Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8505697.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Sex_Magic, Curses, Fuck_Or_Die, Mutual_Non-Con, Dubious_Consent, Forced
      Orgasm, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Bottom_Dean_Winchester, Top_John
      Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-08 Words: 4263
****** Dutiful Son ******
by Aberrans
Summary
     Dean will do anything to protect his family, so when John is hit by a
     sex curse Dean takes it upon himself to deal with the unpleasant
     consequences.
Dean kept silent as John worked on the case, cleaning their guns as quietly as
possible so as not to disturb the research. John looked tired as he leaned over
various books and papers, cheeks rosy from the half bottle of whiskey he’d
already consumed that day. He winced away from the midday light as it slowly
shifted closer, streaming through a gap in the thin motel curtains.
“Dean,” John said gruffly from the table, nodding towards the window, and Dean
jumped up and pulled the fabric closed obediently.
John only grunted in thanks and Dean went back to his task, stripping down each
gun piece by piece and putting them back together again. It was soothing to
have something to do with his hands, distracting from the awkward tension in
the room. He could feel eyes on his back as he worked and tried not to shiver,
keeping his head down and his breathing slow and steady.
“I can’t think,” John said suddenly from the desk, rubbing both his hands over
his face, fingers trembling.
Dean froze. He knew what that weary statement really meant. He had been reading
the signs of his father’s imminent relapse for hours now, waiting in morbid
anticipation of the moment that John would give up the fight to keep his urges
at bay, especially with Sammy busy at the library. It always started with a
slight shaking of John’s hands, followed by a violent tremor that couldn’t be
calmed with any amount of whiskey. Then the lingering glances would start and
soon after that John would admit defeat.
Dean swallowed and nodded stiffly, indicating he understood and that he was
ready. He knew what he had to do. John didn’t care much for prevarication and
Dean was glad to avoid any awkward conversation about what had to be done. When
his father crossed the room, already undoing his shirt, Dean quickly packed the
guns away and shoved the bag under the bed, keeping busy to hide his panic.
John never got more undressed than he needed to for this unless he’d been
holding back too long, stubbornly putting off the inevitable and only making
things worse.
Dean’s hands fumbling at the hem of his own tshirt as he pulled it off, trying
to keep the angry disapproval hidden from his face. John should know better
than to wait until breaking point to do this. Dean had been very clear about
that from the beginning. He understood his father’s guilt, the shame of
admitting what he needed, but it was always worse when put off for too long,
and it was always Dean who suffered for John’s grudging hesitation.
It wasn’t unusual for John to want things over with quickly so Dean didn’t
flinch as John reached for him, grasping his shoulders tightly and pulling him
to his feet. Dean kept his eyes averted, startled when John grasped his chin
uncertainly, tilting his head up to meet his gaze.
Seeing his father like this was the worst part. The pain and anguish in his
eyes as he tried to explain without words, to apologise for what was about to
happen. Dean shook his head firmly, breaking eye contact before the moisture in
his eyes became too apparent, and hesitantly reached for John’s arm to steer
him towards the bed.
After the first time they didn’t fight first any more. John didn’t yell in
frustration or try to push Dean away, and Dean didn’t try to make him feel
better. They’d already said everything that needed to be said. If they didn’t
do this the curse would only get worse, and they both knew what happened then.
John dying just wasn’t an option, and Dean was willing to take one for the team
every now and again if it meant keeping his father alive. To keep him from
taking what his body needed from someone else by force.
Dean tried not to think about the night his father had shown up with deep,
nail-shaped gouges on his cheek, still dripping with blood, or the horror in
his eyes as he’d haltingly explained what had happened. Dean had never thought
of his father as the kind of guy to pay for sex but he guessed it could have
been worse. If he hadn’t, it would have quickly become the kind of bad that had
them skipping town before the job was done. Dean didn’t know what exactly his
father had done to the prostitute get himself that vicious claw mark but if it
had been anyone other than a prostitute they probably wouldn’t have got away so
easily. The unfairness of that still didn’t sit well in Dean’s stomach.
As quickly as possible Dean turned away and undid his belt, fingers trembling
on the buckle, and slid out of his remaining clothes. He could feel John behind
him, hear the quickening of his breath and the sound of his own jeans hitting
the floor. Dean swallowed and crawled onto the bed, laying down on his front
with his face pressed into the pillow and his legs snapped shut.
When the bed dipped behind him Dean tensed, almost turned to look before he
felt the familiar pressure of John’s hand on the small of his back, bracing
himself as he straddled Dean’s thighs. John’s flesh was feverishly hot, already
clammy against his skin, and for a moment Dean panicked that John might be too
caught up in his need to bother with things like preparation.
“Lube,” Dean grunted, fisting the sheets in his hands under the pillow.
John made a noise, an abortive attempt at speech, and then placed the small
tube of lubricant on the bed by Dean’s side. Dean snatched it up quickly,
coating the fingers of his right hand and reaching back between his closed
legs. It was awkward to twist at this angle, John so close Dean felt
embarrassment flushing his body at the idea of being watched while he did this.
John had obviously left it too long and without the skin to skin contact to
satiate his urges, he would quickly forget his fleeting control.
The first touch was always cold, slimy and unnatural, but Dean didn’t hesitate.
He roughly shoved one finger all the way inside himself, shoulders aching from
the uncomfortable position and ass burning at the intrusion. Finally
remembering to breathe he eased his finger in and out, playing Metallica over
and over in his head to distract himself from the pain. He was still sore from
last week and it frustrated him that no matter how many times they did this, it
never got any easier.
Finally ready for more Dean tried to slide a second finger inside, almost
hissing as a ragged nail nicked his flesh, twisting awkwardly with his legs
still held down and closed under John’s weight. Dean stretched himself quickly,
close to tears and just wanting this to be over. When he pulled his fingers
free he nodded silently for John to take over, muscles tensing as John’s weight
shifted over him.
When rough hands started spreading his legs, knees digging in against the
insides of his thighs, Dean took a deep breath to calm his nerves and pulled
his knees up obediently. He was shaking all over, not entirely from the chill
motel air, and sweat was starting to bead at the back of his neck.
He heard the lube snap open and shut, imagined John’s hand liberally coating
his cock, and almost jumped out of his skin when a finger pressed against his
tightly clenched hole.
“Don’t,” Dean growled into the pillow, shoulders bunching tightly with panic.
“I’m ready. Just do it.”
“No,” John said softly, pressing his hand down over the small of Dean’s back.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Dean would have laughed if he wasn’t already silently crying. The few times
John had tried to make things easier on him it had been bad, worse than wrong
to experience tenderness rather than searing pain as they did this. He shook
his head defiantly against the pillow, hoping his father would get the message.
Dean let out a quiet gasp when he didn’t, and a slick finger slid inside of
him.
Limbs practically shaking Dean tried to pull himself away up the bed, but John
pressed down more firmly into the small of his back, using his knees to spread
Dean’s legs even wider.
“I won’t hurt you again,” John said sharply and Dean froze at the command in
those words, muscles clenching tightly around the finger pushed all the way
inside him. “Relax.”
Dean couldn’t help it, a strangled laugh escaped his throat and he flinched
when John’s finger pulled out, pushing back in again smoothly and building
speed. Dean knew he could fight this, could still managed to push his father
off and scramble away if he wanted to, make John so angry and desperate that he
took him hard and he could just switch off, concentrating on the pain. Only he
couldn’t move.
As his body adjusted to the intrusion the slide of flesh inside him got easier
until the burn was almost gone. Dean gritted his teeth, waiting for more, but
John kept up his steady rhythm with no end in sight.
“Hurry it up,” Dean grunted, squirming with the nervous tension coiling in his
gut, words far bolder than his thoughts.
Some of the desperation must have come out in his voice because John carefully
added a second finger, pushing in so gently Dean almost longed for the pain.
Taking it slow like this might make it easier on him in the long run but it
meant he could feel every knuckle as it pushed past the tight ring of muscle,
every callous rubbing against sensitive flesh, and it was too much. Dean
squirmed again, finally turning to look over his shoulder and figure out what
the holdup was, just as John’s fingers crooked inside him.
All the air left Dean’s body in a rush that left him lightheaded, a tingle of
unexpected pleasure travelling up his spine. He struggled then, trying to pull
away as panic rose up in his chest, but John shoved him down again with a hand
on his back.
“Relax,” John barked and it was an order, but Dean didn’t follow it
immediately, too shocked by the aftershocks of sensation as John kept right on
moving, fingering his ass like this was something other than a necessary act.
Dean clenched his jaw in anger and turned his face back into the pillow, going
completely limp under John’s hands. He ignored the quick swipe of John’s thumb
against his back, a gesture of comfort he didn’t want and he certainly didn’t
need.
John shuffled on his knees before adding a third finger and Dean screwed his
eyes shut, cursing inside his head and trying to stay calm. Even with John so
concerned about his comfort, soon there would be nothing left to do but follow
through, and then this would be over. The third finger ignited the burn deep
inside him as his muscles strained to accept the stretch, opening up in fits
and starts as John slid deeper. Dean had thought he’d made his position quite
clear but John crooked his fingers again and this time he started to stroke,
and Dean almost bucked him onto the floor.
“No!” Dean hissed before biting down on the pillow, shaking his head to try and
chase away the sudden spark of pleasure.
“It’ll make it easier,” John insisted, leaning his weight right over Dean’s
back and bracing himself with a hand on the mattress, arm brushing against
Dean’s side. “I read… if I... I won’t hurt you again.”
Again Dean shook his head violently but he couldn’t help the small keening
sound that escaped his throat, nerve endings all over his body starting to fire
as his cock began to stir.
“Dad,” Dean choked out, knowing it was a low blow to use that word right now,
but he was desperate to end this insanity before it went any further. “Please.”
Dean let out a relieved sigh when John jerked away, reminded of why they were
doing this and just how wrong it was to make this about anything over than
necessity. They were dealing with the curse as best they could while they
searched for a cure, nothing more. Dean was only doing this to save his
father’s life and he didn’t care about the pain, but he never wanted to
experience pleasure. Already they’d deviated too far from the cold, detached
act of life-saving sex, and morbidly Dean wondered just how long it would take
them to move past awkward into familiar ease.
For a moment John paused behind Dean, hands pulled back and seemingly waiting
for Dean to get up and walk away. Again Dean surprised himself by lying where
he was like a dead weight, pointedly not thinking about his slick and open ass.
John sighed, and for one terrible moment Dean thought he might actually start
talking again, but then hands came down to rest on the bed on either side of
his waist, and he felt burning flesh pressing along his ass and thighs.
The first feel of John’s erection against his exposed hole made Dean shiver,
gripping the bedsheets tight, and Dean wondered just how hard it was for John
to take this slow with the fever burning away inside him. He’d pushed himself
too far this time, too stubborn to admit he needed this sooner, and Dean was
suddenly thankful for the slow preparation. Once John got going he wasn’t going
to stop even if Dean asked, and he wasn’t going to be gentle. Dean took a deep
breath and let it out slowly into the pillow as the head of John’s cock started
to push inside.
Dean felt tears springing to his eyes and bit the pillow hard when his body
started to open up. Even three fingers had nothing on John and the memory of
pain mingled with the stretching burn until John pushed forward with a grunt
and finally shoved his way inside. Dean’s whole body jerked up the bed from the
force of it, eyes watering with pain as he tried desperately to gasp for air.
The stretch was almost unbearable and John was waiting, only just inside of him
as Dean’s muscles clenched down hard. What felt like the longest moment of his
life started to drag into eternity, and finally Dean gave up the last shred of
his dignity and pushed back to ease the ache. John groaned quietly, the sound
muffled by his own hand as he slid deeper and Dean felt his body relent,
relaxing as the pain faded to a dull ache and his muscles were forced to give
in.
Dean could feel John shaking above him, hips stuttering as he tried to control
what must have been an overwhelming urge to slam home with his mind so
desperate from the curse. Somehow he was aware enough to slide in the rest of
the way slowly and Dean winced, deciding that slow was even worse than hard and
rough. This way he could feel every inch of John’s cock inside him, every pulse
and throb of his blood, and he felt sensitive all over. He was shaking again
from the effort of keeping still, from staying relaxed and letting this happen.
It was vital that he didn’t screw this up, and that John didn’t try to go
somewhere else to get his fix. He couldn’t control himself like this and Dean
couldn’t stand the thought of John hurting another innocent girl.
With a shudder Dean felt John bottom out, pressing flush against his ass, and
tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He turned his head on the pillow
and sucked in a gulp of damp air, body burning up from the press of John’s
fevered skin and the strain on his muscles. John must have been in bad shape
because after a moment of stillness his almost collapsed against Dean’s back,
draping himself over Dean on the bed, and Dean winced as his cock slid just
that little bit deeper.
John moaned and Dean tried to block out the sound. The sensation of hot breath
was unpleasant against the back of his neck and he was starting to panic.
They’d never done it like this before, so close and intimate. Dean felt
completely trapped and helpless under his father’s oppressive weight, and still
John wasn’t moving. Dean’s body had started to relax against the feel of hard,
solid flesh inside him and he bit back an unexpected sob when John pressed his
forehead firmly between Dean’s shoulder blades and started to move.
John pulled out slowly, barely an inch, and started to rotate his hips instead
of pump. Dean choked on his own spit at the unfamiliar sensation of flesh
circling inside him, stroking him in ways he’d never felt before and never
wanted to feel again. He was too sensitive there, somewhere he’d never even
thought to touch before this, and it felt like John’s heat was burning his skin
away to nothing.
“Hurry,” Dean grunted, voice low and gravelly, and for a moment John lost
control and sank back into his body with a firm thrust.
Dean bit his lip, the pillow under his face wet with tears, but John only lay
there and squirmed over him, like it was taking everything he had to keep
still. He’d never waited this long, never let Dean have anything more than a
few seconds to adjust before fucking him into the mattress as efficiently as
possible, but somehow this was worse. It didn’t feel like caring concern, it
felt like pity.
Obviously whatever was making John act like this, it didn’t stop the fever from
taking over eventually. Dean panted for breath as John started to move with
purpose, pulling out slowly and pushing back inside with increasingly hard
strokes. Dean whimpered into the pillow, the smooth slide of flesh inside him
such a complex feeling he didn’t know how to handle it. John was nowhere near
as rough as he usually was and Dean could feel everything like it was playing
in slow motion, every slide and snag of flesh as his muscles rippled,
accommodating the ebb and flow of John’s searing cock. Slowly Dean got used to
the rhythm, his insides starting to adjust as John moved faster. Every thrust
pushed Dean’s hips down into the mattress and he focused intently on the broken
spring poking into his stomach, breathing through the diminishing pain.
John was panting against his back, the heat making Dean’s shoulders prickle
with sweat. He almost jumped when John’s hands started to stroke over his
sides, shifting to rest most of his weight on his elbows as he pushed forward,
slow but deep. The spark of sensation that hit Dean made him grunt, stomach
trembling with the anticipation of more, and he went tense and rigid as John
slowly pulled out, the flare of his cock catching something too good for words.
Dean flinched, hands ripping the sheets under the pillow as a wave of pleasure
crashed over him and he felt his cock start to stir, hardening against his
will.
John froze above him, poised to push back in, and Dean prayed it had been a
mistake, an unexpected side effect from the angle of their bodies pressed flush
together. Dean felt sick with shame, humiliation colouring his cheeks at his
body’s reaction.
John panted harshly against his back, cheek pressed into Dean’s skin, and this
time when he thrust back in he tilted his hips and Dean could only yell, “No!”
before his muscles fluttered and his cock twitched, trapped against the sheets.
John actually growled in response, sounding mercifully close to his limit, but
he wasn’t letting up, and that hadn’t been an accident. He aimed for Dean’s
prostate again, rotating his hips so the head of his cock rubbed over that spot
repeatedly, and Dean started to struggle violently as his cock jumped to full
attention.
“Stop!” Dean almost sobbed, choking back hot tears, but it was too late.
John reached out and grasped Dean’s wrists, pinning them above his head
awkwardly on the pillow and started to drive in harder, snapping his hips and
making Dean gasp as pleasure trembled all over his body, shooting out from his
prostate. He tried to twist away from John’s grip, panic closing up his airway,
and couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips as his cock pulsed with
each hit to his sweet spot. John growled again, speeding up his thrusts before
leaning down to speak against Dean’s ear.
“Don’t fight,” John ordered, shoving Dean down hard onto the bed, and with
another thrust against his prostate Dean whimpered and let himself go limp.
The pleasure was overwhelming, too sharp and new, and Dean didn’t stand a
chance of struggling against it. John purred happily at his obedience and let
go of Dean’s wrists, smoothing his palms over Dean’s arms and down to his
shoulders, fingers sliding around his sides and stopping to grasp his hips
tight enough to bruise. Dean almost choked at the idea of ending this with
marks on his body, more physical evidence that would make this whole situation
far too real.
Dean inhaled sharply as John pulled him backwards and up onto his knees, face
still pressed firmly into the pillow, and then cried out in shock as he thrust
in deep. John was losing it, his movements jerky and rough, and Dean relished
the new pain until John slammed in hard, and Dean’s cock jumped for attention.
“Oh god!” Dean choked out, unbelievable pleasure washing over him from head to
toe, and he squirmed as far into the pillow as possible, hands braced flat on
the mattress to stop himself sliding forward.
“Fuck,” John gasped, thrusting forward even as his hands on Dean’s hips pulled
him into it, and their bodies jarred together with an audible slap.
“Stop! Please,” Dean begged, tears streaming down his cheeks even as his body
trembled for more, ashamed to realise he missed the relief of the mattresses
friction against his throbbing cock.
“I’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” John said brokenly, leaning over him and placing a
soft kiss to the middle of Dean’s back.
“No!” Dean yelled as John started to grind against him, cock so deep Dean swore
he could feel it gagging his throat. “Dad!”
“Dean!” John cried out, and he pulled out and slammed home one last time before
searing heat exploded inside Dean’s body, just as his prostate took a brutal
hit.
Dean screamed as his body tensed and his muscles fluttered, and he felt himself
getting close to the edge with every stuttering thrust against his
oversensitive flesh.
“Please!” Dean begged, desperate for this to be over, but John only reached
around him and palmed his cock, stroking once before Dean lost it completely
and bucked up wildly, coming hard into his father’s hand.
John stroked him through it and Dean didn’t care anymore that he was sobbing
and crying and begging as John peppered hot kissed over his neck and shoulders.
He jerked and spasmed as he tried to shy away, unwanted pleasure and
satisfaction making his muscles weak. He collapsed onto his front on the bed,
John’s cock pulling from his body with an obscene pop, his father’s weight
following him down and trapping his cock in John’s slick grip against the
soiled sheets.
Dean kept silent and let the tears fall as they regained their breath, staying
as still as possible in the hopes that John would fall asleep from exhaustion
and whiskey and Dean could slide out from under him and leave before he woke
up, pretend this never happened. He was utterly humiliated, couldn’t believe
his body could take pleasure from such a forbidden act, and he longed for the
safety of a locked door between him and his father. John’s hand around his
spent cock was simply cupping him, wet and far too intimate, and Dean could
feel his father’s lips pressing into his spine, comforting him like a lover
rather than a dutiful son.
When John shifted Dean took his chance and tried to crawl away, but John put a
firm hand on his shoulder. Dean shivered, sinking down obediently into the bed
and screwing his eyes tightly shut.
“If we have to do this, it can at least be…” John started, cutting himself off
before he could finish.
Dean had no idea what his father meant. Did he want it to be good for Dean? Did
he think that somehow that would make it easier rather than harder to handle?
Dean could handle pain, he understood duty, but what John had just done to him
was unthinkable. So sick and wrong and twisted that Dean thought he might throw
up all over the tear stained pillow.
“From now on we’re doing it this way,” John said, unexpectedly kissing Dean’s
neck and making him shudder. “I won’t hurt you again.”
Dean didn’t say anything, couldn’t bring himself to stop John as he bundled him
up in his arms like a lover and spooned their bodies together, still sticky
with sweat and come.
Too late, Dean thought, losing the last of his self worth at those unspoken
words, and he forced himself to lie still and obedient in his father’s arms.
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