Dark Shroud of Love
Title: Dark shroud of love
Author: missyjack
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Dean/John
Warnings: angsty Daddy!kink
Words: 631
Spoilers: up to Crossroads
Disclaimer: Not mine. The devil made me do it.
It's all you ever think about. You wake up and your first thought is, "I can't do this anymore." You're all lit up with pain. I mean, you loved him so much.
Crossroads Demon to Dean
The look in her dead eyes told Dean that she knew what he had really had lost. What he had shared with his father.
The demon was right; Dean had loved his father.
At night, alone, Dean wrapped himself in the dark shroud of that love. Only then could he let the memories back; the memories of the touch and smell and taste of the man he loved.
Dean had always needed John’s strength, his approval, his power. He felt he took so much from his father and could give so little back.
Once John was attacked by some sprite with a hex and cloud of poison pollen.
Back at the motel Dean got his father, now dangerously ill, into the shower to wash the toxin from him. He had stripped off too and stood under the water behind John, arms wrapped around him, supporting him, as he recited the incantation to break the spell.
Father and son stood under the cleansing spray, and Dean had thought it fitting that he could finally give life to the man who had given him his.
They’d stayed there as the water ran cool over their bodies, until John’s strength had finally returned,
As his head rested against his father’s shoulder, the Latin incantation was replaced by Dean’s own wordless invocation of love.
Over time, Dean felt less that he only took from John; there was something they started to share. In a small place deep inside, he even felt closer to his mother knowing she too must have felt something like this - a bond of body and soul with John Winchester.
After a hunt, they passed whisky and kisses across the front seat of the Impala.
Dean sucked at a jagged cut across his palm and winced as it stung from the liquor on his lips.
“Stiches?” John kneaded Dean’s cock through the worn denim of his jeans. Dean moaned and pushed his cock against his father’s hand,
“Nuh.” Dean took another deep swig from the bottle. His father held his hand and licked the blood away, an echo of when he’d kissed the hurts of a small boy better.
John flicked open the buttons and squeezed hard around Dean’s cock. Strong, quick strokes brought Dean off and he forgot his pain. He returned the favour, burying his face in John’s lap. He sucked on the head of his father’s dick, teasing, until John’s restraint dissolved. With one hand holding Dean’s head down, John thrust upwards with his hips, deep into his throat until Dean gagged on cock and come.
Finally John let him up and they toasted each other with what remained of the scotch.
Dean had trusted his father with his life, with his body and finally with his heart.
When the hunt had been dangerous, when death had been a spectator, the fucking was wordless and frantic.
Fingers dug into already bruised flesh. Mouths tasted spit and blood and fear on bodies tense with excitement and desire. Cocks rammed inwards heedless of pain, desperate with need.
Because whatever demons they had killed that night, they knew the one they couldn’t defeat was this one, the demon that lived in their love and need for each other.
His father had left him with two secrets.
One secret was terrible and dangerous, but Dean knew he would share it eventually with Sam and they would face it together.
The other secret was of this dark shining love, and the horrible, tragic thing was that only a demon would ever know this essential truth of Dean Winchester.