Nights Like Tonight
Title: Nights Like Tonight
Pairing: John/Dean
Word Count: 1000
Rating: N/C 17
Warnings: non-con
This is a very overdue (but not as much as some) auction fill for
jj1564 who wanted a follow up to A Better Father - a birthday fic from a few years ago. It's written in ten segments of one hundred words each. Hope you enjoy and thanks for your patience!
Dean gives a little hitch step like he can skitter away from his father’s touch, but John just tightens his grip across the back of his boy’s neck and shoves him against the Impala while he fumbles for the keys. Tiny shudders resonate against John’s palm and he leans in to nuzzle at Dean’s ear. “Cold, sweetheart? Don’t worry, I’ll have you in a nice warm bed in no time.”
Any response is drowned out by the creak of the opening door and John shoves Dean in before him, pulling him close when he tries to slide across the seat.
*
John keeps one arm wrapped around Dean for the ride home, hand splayed warm against that taut belly. The motel’s only a few blocks away and he briefly considers hitting the onramp to the interstate and taking the long way ‘round. If they were in his truck he’d do it, make Dean suck him sweet and slow while passing headlights lit them up. The Impala’s off limits for that, though. She’s Dean’s and John’s not a monster. He’s not going to make Dean’s baby complicit in his depravity, infrequent though it may be. He would never abuse her that way.
*
Dean undresses quickly and efficiently, eyes locked on the floor. John settles into a chair and leers, sending out whistles and catcalls that have Dean’s freckled skin glowing pink. John’s set for the night, an incubus venom cocktail already percolating in his system, dick straining mightily against the confines of his jeans.
Dean, not surprisingly, isn’t quite as ready. John strokes his boy’s cock until it begins to thicken against his palm then takes the silken flesh into his mouth,
“Please, don’t,” Dean breathes, but his father ignores him. It won’t be the last time he hears those words tonight.
*
John’s patient, opening Dean up slowly. Blunt fingers scissor steady and purposeful and John grins as a reluctant moan slips through Dean’s clenched teeth. Kid’s come twice already, courtesy of his father’s mouth and hands and John’s cock is slick with Dean’s spit. John plans to wring him dry tonight.
Hooking his elbows behind Dean’s knees, John bends his son in half and pins him, dick hot and heavy where it presses against Dean’s hole. Two hard thrusts and he’s balls deep in that delectable heat.
“So good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as he jackhammers Dean into the mattress.
*
Dawn’s just breaching the window when the magic begins to slip away.. If he was fucking some street hustler tonight he’d call it quits but it’s been months since he last had Dean. Might be years before he has him again. There’s no way he’s wasting a single second.
Dean’s straining thighs are spread wide across his father’s lap and John’s taking it slow, keenly attuned to Dean’s barely audible whimper at each lazy roll of his hips. He digs his teeth into Dean’s shoulder as he comes, one final hot slick into the mess he’s made of his son.
*
After, John takes a few minutes to just drink in the sight. Dean’s sprawled across the sheets, covered in jizz and bites and bruises. Finger marks darken at his boy’s biceps and hips and thighs. He looks stunned and stunning, eyes bright with shame and unshed tears. This moment, right here, is what draws John back every damn time into the unforgivable sin of what he’s done. Eventually he scoops Dean into his arms, laughing at the weak struggle he puts up.
“Kinda late to fight, don’t you think?” he whispers into Dean’s ear, grinning as a tear finally falls.
*
The shower cascades over them, hot and heavy and John tilts Dean’s head down to rinse shampoo out of his hair. He presses one quick kiss to Dean’s swollen lips and then cleans them both methodically but quickly. A rough towel down brings color to Dean’s skin, highlighting his wounds. He puts up another useless fight as John wraps an arm around his waist and guides his wobbly steps back into the bedroom.
As soon as his father releases him, Dean totters to his duffle and pulls out a pair of sweatpants, hissing as he bends to pull them on.
*
John smirks as Dean stares in sullen defiance and turns to pour a shot of whiskey with a little something extra into a glass. He approaches Dean with the glass extended and Dean sways back but stands his ground.
“Drink,” John says.
“I…”
“Drink.”
Dean takes the glass and gulps it down, grimacing as the liquor slides like razor blades down his battered throat. The concoction takes effect almost immediately and John catches Dean as he falls, tucking him under the covers of the unused bed. He dresses himself and settles down in the armchair by the window to wait.
*
Dean’s down for at least twelve hours. John could do anything to him but the urge has passed. Dean’s face is shadowed, even in sleep, for all he looks years younger in repose. Lashes lie dark against pale cheeks, hair tousled against the pillow and one freckled arm creeps out from under the blanket.
John contemplates his eldest as he sips from his own glass of whiskey. Dean’s desperate for approval and attention. Terrified of being abandoned. John recognizes his role in his son’s dysfunction. Cultivated it, really, even before he knew the lengths he’d take to exploit it.
*
Now’s the time to decide whether to stay or pack up and be hours down the road before Dean wakes. He’s left Dean behind before, many times. The kid will follow coordinates, hunt on his own for a while but he'll invariably circle back into John’s reach.
A soft moan and shift in Dean’s position make the decision easy. He’ll stick around and watch Dean work his way back from last night- heal and relax into what passes for normal for them. He’s not a good father; that goes without saying. On nights like tonight he’s perfectly okay with it.
*
Pairing: John/Dean
Word Count: 1000
Rating: N/C 17
Warnings: non-con
This is a very overdue (but not as much as some) auction fill for
jj1564 who wanted a follow up to A Better Father - a birthday fic from a few years ago. It's written in ten segments of one hundred words each. Hope you enjoy and thanks for your patience!
Dean gives a little hitch step like he can skitter away from his father’s touch, but John just tightens his grip across the back of his boy’s neck and shoves him against the Impala while he fumbles for the keys. Tiny shudders resonate against John’s palm and he leans in to nuzzle at Dean’s ear. “Cold, sweetheart? Don’t worry, I’ll have you in a nice warm bed in no time.”
Any response is drowned out by the creak of the opening door and John shoves Dean in before him, pulling him close when he tries to slide across the seat.
*
John keeps one arm wrapped around Dean for the ride home, hand splayed warm against that taut belly. The motel’s only a few blocks away and he briefly considers hitting the onramp to the interstate and taking the long way ‘round. If they were in his truck he’d do it, make Dean suck him sweet and slow while passing headlights lit them up. The Impala’s off limits for that, though. She’s Dean’s and John’s not a monster. He’s not going to make Dean’s baby complicit in his depravity, infrequent though it may be. He would never abuse her that way.
*
Dean undresses quickly and efficiently, eyes locked on the floor. John settles into a chair and leers, sending out whistles and catcalls that have Dean’s freckled skin glowing pink. John’s set for the night, an incubus venom cocktail already percolating in his system, dick straining mightily against the confines of his jeans.
Dean, not surprisingly, isn’t quite as ready. John strokes his boy’s cock until it begins to thicken against his palm then takes the silken flesh into his mouth,
“Please, don’t,” Dean breathes, but his father ignores him. It won’t be the last time he hears those words tonight.
*
John’s patient, opening Dean up slowly. Blunt fingers scissor steady and purposeful and John grins as a reluctant moan slips through Dean’s clenched teeth. Kid’s come twice already, courtesy of his father’s mouth and hands and John’s cock is slick with Dean’s spit. John plans to wring him dry tonight.
Hooking his elbows behind Dean’s knees, John bends his son in half and pins him, dick hot and heavy where it presses against Dean’s hole. Two hard thrusts and he’s balls deep in that delectable heat.
“So good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as he jackhammers Dean into the mattress.
*
Dawn’s just breaching the window when the magic begins to slip away.. If he was fucking some street hustler tonight he’d call it quits but it’s been months since he last had Dean. Might be years before he has him again. There’s no way he’s wasting a single second.
Dean’s straining thighs are spread wide across his father’s lap and John’s taking it slow, keenly attuned to Dean’s barely audible whimper at each lazy roll of his hips. He digs his teeth into Dean’s shoulder as he comes, one final hot slick into the mess he’s made of his son.
*
After, John takes a few minutes to just drink in the sight. Dean’s sprawled across the sheets, covered in jizz and bites and bruises. Finger marks darken at his boy’s biceps and hips and thighs. He looks stunned and stunning, eyes bright with shame and unshed tears. This moment, right here, is what draws John back every damn time into the unforgivable sin of what he’s done. Eventually he scoops Dean into his arms, laughing at the weak struggle he puts up.
“Kinda late to fight, don’t you think?” he whispers into Dean’s ear, grinning as a tear finally falls.
*
The shower cascades over them, hot and heavy and John tilts Dean’s head down to rinse shampoo out of his hair. He presses one quick kiss to Dean’s swollen lips and then cleans them both methodically but quickly. A rough towel down brings color to Dean’s skin, highlighting his wounds. He puts up another useless fight as John wraps an arm around his waist and guides his wobbly steps back into the bedroom.
As soon as his father releases him, Dean totters to his duffle and pulls out a pair of sweatpants, hissing as he bends to pull them on.
*
John smirks as Dean stares in sullen defiance and turns to pour a shot of whiskey with a little something extra into a glass. He approaches Dean with the glass extended and Dean sways back but stands his ground.
“Drink,” John says.
“I…”
“Drink.”
Dean takes the glass and gulps it down, grimacing as the liquor slides like razor blades down his battered throat. The concoction takes effect almost immediately and John catches Dean as he falls, tucking him under the covers of the unused bed. He dresses himself and settles down in the armchair by the window to wait.
*
Dean’s down for at least twelve hours. John could do anything to him but the urge has passed. Dean’s face is shadowed, even in sleep, for all he looks years younger in repose. Lashes lie dark against pale cheeks, hair tousled against the pillow and one freckled arm creeps out from under the blanket.
John contemplates his eldest as he sips from his own glass of whiskey. Dean’s desperate for approval and attention. Terrified of being abandoned. John recognizes his role in his son’s dysfunction. Cultivated it, really, even before he knew the lengths he’d take to exploit it.
*
Now’s the time to decide whether to stay or pack up and be hours down the road before Dean wakes. He’s left Dean behind before, many times. The kid will follow coordinates, hunt on his own for a while but he'll invariably circle back into John’s reach.
A soft moan and shift in Dean’s position make the decision easy. He’ll stick around and watch Dean work his way back from last night- heal and relax into what passes for normal for them. He’s not a good father; that goes without saying. On nights like tonight he’s perfectly okay with it.
*