pleasure and he was supposed to THINK! “Ummmm…initial pen…penetration. AHHH! Oh, Dad, oh fuck, you’re even bigger…s’good, so good.” He defied the pain, twisted to get access to his father’s mouth. He had to kiss him. Oh yeah, this is where he got the kissing gift from. They sucked, chewed, and tasted until John moved a little too far away and his crown tugged against the rim, coming halfway out, stretching it wide.

“OH GOD! Dad, please…deeper, please move…please?” Dean couldn’t have stopped his hips from rolling back for more if Sammy’s life depended on it. But no shakes, his dad was not moving…fuck, it felt like his damn hole was being branded…it burned! But ‘parently his cock didn’t mind. It seemed happy to just hang ‘round being squeezed by…

John drummed his fingers against the length in his grip, stroking. He knew Dean was in some pain because he hadn’t pushed his head past the second ring of muscle yet but he was enjoying the constriction too much to move just yet…and the test? Hell, maybe he’d just ground the kid. He poised…and thrust!

“Daaaaaaddy!” Oh, fuck! Hold on, damn it, hold on John! Hearing that word screamed with so much joy had the older man seconds from spilling into…his son…God, that was not helping. John tensed his back rigid, fighting the overpowering need compelling him to hammer into the boy with all his strength. Then Dean started talking.

“S’good, so hot, I don ‘member it this good.. Better’n the toy, Daddy, ya gotta move, want more, c’mon, please, Dad.” He was rocking back onto John’s shaft, clenching his anal muscles around it, rolling forward into the fondling fingers, trying to feel everything.

Guessing his dad was taking it easy on him, Dean taunted, “C’mon, Dad, that all ya got? Here, let me up, I’ll go get ya some Wheaties. Nothing to be ‘shamed of, just getting’ old’s all…Fuckin’ Hell, yeah!” He yelled as his body was forced up the bed every time his dad’s hipbones thudded against his ass. This was it, what he’d wanted…oh God, thank you! He yelped when his head was slammed into the headboard. OW!

“OW! Shit! That hurt!” Oops, John laughed as he moved them both farther down the bed. “You okay, baby?” At Dean’s enthusiastic nodding, John tugged his trembling arms over his head and curled his fingers around two of the headboard slats. “Hold on, kid, I don’t wanna have to explain to your brother where the concussion came from.”

Confident that Dean was strong enough to brace them both, John pounded into him, giving up on easy now that he was sure Dean didn’t want or need it. His boy gave as good as he got, every thrust met by circling hips pushing back. He was so close John could see his backbone ripple, lower dip jerking from the strain of holding it in. John stroked faster, plunged harder but slow. Dean only shook his head; hands clenched white on the slats. Muttering…“No, not gonna, don’t want it to end, not yet, not yet, oh please more.”

“Should’ve figured it’d take more than one time to convince someone stubborn as you.”
John slid out by half, got a good grip on Dean’s hips and yanked him back as he shoved in the deepest he’d gone yet, his balls bouncing against his son’s. He held him there, held him through the fire ripping down his spine from the unbelievable…fuck me so tight…pressure squeezing his cock through Dean’s own orgasm. Dean may have started first but they finished together, son’s spasming passage milking his father’s cock even as the father’s fingers did the same for his son.

Sated, they both collapsed to the bed, too spent to move. John brushed his thumb soothingly over the skin soft skin still surrounding his cock, not ready to leave it yet.
Damn, he didn’t want Dean tightening up with him still in there though, so he gentled himself free, talking softly all the time.

Dean turned in his arms, cuddling up tight asking, “You promised? You’re not gonna take it away even when I make you mad? ‘Cause the first time you and Sammy fight you’re gonna get pissed at me again.”

“Undoubtedly. Dean, I can’t promise you anything else will change but you and me, this…” John sighed, not at all sure how they’d do this with Sammy in the same apartment, unless... John had a question of his own, “Why’d you ditch the test, Dean? The rest I can let go, but this is your final. It’s important.”

“I took the practice test and the stupid professor said I cheated ‘cause all my classwork scores showed I was ‘of less than average intelligence’. He told me there was no way I could have got a hundred on my own so I figured why bother doing all the work just to get shot down again.”

Fighting back the spike of rage that anyone would insult his son, John knew from the tone of his voice and the way he held his body, Dean was angry but resigned to taking it on the chin, as per fucking usual. Not this time. He smacked Dean on the butt telling him to shower and get dressed.

“What…why? Dad?” Dean called after him. John turned in the doorway, “You’re taking that test, in front of the whole fucking board if I have to drag them in and tie their asses down. You are the smartest kid I know, and we’re going to rub it that jack-ass professor’s face.”

Dean climbed in the shower, albeit a little stiffly. Damn he was gonna feel today for a week…yeah, heh…but he wasn’t so sure about sitting on hard plastic for three hours. Then again, imagining the look on Grayhard’s face when his dad stormed in demanding a retake panel…oh, shit this was gonna be good!

Epilogue

Three hours and forty-five minutes later, Dean walked out to the parking lot holding the paper that said he was a friggin’ genius…at least in biology. He danced up to the truck window, flapping the test paper, “100 perfect little percents. 285 correct out of 285. What’d ya think about that, Sammy?”

“Lemme see, Dean, lemme see!” Twelve year-old Sam took the piece of paper like it was a lost Grimoire, “I knew you could do it, Dean. You just had to want to.” There was so much pride in his little brother’s voice Dean wanted to cry. Then when little Sammy tucked it into his notebook, making sure nothing bent even a corner, he did.

Later, when he’d stopped blubbering and Sammy was napping on the couch, Dean pressed his father for the answer he’d realized halfway through the panel test (about the time a question ‘bout male reproductive organs came…up)….he’d never really gotten.

“Dad, are we…I mean do you still want to…be with me?” Shit, that didn’t sound like a girl or anything.

John glanced over; making sure Sam was still out cold. Satisfied, he lifted 185 lbs. of perfection onto his lap. “Always, baby, I was just trying to find the best way to do this without having your brother catch us in the act.”

“And how did why I skipped the test have anything to do with that?”

Another glance and John kissed him until Dean was breathing like he’d finished running a marathon. Both sporting steel rods in their jeans, John stood up and carried the young man into the bathroom, kicking the door shut. “Gifted classes for juniors.”

Huh, what? Right, question- answer, didn’t get it. “Gifted classes?”

“They meet for half days four days a week for concentrated learning.” John nudged him back so he could get his hand under the waistband. “So if you can pass the entry tests, we’ll have the rest of the day ‘til Sammy gets home…to ourselves.”

The determined knocking at the door startled them both. “Dad, I’m hungry, where’s Dean?” Dean rolled his eyes, “In here Sam, Dad was just showing me something.”
John groaned as the dancing eyebrow made an appearance.

“’Kay. Hurry up, will ya? I want…” His voice faded away and Dean’s took over, “…to apply tomorrow, I promise.”

Adjusting himself, John muttered a heartfelt, “Thank God,” as he walked to the kitchen, Dean following close behind. “You’re welcome,” full blown smirk in residence, yeah, his life was gonna be so sweet from now on…

The End