Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2363645.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/John_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Impregnation_Kink, Parent/Child_Incest, Underage_Sex, Dirty_Talk,
      Community:_blindfold_spn
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-01-25 Words: 1256
****** there's nothing more he needs, or can have, or can get ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     prompt: While fucking underage!Dean, John is overcome with the need
     to breed and tells Dean that he's knocking him up and that his
     belly's gonna swell with his seed etc. No actual mpreg please, I just
     want the filthy impreg talk. ;D I'd prefer Dean to be no older than
     13, but I'd take anything.
Notes
     Written for blindfold_spn and originally posted here.
     Blindfold always brings out my inner John/Dean shipper. Title from
     the song A_Cowboy_Needs_A_Horse, appropos of almost nothing.
Sammy's out like a light, one arm flopped over the side of the roll-out, and
has been since Letterman got past the Top Ten List. Even without the door to
the bedroom locked, John feels freer tonight than he has in a while... weeks.
Months, maybe.
He doesn't just climb into bed beside Dean, slide his hand down his boy's belly
and jerk him off under the sheet, shushing him not with words or air through
his teeth, but just with tensing, pausing, till Dean's hips are squirming
pitifully. He doesn't just let himself be touched through his briefs by eager-
to-learn hands, or let his dick slide, fat and adult, between his son's thighs
till they're slick and smeared and dripping with a runny white load and Dean is
staring down at it in awe. Yeah, not tonight.
Tonight he gets Dean ready for his cock for real, muttering encouragement and
making Dean break out into a sweat as he gets fingered. The bead of sweat
starts at his sideburn and slides around his round face as John finger-fucks
his insides, adjusting them to the pressure and rhythm that's just a hint of
what it will be.
He'd never think of this body as a woman's, or even a man's. Dean's sprouting
before his eyes, but his body's still straight like an arrow till the bow of
his legs -- he's a little cowboy, tough and used to the ride. The only hair on
his body is sandy peachfuzz, glistening if the sunlight catches it on his
calves or the lamplight sees John's got his pants down. No tits, no flare of
hips from a tucked-in waist. Still, no woman would cling to John like Dean
does; no one could make him feel this neanderthal need to own just by dropping
his eyelids and saying, Yes, sir.
"What do you always do, Dean?" he quizzes lowly, intent on it as the drop of
sweat slides into the corner of Dean's mouth.
"Use a condom," Dean recites through clumsy lips. "Except with you."
"Why don't we use a condom, Dean?"
"You're my dad," huffs Dean. "You don't have to."
"That's right," John hisses. "Only my boy gets my bare dick inside. Gonna open
up for me, son?"
"Yeah, Dad." Quick, breathless, tense with anticipation.
With his knees hooked over John's elbows and his eyes squeezed shut, Dean takes
it without any complaint other than squeaking breaths, a good little wife. His
hands are doing their best to hold his own ass cheeks open, his hole forced
open in a wide O around the thick cock John's sinking inside him, impossibly
huge for such a young boy to comfortably take. The slick of it is all fake, but
Dean wants it. His pre-teen dick is rosy and stiff and flexing restlessly,
leaping every time it seems to occur to Dean what they're doing, how obedient
he's being. He breathes, "Dad," reverentially when John's balls-deep and
flattening him to the mattress with the knob of his prick deep up in Dean's
stomach.
The very idea, the fucking mental picture of his slit letting off in the pit of
a womb Dean doesn't really have, sets John off. He's going to have to drink
till he passes out after this.
"Feel that?" he whispers gruffly, just for Dean to hear, not minding the
squeaking of the mattress as he pumps his dick into Dean and insists on trying
to bury it deeper every time. "So deep in you, it makes me wanna breed you,
Dean."
"Breed me?" Dean chokes, somewhere between pained and hopeful.
"Yeah, sweetheart. You know what that means?"
Dean hesitates, then shakes his head on the pillow, eyes still firmly shut.
"No, sir."
Surely, he must have some idea, John thinks -- but maybe he doesn't. Maybe Dean
is too young and innocent, still. He doesn't mind if that's the case.
"Wanna breed you," he repeats patiently, like he's teaching Dean about any
other thing. "Wanna get you pregnant. Knock you up just like this --"
Saying it out loud is like a fist to the gut... it's been so long since trying
for Sammy, saying all this like a perverted prayer. With his wife, it was a
possessive, loving, powerful thing. With Dean, it makes no sense at all, but it
gets to him twice as hard, the idea of doing such a thing to his own son. His
balls are pumping out throbbing wads of precome inside his boy's ass just
thinking about it. Even that could be enough, he dimly realizes, and ruts into
Dean hard a few times, ramming into his imaginary cervix and making Dean
alternately gasp and cling and tense. John's taught him to take it slow for an
hour, take it quick and sloppy for ten minutes, but never quite hard, and when
Dean wiggles on his dick, that's a good sign, a silent please.
"Yeah, that's right," John says, his voice dropped low and dark. "Gonna get you
pregnant doing this, son. Shoot my come up in your belly till you're swelling
with my child."
"Da-ad," Dean squeaks, catching his breath.
"You'd do that for me, huh, Dean?" John asks. Already knowing it's true, that
Dean would obey if only it were possible, is making him ache with the need to
shoot already. "Get knocked up for me and be round with my child, have my
fucking baby."
"Yes, sir."
It's barely a whisper, barely formed, but it grabs John by the balls, for a few
seconds all he can hear the slick sounds of Dean's ass being beaten into the
mattress and his own muttering, head dipped down low so Dean can hear
everything he's saying too.
"Get you fucking pregnant. Cream your little ass, get you knocked up here and
now and watch your belly get big. Watch you carry your father's child. Gonna be
so horny while you're knocked up, Dean. Gonna want this all the time, wanting
me to fuck your hole all the time, gonna wish you could get knocked up every
time for me. Fuck -- Dean -- gonna come, boy, gonna breed you right now --"
"Yeah, Dad," Dean whispers, his body rigid. His fingers are still clawing at
his ass, prying, holding it wide open. "Breed me."
John unloads with a groan, locked deep into Dean's ass, pumping his son's guts
full of hot seed that he can feel seeping around his dick. Dean's whispering is
so shy but so willing, that god, he can't help but know that Dean means it
wholeheartedly.
"Jerk off, Dean," he growls. "Show me how much you like it."
Dean obeys quickly, his right hand fumbling to grab at his hard dick and work
it frantically.
"Come on my dick," John tells him, his muscles still flinching and balls still
clutching through shocks of orgasm, his load still pumping out to impregnate
his son. "Come on my dick while it's knocking you up, son."
"Yes, sir," hiccoughs Dean, "yes, sir --"
"That's it," John grunts, feeling Dean's insides clutch at him wantingly. His
son's balls, round and pink and hairless, clench close, and a spurt of cloudy
jizz erupts over his low-sunk belly. That's about as much as Dean can shoot off
now -- sometimes a little more, sometimes less -- and just how much more come
is sitting up in his son's belly makes John want to grin.
Dean's lips are dry and hot and hungry when John gives him a kiss.
"Good job, Dean," he says, and gets a relieved, sleepy sigh.
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