LOOK! GUILTLESS BIRTHDAY PORN!
Jul. 22nd, 2008 04:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityOMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SHINY, SPARKLY GIRL! bigfiction ILU LIKE DEAN LOVES MULLET ROCK AND SAM'S COCK. I was totally going to spend all day making this awesomely awesome birthday post filled with random facts about your special day, such as did you know you and Rufus Wainwright share a birthday? But I decided to write porny mcporn-porn instead. Hope that's okay with you.
Title: Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/John
Rating: ADULT LIEK WHOA, best stay away kiddies.
Words: 2648
Disclaimer: Yes, the title is a Dylan Thomas poem. No, the Winchesters are not mine.
Summary: John sees.
Author notes: Um, this is porn, kids. Shameless, guiltless, birthday porn for my sparkly girl, bigfiction. Dean is 20, Sam is 16. So if that bothers you, you know. RUN. Now, like.
John sees.
He sees what his boys have become, what he's turned them into, what they do behind closed doors, stolen moments in libraries, the way they look at each other when they think he's not looking. But he is.
Looking.
He sees how much they love each other and it kills him.
+ + +
Sometimes, leads gets scarce and money gets tight and John has to get a real job, settle into a routine with an apartment, and go to parent-teacher conferences like a normal, everyday Joe. The smile on Sammy's face everyday when he walks in from school, backpack slung low on his back, scribbled all over with magic marker and white-out, its just almost enough for John to say, "Fuck it, just fuck the damn demon," and be that Regular Joe.
But then Dean gets suspended for fighting again and John's nightmares come back, the ones where he's burning, burning forever, and he can hear the sounds coming from the boys' room, and John realizes its way too late for normal.
+++
Its so fucking overwhelming sometimes, the way Dean is with Sammy, the way Sammy looks at Dean; its so fucking much that John can't take it, just yells at them to go fucking DO something, just go.
He thinks about them sometimes, usually after a long night with Johnny or Jose, usually when he's too fucked up to properly care; he thinks about how they'd look, all wrapped up in each another. He thinks about Dean touching Sammy's face all tenderly, rubbing his thumb over Sam's lips and kissing him, slow and deep, Sam moaning when Dean pushes his tongue inside, licks into Sam's mouth like John's seen him do with countless girls.
One night John finds himself with his eyes shut tight, the picture of his boys, a tangle of limbs and sinful sounds bright in his mind, hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off until come splashes between his fingers, on his belly, staining the bedsheets.
He cries himself to sleep that night and the boys think its just another nightmare.
It is.
+ + +
"Quit it, Sam. Dad's in the next fucking room. Clean your gun, Jesus."
"So?"
"What d'you mean, so? Are you retarded? Have you been huffing the gun oil or something?"
"I don't care if he finds out, Dean. Seriously, what's he going to do? Separate us? Of course not, he won't even let me walk to the Circle K alone."
"No, Sammy. Just....no, okay?"
"Uh-uh. Not okay."
"Sam-"
"Do you know how hard I am right now, Dean? Having to sit here and watch you clean your guns, like Daddy's little soldier."
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? That's what you are. You're a good soldier too, Dean. You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?"
"Shut the fuck up, Sammy. I mean it-"
"Would you suck his cock, Dean? Would you?"
"Sam."
"You would, wouldn't you? You'd get on your knees for Dad and suck his cock and let him come all over your face if that's what he wanted to do-"
"God dammit, Sam!"
"Wouldn't you?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I would."
"Boys! Dinner's on the table."
The thin window panes in the house rattle as John slams the door behind him, leaving a note on the kitchen table next to a box of fried chicken, the word "Out," hurriedly scrawled across the paper.
+ + +
John's feeling better about everything when he makes it home a couple of hours later, lifting his boots sluggishly up each porch step, but carefully; he doesn't want to wake the boys by falling on his face. He feels light and heavy all at once, warm all over from too much whiskey, nothing bothering him anymore, nothing at all. He's just a man doing the best he can with the life he's been handed; that's all it is.
After the fourth try, John finally gets the key shoved into the door and stumbles over the threshold, flipping on the light switch so he doesn't end up tripping over Sam's goddamn soccer ball or Dean's boots that he never can remember to put up out of the damn way. Tequila or not, he's in no way prepared for what he sees next.
"Jesus christ, boys!" He yells, flushing red as he turns his back to them, unable to get the image of Sammy's face buried between Dean's sprawled legs out of his mind, disgusted at his cock for already starting to stiffen beneath his jeans.
"Dad," he hears Dean say, hears him ask, the tone in his son's voice causing his cock to twitch and press painfully against the harsh metal of his zipper. He can hear Dean's labored breaths as if there's not another sound in the whole damn apartment, each little hitch of breath as Sam goes down on him. John can't fucking believe this. Catching them in the act is one thing, but knowing he caught them, knowing he's right fucking there, and they still don't care.
"Sammy," Dean moans hoarsely, and John can't take it anymore, can't just stand there and hear it all, but not see it with his eyes. If they don't care, then neither does he. Fuck.
Dean's fingers are twisted and tangled in Sammy's thick hair, guiding, but not forcing him. John's breath gets shallower with each lewd sound that fills the room; the soft, wet pop of Sam's mouth whenever he pulls away, Dean's grunts and moans, the way Sammy hums around Dean's cock like its the best thing, like its all he's ever wanted.
John's jerking off before he can stop himself, jeans open wide, pushed down below his hips, hand fisted tight around his cock, slick with his own spit. When Dean looks up at him through heavy lidded eyes, pupils blown, and licks his lips, its all John can do to keep from coming right fucking then.
"Dad," Dean says again, but this time, with Sam sucking harder, taking him deeper, his name spills from Dean's lips like a moan; John's eyes roll into the back of his head.
"Dad, please?"
He doesn't know what Dean's asking of him, doesn't even know if Dean knows, but right now he doesn't care. John would do anything for his boys, his beautiful, gorgeous, fucked-up boys. He walks across the room slowly, fixated on the curve of Sammy's pale back as he kneels on the floor, one hand wrapped around the base of Dean's cock, the other slowly pulling on his own.
When Dean reaches out, fingertips scorching John's skin as he pulls him closer, he forgets how to breath, feels like the world's being pulled out from beneath his feet and he's spinning, light-headed and dizzy.
"Dean, are you-" He has to ask. Somehow, thinks that'll make it better, easier, if he just gives Dean a chance to say no. Somehow, John knows he never will.
"Yeah," Dean whispers, licking his lips as he glances at his father's cock, thick and flushed, the head glistening and wet. "Yeah."
John's head nearly rolls off his neck when Dean leans forward, nails biting into John's skin as he swipes the tip of his tongue across the head, savoring the taste of precome in his mouth before he takes the whole thing in. Dean's mouth is like liquid velvet, scorching hot, the most amazing thing he's ever felt. Instinctively, he reaches out for Dean's hair, forgetting that this son kept his hair so much shorter than the other one, and there's nothing to grab on to. Still, the palm of his large hand cradles the back of Dean's head perfectly, and John can't help but to fuck into Dean's mouth just a little when Dean hums around him, sending an electric current of pleasure straight to his core.
"God, Dean. Fuck yeah," John groans, glancing down to watch, as if its just a show, not really happening to him. Surreal, that's how it feels watching Sam sucking Dean off, looking down, watching his own cock slide in and out of Dean's perfect, gorgeous fucking mouth.
"Look so good down there, Sammy." He growls, saying what Dean would be saying if he didn't have a mouthful of dick. "You make Dean feel good, make 'em come, Sammy."
"God, Dad," Dean lets him go with a wet 'pop' to catch his breath a minute, looking up at John through pitch black eyes, his body shaking all over. "M'not gonna last much longer you keep sayin' stuff like that."
"S'all right son," John murmurs, cupping Dean's face in his large hand. "Just wanna watch you and Sammy."
"Oh-okay," Dean lets his head roll back against the couch again, fingers tightening in Sammy's hair as he fucks his hips up into Sam's mouth. John's mesmerized, watching as Sam just takes it, takes every inch of Dean like he could do it all goddamn day, let Dean fuck his mouth as hard and deep as he wants to, without complaint.
"Oh, fuck, Sam-" John holds his breath as Dean comes, head thrown back, adam's apple prominent and exposed, every tiny vein in his neck standing out as he bucks up into Sam's mouth, spilling hot and salty come down his brother's throat. And Sam, Sam just swallows it all down and licks Dean clean. John watches as Dean yanks Sam up off the ground, crushing their mouths together, tasting himself on Sam's tongue as Sammy crawls into his lap. He licks his lips as Dean wraps his hand around both of their cocks, kissing and licking and sucking pretty bruises into Sammy's skin as Sammy thrusts against him. Sam comes with a muffled Dean, into his shoulder, and John just stares as come paints both of their chests.
"Boys," John groans, raking his fingers through his hair, his body thrumming all over with need and want and love and confusion, but mostly want, pumping through his veins like a drug. "You boys-"
"Your turn," Sammy's voice is gruff, low, his eyes meeting John's for the first time since he walked through the door earlier. John watches as he takes Dean's hand, both of them kneeling on the floor in front of him, gazing up at him for acceptance.
John gives a slight nod, hopes he does anyway; he feels like he's slipping, just floating there, helpless, unable to stop wanting, stop needing his boys so fucking bad. He cups each of their faces as he gazes down at them, cock throbbing and hard, smearing trails of precome across his belly. Dean reaches out, tugging his jeans slowly off his hips with his briefs, leaving them to puddle around the top of his boots. He and Sammy exchange a brief look, then John feels Dean's fingers curl tight around the base of his cock, sees him lick his lips, dark eyelashes fluttering as he licks a wet stripe up his shaft.
"Jesus fuck, Dean," John grunts, all the air squeezed out of his lungs as he feels Dean's mouth all around him, hot and wet and sweet, fucking perfect. He feels Sam's fingers linking with his, keeping him steady. John can barely process what's happening. Its like this is all that exists, him and his boys, the thick, heady scent of sex and come, the sounds Dean's making around his cock, Sammy's lips as he sucks John's fingers into his mouth, rough scrape of tongue across his knuckles. They're so beautiful, so goddamn beautiful like this he could cry.
Then Dean's mouth is sliding off of him and the loss of it is so much John breaks out in a cold sweat, practically gasping for air. He hardly has enough time to recover from that before they switch, Sam's mouth replacing Dean's as Dean kneels at his side, linking their fingers together just as Sam had done, mouthing kisses and bruises in the dip of John's hips.
"Sammy," John chokes out. Sam's mouth is so much smaller and tighter than Dean's, more enthusiastic, too. John remembers what he looked like kneeling between Dean's knees earlier, moaning and whimpering around Dean's cock, slurping and sucking and eating him up like he was fucking dinner. "God, your mouth."
"That's our Sammy," Dean drawls, fingers flexing against John's as his tongue traces the sharp jut of his hipbone. "Little cockslut."
"Watch your mouth," John says to him, his words broken with a groan as his cock slides down Sam's throat. He can feel Dean's breath puff out across his skin, can feel the smirk spreading across his lips with a muttered, "toldja so."
"Oh, Christ. Sam, Sammy, stop-"
"Shh," Dean murmurs, lips brushing John's lower ribs. "S'all right, Dad. He can take it. C'mon, c'mon."
And that's it. The last ounce of restraint John has left in him. He comes so hard he feels like his bones are breaking, muscles clenching, lungs collapsing as he spills into Sam's mouth, one hand tight in Sammy's hair, the other curled around Dean's shoulder. A desperate, hungry sound bubbles up from Dean's throat and he reaches out for Sam, fisting his hand into Sam's hair next to John's, crushing their mouth together.
John collapses to his knees, just watches as his boys share his taste on their tongues. Dean's fingers digging into Sam's scalp as he thrusts his tongue into his mouth, Sammy's nails digging into Dean's side. He wonders if they're always this hungry, greedy, desperate for each other.
John wants to feel bad, pushing his fingers through Sammy's hair as he kisses his brother; wishes he felt sick, wishes to God he was in the bathroom right now, bent over the toilet because its all just so sick - but he's not. Can't.
This love they all have for each other, this desperation - John knows it's not right, not healthy. But they're family and they have to stick together, and if this is how they have to do it...
John breaks them apart, steals Dean's mouth away from Sammy, tasting himself, tasting Sammy on Dean's tongue. Lets go of Dean and presses his mouth to Sam's, softer, careful - Sammy, always the baby - then pulls them both against him, blinking away the sting of salt water in the corner of his eyes.
"Dad?" Sam asks after a few silent seconds as John rakes his fingers through his hair, pressing his lips to Sam's salty, clammy forehead, Dean curled up against his side. "Is this. Is this okay?"
John sighs, turns Sam's chin up to look at him and when Sam's eyes flutter, heleans down and presses his lips to his eyelids. "No, Sammy." He murmurs, brushing Sam's bangs out of his eyes, pretty and brown, just like Mary's. "But I don't know what is."
+ + +
Four years.
Sam left them, left him and Dean for something better, safer. John can never forgive him for that, but Dean. Its like nothing ever changed, like Sam never left. He pretends he doesn't hear them in the next room, Dean's name falling from Sam's lips like a prayer, or maybe a sin. Pretends he doesn't notice Dean's lips, full and red and kiss-swollen, or worse. He's so jealous of what they have sometimes it hurts, feels like he's burning to the fucking ground.
Mostly, though, it scares the shit out of him. The way Dean looks after Sam, the way he looks at him - John knows how it feels, to love someone so fucking much you could never let them go. Part of him knows that when the time comes, Dean won't be able to do it. They've always been each other's weakness and its going to be their downfall. They're going to love each to death, until it destroys them both, and part of him feels like its his fault; pushing them together the way he did, making Dean look after Sammy like he was his own.
It's disgusting, the way he wouldn't change any of it.
Title: Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/John
Rating: ADULT LIEK WHOA, best stay away kiddies.
Words: 2648
Disclaimer: Yes, the title is a Dylan Thomas poem. No, the Winchesters are not mine.
Summary: John sees.
Author notes: Um, this is porn, kids. Shameless, guiltless, birthday porn for my sparkly girl, bigfiction. Dean is 20, Sam is 16. So if that bothers you, you know. RUN. Now, like.
John sees.
He sees what his boys have become, what he's turned them into, what they do behind closed doors, stolen moments in libraries, the way they look at each other when they think he's not looking. But he is.
Looking.
He sees how much they love each other and it kills him.
+ + +
Sometimes, leads gets scarce and money gets tight and John has to get a real job, settle into a routine with an apartment, and go to parent-teacher conferences like a normal, everyday Joe. The smile on Sammy's face everyday when he walks in from school, backpack slung low on his back, scribbled all over with magic marker and white-out, its just almost enough for John to say, "Fuck it, just fuck the damn demon," and be that Regular Joe.
But then Dean gets suspended for fighting again and John's nightmares come back, the ones where he's burning, burning forever, and he can hear the sounds coming from the boys' room, and John realizes its way too late for normal.
+++
Its so fucking overwhelming sometimes, the way Dean is with Sammy, the way Sammy looks at Dean; its so fucking much that John can't take it, just yells at them to go fucking DO something, just go.
He thinks about them sometimes, usually after a long night with Johnny or Jose, usually when he's too fucked up to properly care; he thinks about how they'd look, all wrapped up in each another. He thinks about Dean touching Sammy's face all tenderly, rubbing his thumb over Sam's lips and kissing him, slow and deep, Sam moaning when Dean pushes his tongue inside, licks into Sam's mouth like John's seen him do with countless girls.
One night John finds himself with his eyes shut tight, the picture of his boys, a tangle of limbs and sinful sounds bright in his mind, hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off until come splashes between his fingers, on his belly, staining the bedsheets.
He cries himself to sleep that night and the boys think its just another nightmare.
It is.
+ + +
"Quit it, Sam. Dad's in the next fucking room. Clean your gun, Jesus."
"So?"
"What d'you mean, so? Are you retarded? Have you been huffing the gun oil or something?"
"I don't care if he finds out, Dean. Seriously, what's he going to do? Separate us? Of course not, he won't even let me walk to the Circle K alone."
"No, Sammy. Just....no, okay?"
"Uh-uh. Not okay."
"Sam-"
"Do you know how hard I am right now, Dean? Having to sit here and watch you clean your guns, like Daddy's little soldier."
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? That's what you are. You're a good soldier too, Dean. You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?"
"Shut the fuck up, Sammy. I mean it-"
"Would you suck his cock, Dean? Would you?"
"Sam."
"You would, wouldn't you? You'd get on your knees for Dad and suck his cock and let him come all over your face if that's what he wanted to do-"
"God dammit, Sam!"
"Wouldn't you?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I would."
"Boys! Dinner's on the table."
The thin window panes in the house rattle as John slams the door behind him, leaving a note on the kitchen table next to a box of fried chicken, the word "Out," hurriedly scrawled across the paper.
+ + +
John's feeling better about everything when he makes it home a couple of hours later, lifting his boots sluggishly up each porch step, but carefully; he doesn't want to wake the boys by falling on his face. He feels light and heavy all at once, warm all over from too much whiskey, nothing bothering him anymore, nothing at all. He's just a man doing the best he can with the life he's been handed; that's all it is.
After the fourth try, John finally gets the key shoved into the door and stumbles over the threshold, flipping on the light switch so he doesn't end up tripping over Sam's goddamn soccer ball or Dean's boots that he never can remember to put up out of the damn way. Tequila or not, he's in no way prepared for what he sees next.
"Jesus christ, boys!" He yells, flushing red as he turns his back to them, unable to get the image of Sammy's face buried between Dean's sprawled legs out of his mind, disgusted at his cock for already starting to stiffen beneath his jeans.
"Dad," he hears Dean say, hears him ask, the tone in his son's voice causing his cock to twitch and press painfully against the harsh metal of his zipper. He can hear Dean's labored breaths as if there's not another sound in the whole damn apartment, each little hitch of breath as Sam goes down on him. John can't fucking believe this. Catching them in the act is one thing, but knowing he caught them, knowing he's right fucking there, and they still don't care.
"Sammy," Dean moans hoarsely, and John can't take it anymore, can't just stand there and hear it all, but not see it with his eyes. If they don't care, then neither does he. Fuck.
Dean's fingers are twisted and tangled in Sammy's thick hair, guiding, but not forcing him. John's breath gets shallower with each lewd sound that fills the room; the soft, wet pop of Sam's mouth whenever he pulls away, Dean's grunts and moans, the way Sammy hums around Dean's cock like its the best thing, like its all he's ever wanted.
John's jerking off before he can stop himself, jeans open wide, pushed down below his hips, hand fisted tight around his cock, slick with his own spit. When Dean looks up at him through heavy lidded eyes, pupils blown, and licks his lips, its all John can do to keep from coming right fucking then.
"Dad," Dean says again, but this time, with Sam sucking harder, taking him deeper, his name spills from Dean's lips like a moan; John's eyes roll into the back of his head.
"Dad, please?"
He doesn't know what Dean's asking of him, doesn't even know if Dean knows, but right now he doesn't care. John would do anything for his boys, his beautiful, gorgeous, fucked-up boys. He walks across the room slowly, fixated on the curve of Sammy's pale back as he kneels on the floor, one hand wrapped around the base of Dean's cock, the other slowly pulling on his own.
When Dean reaches out, fingertips scorching John's skin as he pulls him closer, he forgets how to breath, feels like the world's being pulled out from beneath his feet and he's spinning, light-headed and dizzy.
"Dean, are you-" He has to ask. Somehow, thinks that'll make it better, easier, if he just gives Dean a chance to say no. Somehow, John knows he never will.
"Yeah," Dean whispers, licking his lips as he glances at his father's cock, thick and flushed, the head glistening and wet. "Yeah."
John's head nearly rolls off his neck when Dean leans forward, nails biting into John's skin as he swipes the tip of his tongue across the head, savoring the taste of precome in his mouth before he takes the whole thing in. Dean's mouth is like liquid velvet, scorching hot, the most amazing thing he's ever felt. Instinctively, he reaches out for Dean's hair, forgetting that this son kept his hair so much shorter than the other one, and there's nothing to grab on to. Still, the palm of his large hand cradles the back of Dean's head perfectly, and John can't help but to fuck into Dean's mouth just a little when Dean hums around him, sending an electric current of pleasure straight to his core.
"God, Dean. Fuck yeah," John groans, glancing down to watch, as if its just a show, not really happening to him. Surreal, that's how it feels watching Sam sucking Dean off, looking down, watching his own cock slide in and out of Dean's perfect, gorgeous fucking mouth.
"Look so good down there, Sammy." He growls, saying what Dean would be saying if he didn't have a mouthful of dick. "You make Dean feel good, make 'em come, Sammy."
"God, Dad," Dean lets him go with a wet 'pop' to catch his breath a minute, looking up at John through pitch black eyes, his body shaking all over. "M'not gonna last much longer you keep sayin' stuff like that."
"S'all right son," John murmurs, cupping Dean's face in his large hand. "Just wanna watch you and Sammy."
"Oh-okay," Dean lets his head roll back against the couch again, fingers tightening in Sammy's hair as he fucks his hips up into Sam's mouth. John's mesmerized, watching as Sam just takes it, takes every inch of Dean like he could do it all goddamn day, let Dean fuck his mouth as hard and deep as he wants to, without complaint.
"Oh, fuck, Sam-" John holds his breath as Dean comes, head thrown back, adam's apple prominent and exposed, every tiny vein in his neck standing out as he bucks up into Sam's mouth, spilling hot and salty come down his brother's throat. And Sam, Sam just swallows it all down and licks Dean clean. John watches as Dean yanks Sam up off the ground, crushing their mouths together, tasting himself on Sam's tongue as Sammy crawls into his lap. He licks his lips as Dean wraps his hand around both of their cocks, kissing and licking and sucking pretty bruises into Sammy's skin as Sammy thrusts against him. Sam comes with a muffled Dean, into his shoulder, and John just stares as come paints both of their chests.
"Boys," John groans, raking his fingers through his hair, his body thrumming all over with need and want and love and confusion, but mostly want, pumping through his veins like a drug. "You boys-"
"Your turn," Sammy's voice is gruff, low, his eyes meeting John's for the first time since he walked through the door earlier. John watches as he takes Dean's hand, both of them kneeling on the floor in front of him, gazing up at him for acceptance.
John gives a slight nod, hopes he does anyway; he feels like he's slipping, just floating there, helpless, unable to stop wanting, stop needing his boys so fucking bad. He cups each of their faces as he gazes down at them, cock throbbing and hard, smearing trails of precome across his belly. Dean reaches out, tugging his jeans slowly off his hips with his briefs, leaving them to puddle around the top of his boots. He and Sammy exchange a brief look, then John feels Dean's fingers curl tight around the base of his cock, sees him lick his lips, dark eyelashes fluttering as he licks a wet stripe up his shaft.
"Jesus fuck, Dean," John grunts, all the air squeezed out of his lungs as he feels Dean's mouth all around him, hot and wet and sweet, fucking perfect. He feels Sam's fingers linking with his, keeping him steady. John can barely process what's happening. Its like this is all that exists, him and his boys, the thick, heady scent of sex and come, the sounds Dean's making around his cock, Sammy's lips as he sucks John's fingers into his mouth, rough scrape of tongue across his knuckles. They're so beautiful, so goddamn beautiful like this he could cry.
Then Dean's mouth is sliding off of him and the loss of it is so much John breaks out in a cold sweat, practically gasping for air. He hardly has enough time to recover from that before they switch, Sam's mouth replacing Dean's as Dean kneels at his side, linking their fingers together just as Sam had done, mouthing kisses and bruises in the dip of John's hips.
"Sammy," John chokes out. Sam's mouth is so much smaller and tighter than Dean's, more enthusiastic, too. John remembers what he looked like kneeling between Dean's knees earlier, moaning and whimpering around Dean's cock, slurping and sucking and eating him up like he was fucking dinner. "God, your mouth."
"That's our Sammy," Dean drawls, fingers flexing against John's as his tongue traces the sharp jut of his hipbone. "Little cockslut."
"Watch your mouth," John says to him, his words broken with a groan as his cock slides down Sam's throat. He can feel Dean's breath puff out across his skin, can feel the smirk spreading across his lips with a muttered, "toldja so."
"Oh, Christ. Sam, Sammy, stop-"
"Shh," Dean murmurs, lips brushing John's lower ribs. "S'all right, Dad. He can take it. C'mon, c'mon."
And that's it. The last ounce of restraint John has left in him. He comes so hard he feels like his bones are breaking, muscles clenching, lungs collapsing as he spills into Sam's mouth, one hand tight in Sammy's hair, the other curled around Dean's shoulder. A desperate, hungry sound bubbles up from Dean's throat and he reaches out for Sam, fisting his hand into Sam's hair next to John's, crushing their mouth together.
John collapses to his knees, just watches as his boys share his taste on their tongues. Dean's fingers digging into Sam's scalp as he thrusts his tongue into his mouth, Sammy's nails digging into Dean's side. He wonders if they're always this hungry, greedy, desperate for each other.
John wants to feel bad, pushing his fingers through Sammy's hair as he kisses his brother; wishes he felt sick, wishes to God he was in the bathroom right now, bent over the toilet because its all just so sick - but he's not. Can't.
This love they all have for each other, this desperation - John knows it's not right, not healthy. But they're family and they have to stick together, and if this is how they have to do it...
John breaks them apart, steals Dean's mouth away from Sammy, tasting himself, tasting Sammy on Dean's tongue. Lets go of Dean and presses his mouth to Sam's, softer, careful - Sammy, always the baby - then pulls them both against him, blinking away the sting of salt water in the corner of his eyes.
"Dad?" Sam asks after a few silent seconds as John rakes his fingers through his hair, pressing his lips to Sam's salty, clammy forehead, Dean curled up against his side. "Is this. Is this okay?"
John sighs, turns Sam's chin up to look at him and when Sam's eyes flutter, heleans down and presses his lips to his eyelids. "No, Sammy." He murmurs, brushing Sam's bangs out of his eyes, pretty and brown, just like Mary's. "But I don't know what is."
+ + +
Four years.
Sam left them, left him and Dean for something better, safer. John can never forgive him for that, but Dean. Its like nothing ever changed, like Sam never left. He pretends he doesn't hear them in the next room, Dean's name falling from Sam's lips like a prayer, or maybe a sin. Pretends he doesn't notice Dean's lips, full and red and kiss-swollen, or worse. He's so jealous of what they have sometimes it hurts, feels like he's burning to the fucking ground.
Mostly, though, it scares the shit out of him. The way Dean looks after Sam, the way he looks at him - John knows how it feels, to love someone so fucking much you could never let them go. Part of him knows that when the time comes, Dean won't be able to do it. They've always been each other's weakness and its going to be their downfall. They're going to love each to death, until it destroys them both, and part of him feels like its his fault; pushing them together the way he did, making Dean look after Sammy like he was his own.
It's disgusting, the way he wouldn't change any of it.
