Through the Doorway

John wasn’t supposed to be home this early, or at least, he hadn’t been planning on it. He’d tried to stay out of the rooms and out of Dean’s hair ever since Sam had left. He hadn’t brought himself to face the facts really. He didn’t want to admit to himself that Sam might never come back. Maybe if he admitted it to himself it would make it final…and right now Dean couldn’t have final. Alright so, maybe he was staying away from Dean for his own good, and not for his selfishness. Yeah, that was it. And that boy better be damn happy about it. But, now wasn’t the time for that. He needed his son to help patch him up. Dean could take a break from whomever or whatever he was doing to at least do that much.

                John had been out hunting, as per usual, when he got banged up. He managed to kill the damned harpy, but not before she tore a rather large chunk of skin off his shoulder. He’d managed to stop most of the bleeding, but the possible stitches and patching up would take another set of hands. Dean was an expert at that.

                John walked up to the door at a brisk pace. It was October and the air was just chilly enough to be bothersome. The holes in his jacket weren’t helping. It didn’t take long to get from the car, around the corner of the building and to the door. His hand was already on the doorknob of the shadowed wooden plank when a sound caught hold of his hearing. A low groan, a semblance of pain perhaps, rang out from the room. He didn’t think it was a monster or anything, the lamp was on and no shadows were playing across the curtains, at least insofar as he could see. Still, John was careful. He silently turned the knob and nudged the door open a little bit. The sound, a now distinct moan, fell louder on his ears. John leaned into the room, glancing around to see if anything was wrong, what he caught sight of was nothing he was prepared for.

                Dean was naked on his bed, the fingers of his right hand fisted tight in the sheets and his eyes screwed shut. His head was tilted away from the door, and his left arm was almost a blur. Dean was moving something in and out of him, and when he moved his leg, John got a perfect view. John’s breath caught in his throat as he finally caught sight of the large, purple item; a slightly curved dildo pushing in and out of Dean’s ass. From the looks of it, he’d been at it awhile.

                The sight was perfection, but it was the little mewl that Dean pulled from himself that dislodged John from his senses completely. He could feel himself getting harder, and he could feel himself leaking already.  Moving his hand, he pressed down on his growing erection, and shifted so that he could see better. It was wrong, he knew it, but he’d been just as starved as Dean must be…and he needed this too. If only for now.

                Dean arched upward, lifting his hips from the bed when the toy slid past his prostate. John got a brief glance at the tube of lube on the other side of his son before Dean crashed down again. He was moaning even louder than he’d been before. Dean moved his left arm faster, pushing the toy in as deep as possible, and finally he untwisted his right hand and brought it into play. John huffed slightly and stifled his own groan. He’d never seen Dean like this, and he was a Goddammed beauty. He watched, no longer trying to hold back his erection, as Dean’s chest arched forward and his head fell back. His son was close. The curling of his toes as big an indication as the increase of the curses and whimpers falling from Dean’s perfect lips.

                John’s hand dropped farther, sliding against the tented denim and rubbing back and forth. His mind was spinning. He was already thinking of ways not to get caught, but he also knew he had to stay until Dean came. He was sure he could manage that. He didn’t have to wait long. Dean’s right hand was loosing its rhythm, and his left was loosing its speed. Dean’s body was shaking and looked perpetually arched. His neck was stretched taunt and his teeth were tearing into his lip. As Dean began to pass his hand over the tip of his dick, John slid his hand inside his too tight jeans and began to pump.

When Dean came in white hot flash, John followed soon after. Dean, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm and the bitter sweet burn of his body, never noticed the click of the door. He ignored the purr of an engine as his father went back to the car and drove off. John would be back later, and his wounds could wait. But for now he needed to clear his thoughts and get the image of Dean coming out of his mind…or at least buried far enough in his brain so that he didn’t get all hot and bothered when he came home to sleep that night.