Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12511636.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Underage, Noncon_Written_as_Dubcon, Underage_Rape/Non-con,
      Parent/Child_Incest, Unreliable_Narrator, Pedophilia, Child_Abuse,
      Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate_Universe-_No_Supernatural, John
      Winchester_and_Mary_Winchester_are_Divorced, Delusions, Dean_Winchester
      as_Lolita, Feminization, Object_Insertion, Restraints, Barbie_Dolls,
      Underage_Drinking
  Series:
      Part 10 of Playing_Bingo_II
  Collections:
      SPN_Kink_Bingo, SPN_Kink_Bingo_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-31 Words: 2459
****** Kept It for Himself ******
by octopussy_(deannawincester)
Summary
     John and Dean hole up in a nice normal house at the end of a cul-de-
     sac while the parents and little girl who live there are on vacation.
     Dean’s curious about the Barbies he finds; John encourages more
     creative play.
     Written for SPN Kink Bingo 2017. Square filled: DeanJohn.
Notes
     As always, please read the tags. This contains a lot of potentially
     squicky and/or triggering shit.
     Title from “Nobody's Daughter" by Hole.
See the end of the work for more notes
It’s well after dark when John turns onto the cul-de-sac. They’ve been living
like night creatures for at least a month now, traveling overnight to ensure
John makes it to his next shift gig and minimize the risk of someone who might
not understand spotting Dean. They don’t need the questions about why Dean
isn’t in school or where his mother is. As long as they have each other and a
lead on the next place to find a meal and a place to lay their heads, they have
it all.
Of the five homes on the cul-de-sac, only two have owners and the other lived-
in house belongs to a senile woman. At this time of night, the dead end
neighborhood is virtually unlit, but John pulls into the garage and closes the
door behind them anyway. The family that lives here full-time is on a month-
long vacation and John and Dean need some old biddy poking around wondering
what the house sitting arrangement is even less than they need questions about
Mary from strangers at truck stops.
Dean’s tired. He gripes and squirms and fights getting out of the car, too
tired of being seat belted to really realize that settling into this new place
is the solution to the muscle soreness and boredom of being on the road. It’s
been a long drive and John can’t really blame him, John’s pretty tired too.
He carries Dean bridal style, then over his shoulder kicking him in the kidney
the whole way out of the garage, up the stairs, and into the kitchen when Dean
refuses to let himself be carried. The kitchen table is solid wood, high-
quality and too heavy for Dean to move on his own, so John sets him into a
chair and knots Dean’s ribbon around a table leg.
Dean stops squirming once the knot is done up, like the distinct boundary makes
him feel safe.
When he’s still, John cups his face for a kiss. Dean relaxes like all the
tension of the day has drained away, going almost limp. It’s awful being out on
the road or in public, feeling like he can’t give Dean affection like this,
affection he clearly needs, for fear of what a stranger might think.
“I’m going to unload the car, okay, sweetheart? Then I’ll make us something to
eat. That sound okay?”
Dean looks up at him, eyes soft in what passes for assent when Dean’s in this
mood.
“I’ll be right back.”
John leaves Dean with a kiss to his forehead.
Dean hardly moves while John works. Poor kid’s exhausted. It’ll be good for him
to transition back to a daylight schedule while John works construction with
the contractor who built this subdivision and who let John know that this house
would be vacant.
John makes them eggs and pancakes from a mix he finds in the pantry. Dean’s
always loved breakfast for dinner, though with their backward schedule it’s
more like breakfast at dinnertime. John has to threaten Dean with staying
knotted to the table all night to get the kid to eat even a whole pancake. He
hasn’t had much of an appetite lately, but that should return to normal right
along with their sleep schedule.
John finishes the bottle of rotgut he’s been working on a little at a time
since morning and then polishes off the orange juice that Dean refuses to
touch.
After John’s cleared the table and ensured that the doors are locked and the
alarm is armed, he lets Dean explore and choose the room that they sleep in.
John’d rather share a king, but he thinks Dean enjoys having options and a
little measure of control.
With the dishes done and their stuff organized as much as it ever is without
closets and dressers that belong to them, John realizes he hasn’t heard a peep
from Dean. Dean rarely runs off, but he’s in a mood tonight and probably would
love to go out for a walk on his own in the nearly abandoned neighborhood.
“Dean?”
There’s no sign of him in the downstairs of the house and the doors are all
still closed.
“Dean, sweetheart?”
Dean doesn’t answer, but John can see a light on as he comes up the stairs. The
painted pink door right off of the landing is open just a crack. John relaxes
when he comes close enough to tell that Dean is in there sitting on the
expensive stain-resistant carpet.
“Dean?”
As John presses the door open, he takes in the room. It’s undeniably a little
girl’s bedroom, decorated in pink, yellow, and cleaner white decor than he
could’ve imagined in a child’s room. The vast majority of the floor space has
been incorporated into a sprawling, clearly kid-conceived doll city of Polly
Pocket houses and babydoll cradles and Barbie home floor plan blueprints
blocked out with masking tape applied right to the carpet. Dean’s sitting right
in the midst of the sprawling, scale-less dollworld holding a blonde Barbie
dressed in a scandalously short, shiny purple dress and miniature matching
shoes.
Dean’s got her little skirt pulled up to examine what’s between her legs, or
rather what’s missing between her legs, stroking her faux panties like he’s
looking for her holes.
When John comes into his field of vision, Dean jumps, dropping the doll like he
wants to hide his interest.
It hurts that Dean would think John might punish him for a little innocent,
albeit girly, curiosity.
“What did you find, sweetheart?”
John carefully joins Dean on the floor, trying not to jostle the dolls left in
family groups and half-made beds around the entire room.
Dean reluctantly picks up the Barbie and holds it out for John’s inspection.
John may not know much about dolls, but he recognizes the bright smile and
oversized blue eyes of a generic blonde Barbie. This one might be a dancer or
homecoming queen or fashionista, it’s hard to tell the actual intent of the
truly slutty micromini dress.
“She’s pretty.”
John lets Dean snatch the Barbie right back, loving the genuine smile Dean
gives him, the first in days.
“Should we play in here for a while?”
They won’t be able to sleep side-by-side in the twin bed, but there’s no harm
in letting Dean enjoy the first space he’s been in in weeks that’s designed for
someone his age, even if that someone is a dolly architect of a little girl.
Dean looks up at him silently like he’s trying to find John’s hidden motive, as
if John would want anything more than seeing Dean happy. After a moment, Dean
nods.
John mostly watches as Dean puts the blonde Barbie and one of the only Ken
dolls in a sea of pastels into a car and drives them up and down the rows
between miniature houses. Ken and Barbie stop to get gas from an American Girl
and Barbie stays in the car while Ken takes care of it. They join a naked
Kewpie and green-haired troll doll for a meal at a table and Ken shares his
food with Barbie.
Ken drives behind the pink floral accent chair where none of the other dolls
can see them. Barbie lays down in the back on her face, her little skirt pulled
up again. Ken’s pants come down and he rubs and rubs all over Barbie. After,
Dean spends a moment with his brow furrowed straightening their clothes and
taming Barbie’s sex hair. Then Barbie and Ken go back in the car.
When they’ve driven to Dean’s satisfaction, Ken and Barbie pull up at a house
with a family inside and Ken clears it out (John’s amused at the way Ken ejects
the residents by throwing them out the windows) and then brings Barbie in,
tying her to a chair with a doll-sized ribbon not unlike the one attached to
the padded cuff on Dean’s ankle.
It’s touching to see Dean reenacting their days like a small-scale fairy tale.
Dean glances up then, the spell broken for just a moment. He seems sheepish,
self-conscious.
John can’t help but kiss him. Dean still has a touch of syrup on his lip from
breakfast-dinner, the crystals almost as sweet as he is. Dean lets John control
the kiss, turning Barbie over and over in his hands like he wants something to
grab onto, but simply keeping his mouth open for John to lick into.
It’s never been so natural, so tender, not with Mary or with anyone before her.
Just touching Dean lights a fire in John and when Dean submits to him, it’s
better than any porn fantasy.
Dean’s just in sock feet so taking off his pants and underwear is easy. John
relishes the smooth softness of every inch of skin, how well his hands
encompass Dean’s body.
John cups one hand over Dean’s little package, rolling his balls and putting
slight pressure just above the base of Dean’s dick. Dean’s never told him so,
but John knows that’s how Dean likes it because that’s how he’s always liked it
and Dean got more than his good looks.
“Let’s play another game, sweetheart.”
Dean’s not looking at him, ever bashful no matter how often they do this.
“Can I choose the game this time?” It’s not really a question. Dean wouldn’t
say no.
“We only need Barbie for this game,” John says.
Technically they need Barbie and the quick-open packet of lube in John’s back
pocket, but the point that this game doesn’t require a Kendoll stands. Dean’ll
never need a stand-in for John, even if that stand-in is a foot-long piece of
plastic with a face. John’s always prided himself on being a hands-on, present
father.
John turns Dean around so Dean’s back is to his chest. Even with John sitting,
Dean isn’t taller than him. The position gives John a perfect view of Dean’s
rabbit chest under his t-shirt, the soft curve of his belly and the softer
curve of his penis under that.
“Barbie’s going to make you feel good, okay?”
Dean nods, his hair rubbing against John’s cheek.
They’ve used their mouths on each other before, but being able to watch and
imagine someone else sucking Dean makes John shudder. Obviously the Barbie
blowjob consists mostly of using all that blonde hair to tease with a touch of
pressing her pliable plastic face against Dean for a hint of friction and John
would never let anyone violate his little boy, but the image is still alluring.
When Dean starts to shift, John coaxes him into a sitting position with his
knees pulled up. John lifts Barbie’s skirt again, lining up her legs with each
other so that they might as well be one appendage, and takes off her purple
shoes to set carefully to the side. Surely the little girl who lives here would
notice if one of her start residents lost a molded heel.
He lubes up the plastic carefully and puts the tip of Barbie’s toes right
against Dean’s bum.
“It’s just like Daddy’s finger, sweetheart, bear down a little.”
Dean groans with the little effort and Barbie slides right in up to her knees
where she truly isn’t too much wider than a finger or two.
Dean grabs at John’s forearms, probably overwhelmed at the familiar-but-new
sensation.
John thrusts the doll in and out experimentally. Her lycra skirt bounces in
time with Dean’s barely-more-than-breathing sounds.
“How does that feel, sweetheart?”
Dean squirms.
“Poky.”
John scoops Dean up in both arms, positioning him so that he’s entirely off the
floor, bent nearly in half with his hips lifted up. He’s so tight inside that
the doll barely moves even as John adjusts him.
The new angle lets John see where the Barbie’s legs disappears into the pretty
pink pucker of Dean’s bum.  
“That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”
He keeps Dean scooped up with one arm so he can move the doll with the other.
Dean’s spooned against him so sweetly and he takes the leg so good, like he
always does. John lays kisses to Dean’s forehead and hair and cheek, loving how
the kisses sound so much like the suck of Dean’s opening.
It’s been too long since they could really be together. John’s ached in his
chest as much as his balls looking at Dean across the Impala’s long bench seat
being unable to touch him as tenderly as Dean deserves. He longs to do more, to
make up for lost time, but they have to wait at least one more night. It’s
taken a long time to let Dean’s little body adjust to grownup sex and tonight
it would just hurt him.
Maybe they’ll have to revisit this doll utopia and the strange buzz it puts
under John’s skin when Dean’s been retrained around his dick so John can coax a
load out of Dean’s bum with a shoeless Barbie or see just how big of a babydoll
fills Dean up like a knocked up little wife.
But tonight it’s enough to let Dean’s weight settle and rock against the line
of John’s cock through his jeans, to fuck the doll legs in and out of him, to
watch the way all of Dean contracts from his fingertips to his cute-as-a-button
hole.
He creams his jeans like a teenager for the way Dean holds on tight to his
forearms, how Dean’s little hands make his arms look so big, how Dean never
even reaches for his little cocklet like he doesn’t need it when they’re
together.
John doesn’t bother redressing Dean once he’s finished and Dean’s stopped
shaking. Instead, they take a bubble bath together. Dean doesn’t really come
yet so John’s the only one with much of a mess on him, but it’s intimate to
shape bubbles into a lookalike beard on Dean’s chin, to clean Dean’s tender
parts as gentle as he can manage with his rough hands. It’s nice to simply be
together in a safe, warm, homey place without pretense or clothes or even
Dean’s cuff and ribbon.
Dean lets John dry him off and put him in a Mattel-produced Barbie nightie
discovered in the top drawer of the pink room. Dean’s always so much more
content and compliant after a fuck, so easy to love.
It’s still early for them, late for the the rest of the world, but they may as
well begin adjusting tonight. John knocks back a couple fingers of whiskey and
lets Dean lick a liquor coating off of his finger three or four times to help
them both have better dreams.
They sleep in the master bedroom, Dean’s ribbon knotted around the bedpost on
the wife’s side and John’s arms wrapped around him.
End Notes
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