Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/536083.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/John_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Threesome, Dom/sub, Collars, Leashes, Daddy_Kink, Oral_Sex,
      Rimming, Humilation, gagging, Sex_Toys, Frottage, Biting, Spanking,
      Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-10-13 Words: 5607
****** time to waste ******
by poetictragedy
Summary
     John can't work when it's wet and rainy; so, when a rainstorm wakes
     him up, he knows that he won't be able to get anything done and
     decides to use his free time playing with his two boys.
     (Sam's fifteen; Dean's nineteen)
The rain is what wakes John up and he lays in the middle of his bed, staring at
the ceiling, listening to the constant pound of water against the windows, the
door, and the roof. A grumble leaves his chest as he pushes the sheets off his
legs and swings them over the edge of the bed, sitting up carefully, trying not
to make a noise and wake Sam and Dean. When neither of his sleeping sons move
(or make any attempt in doing so), John stands up and stretches, letting out a
small groan as the joints in his shoulders pop loudly. 
After checking to make sure that neither of his sons were awake, John moves
toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him quietly. He flips the light
on and checks his reflection in the mirror, running a hand down the side of his
face, scratching his already salt-and-peppered stubble, making a disgusted face
at the color. "I'm getting old," he announces to the man in the mirror and to
the empty room.
John finally turns away from the mirror -- fearful that, if he stares at it too
long, he might either become vain or self-conscious about his looks and his
obvious aging; he's never really been one for using a mirror, doesn't need them
unless he's stitching something he can't see. When he turns, John moves to the
shower and steps over the tub, bringing both legs over the lip before standing
on his tip-toes, peeking out the window -- the only thing he can see through
the frosted glass is a hint of sunlight -- and he turns again, facing the
shower head this time.
It takes John entirely too long to shower (he lets the hot water get all the
knots out of his shoulders and back, reveling in the feeling of the spray
hitting his skin) and, by the time he gets out, the rain has settled down. He
turns the shower off quickly and grabs a towel, wrapping it around himself,
letting it hang low on his hips as he makes his way past the mirror (only
glancing at it once, though not to see his reflection, just to see how steamed
up it was).
Being extra careful, John twists the doorknob slowly and pulls the door open,
peeking out between the cracks to see Dean facing toward the door, his back and
ass exposed. The sight alone makes John swallow hard and he pries the door open
a little further, grimacing at the noise the rusty old hinges make. John does,
eventually, get the door open enough for his body to squeeze through and he
walks out into the main room, running a hand through his wet hair as he sits
down on the edge of his bed, watching his sons sleep.
For months now, John's known about Sam and Dean's relationship -- which quickly
escalated into a relationship with all three of them -- and so seeing his sons
curled up in bed together, naked bodies pressed tight against one another? It
doesn't bother him, at least - not as much as it used to, especially the first
night he found them together (John shudders every time he thinks about it;
hates himself for the way he let himself get so angry, and the way he had
slapped Dean that night for taking advantage of Sam). 
He turns his attention away from his sons and looks at the clock on the
nightstand between their beds -- it tells John that it's a quarter after nine
in the morning -- and he sighs, scratching his chest lightly. The bright red
numbers mock him as he stares at them and the last one blinks, transforming
into a different number, and John turns away from the clock, looking at
the silhouette of Dean and Sam, their limbs a tangled mess and their bodies so
close together, John's afraid that they would somehow fuse together, if that
were at all possible. 
There are soft noises coming from both of them and John listens; he can tell
Sam's soft sighs, the way he squeaks in his sleep as he nuzzles back against
Dean, who groans low and rough in his chest. These noises go straight to John's
cock and he presses the heel of his hand against the front of his towel,
pressing down as he swallows hard, drinking in the sight and sounds in front of
him, wondering how long he'll last before he has to wake Sam and Dean up.
The answer is not long; John waits a full two minutes (he watches as the clock
face blinks twice, changing the sixteen into an eighteen) before he stands up,
bridging the three foot gap between his bed and the one his sons share. At
first, he stands at the edge of their mattress, looking down at Dean's
perfectly tanned skin, eyes grazing over scars that the kid's had for years,
ones John knows just as well as he knows the ones on his own body -- if
not more.
When Dean shifts on the bed and pulls away from Sam a little, that's all the
space John needs to see that his eldest son's cock is hard and pressed against
Sam's ass. A whimper leaves John's throat and he leans down, splaying his hand
along the tanned, smooth skin of Dean's ass, kneading it underneath his
fingertips. The skin feels warm and unbelievably silky underneath John's rough
fingers and he drags them up the curve of Dean's spine, cocking his head to the
side, smiling when he pulls a long moan from his son's throat.
"Dean -- wake up," John whispers, fingertips dancing along Dean's back,
dragging over his shoulders and tracing a crescent-shaped scar that sits where
Dean's shoulder and arm join. When his son doesn't immediately get up (or react
in anyway, really), John moves his hand down his arm slowly, dragging the heel
down his skin and back up, pressing lightly at his bicep; this pulls a noise
out of Dean and he rolls onto his back, legs and arms disentangling from Sam.
Blinking his eyes sleepily, Dean rubs at his face and mumbles, "What d'ya
want?"
"There's my baby boy." With a grin, John leans down and kisses Dean's lips
before he can say anything and moans when he feels long, smooth fingers in his
wet hair, tugging at it, pulling him closer. He closes his eyes and opens his
mouth, willingly letting Dean's tongue between his lips, moaning louder when he
feels the tip press against his own; if John could say one thing about his son
-- it'd be that the kid's got soft lips and he knows how to use his tongue.
They ease apart and Dean whines in the back of his throat. "Wanna keep kissing
you," he mumbles, petulantly.
John gives him another quick kiss, licking across his lips slowly before
backing off. "Don't you wanna wait until Sammy's up -- so he can play with us?"
John's voice is low and rough, almost grating, and Dean swallows hard, nodding
his head eagerly.
"Uh-huh, can I wake Sammy up?" As he speaks, Dean threads his fingers through
John's hair, licking his lips as he looks up at his father -- green eyes
darkened by the lack of light in the room, lips parted slightly as he breathes
through his mouth.
John grins and nods his head, unable to say no to Dean when he looks like that.
"Of course," he starts, pulling away from Dean, straightening up, "you wake Sam
up, I'm going to dry off -- okay, baby?"
"Okay, daddy." Dean nods and drops his hands onto his chest, watching as John
walks away, disappearing into the bathroom; he waits until the door clicks shut
and turns over, pressing his lips against the nape of Sam's neck. There's one
spot at the juncture of Sam's neck and shoulder that always drives him crazy
whenever Dean touches it, so he moves his teeth down and bites it, running a
hand down the middle of Sam's stomach as he sucks on his skin. 
Sam stirs on the bed and whimpers, pressing his back against Dean's chest,
moaning out his name; Dean chuckles and keeps sucking, fingertips dragging
across the head of Sam's cock in an obscenely slow pace. "Sammy," he whines,
pressing the head of his cock against Sam's ass, dragging it down the crease
slowly, "gotta wake up; daddy wants to play."
"Dean," Sam moans, half awake and half asleep, pressing his ass back against
his brother's cock, keening, "Dean." 
"M'nice and hard for you, Sam -- you can feel it, can't you? Don't you wanna
play with me and daddy?" The fingers on Sam's cock drag down the length and
around the underside, trailing down to his balls; Dean squeezes them once and
presses his hips against Sam roughly, moaning against his neck. 
And Sam can't take any more of the teasing; he carefully elbows Dean in the
chest and rolls over onto his side. He then hooks a leg around Dean's hip and
pushes him down onto the bed, grinding their hips together slowly, letting
their cocks slide against one another. They moan in unison and Dean attempts to
wrap one hand around their cocks, the other going to Sam's hip, fingers wrapped
around it so tightly, Dean's sure he's gonna leave a bruise or some sort of
mark.
They move their his at the same pace and Dean strokes their cocks slowly,
looking up at Sam, licking his lips as he grins. The whole world seems to
disappear as Sam rocks his hips against Dean's and they lock eyes, Sam letting
his eyes flutter shut just before he lets his head fall back, neck exposed.
This, of course, only makes Dean harder and he moves his hips roughly against
his brother's, moaning his name out.
The two of them are so lost in each other that they don't notice (or hear) the
bathroom door open, nor do they pay attention attention to their father, who's
walking around the end of the bed, eyes locked on them. John moves slowly,
walking toward his duffel bag, eyes hungry and set on his sons, mouth watering
as he forces himself to turn away. He bends down, almost reluctantly, and grabs
his bag, hauling it up and over his shoulder, carrying it to his own bed,
listening to the noises Sam and Dean are making, fearful they might make each
other come before he has a chance to touch them.
"Stop," he demands, his voice surprisingly soft, but his sons stop, the bed
springs squeak one last time, and they look at their father with wide eyes,
their pupils lust blown, bottom lips caught between their teeth. "Sit on the
edge of the bed, don't touch each other -- you understand me, boys?"
"Yes," Sam and Dean say in unison as they move away from one another,
scrambling to sit on the edge of the mattress, both of their hands clasped
together, hanging easily between their legs. When John sees that his sons
obeyed (and did so quickly), he moans and drops the bag onto the end of his
bed, unzipping it quickly before shoving both hands in, rummaging around.
From their bed, Sam and Dean watch, their breath hitching in their throats; Sam
sighs occasionally, shifts on the bed and bites his lower lip when he
accidentally touches his cock - though, he's not sure it was entirely
accidental. Beside him, Dean sits still, back straight and eyes locked on
everything their father pulls out -- two leashes, two matching collars,
a vibrator, a dildo, a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. 
John pushes his bag off the edge of the bed and looks at his sons, grinning.
"Who are my good boys?"
"We are." Again, Sam and Dean answer at the same time, even biting their lip
together, and John hums in approval.
"Good, good -- you know who you belong to right?" The boys nod their heads, a
smile playing at the corner of their lips. "Sammy, tell me who you and Dean
belong to," John says easily, grabbing one of the collars and a matching leash,
turning back to look at Sam.
"We --" Sam starts, licking his lips and swallowing hard as John moves forward
with the collar, unhooking it. "We belong to you, daddy." This answer pulls
another hum from John's chest and he leans down, sliding the collar around
Sam's throat, hooking it behind his neck before attaching the leash to it. He
lets the leash fall between Sam's legs and stands, moving a hand to his
youngest son's hair, ruffling it quickly. "Good boy," John mutters, going the
extra mile to scratch Sam behind his ear.
Dropping his hand away, John turns and grabs the other collar and leash,
turning back, stepping in front of Dean. "And if I tell you that you belong to
Sam, who do you belong to, Dean?" 
The collar snaps as John unhooks it and Dean can't stop himself from shivering.
"Belong to Sammy, daddy -- always do what you say and belong to who you tell me
I belong to." The scratchy fabric of the collar slides against Dean's neck and
he almost jumps when he hears it snap behind his head, sucking in a deep
breath. He exhales when John snaps the leash in place and lets it fall between
his legs, as well, before stepping back to look at his sons.
"My perfect little bitches," he mutters, mostly to himself, and grins when he
sees Dean and Sam shiver, almost at the same time. After a moment of
admiration, John grabs Sam's leash and tugs it gently, nodding pointedly to the
floor; it doesn't take long for Sam to get the message and sinks to the carpet,
kneeling in front of John. He's so close to his father's cock (which is only
covered by a thin pair of boxers), that Sam could almost taste it, and he
swallows hard, looking up at John through his bangs.
John looks down and smiles at Sam, scratching his head again. "Wanna suck my
cock, baby boy? Do you want me to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, huh?
Wanna make it hurt, make it so that you can't talk for a couple of days?"
Letting his eyes flutter shut, Sam rolls them back behind his eyelids and nods,
biting down on his lip harder than before.
"Say it."
Sam snaps his eyes open and looks up. "Want you to fuck my mouth, daddy --
 please?"
The please comes out as a low whine and John bites back a groan as he moves his
free hand to the elastic of his boxers, curling his fingers around it. He
pushes the fabric down slowly, watching Sam's eyes grow wide at the sight of
his cock, chuckling quietly at his son's surprise -- it's not like the kid
hasn't seen John's cock a couple dozen times already. Once his boxers are down
enough and hanging around his knees, John gives the leash a tug and pulls Sam
closer, his free hand going to the back of his son's head.
"Suck my cock good baby boy," John purrs, threading his fingers in Sam's hair,
"and I'll give you a treat. You want that, baby -- you want daddy to give you a
treat for being such a good little cock slut?" The compliments mixed in with
the insults makes Sam shudder and he nods his head eagerly, lifting a hand to
wrap his fingers around the base of John's cock.
Sam gives his father's cock a few tugs and holds onto the middle of the shaft,
dragging his tongue over the head, teasing his father. When John's fingers
tighten in his hair and he pulls him forward, Sam opens his mouth and takes the
head of his dad's cock between his lips, moaning at the warmth. He presses his
tongue flat against the head and strokes the rest of John's length slowly,
twisting his wrist before opening his mouth wider, taking another inch.
John takes a deep breath and watches Sam intently. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Suck
your daddy's cock nice and hard."
The encouragements make Sam feel more relaxed and he holds John's cock at the
base, lifting the other hand to rest on the outside of his thigh, fingertips
digging into the tanned skin. Breathing deeply through his nose and closing his
eyes, Sam takes another inch, and then another, and another until he feels the
head of John's cock hit the back of his throat. He gags a little at first and
backs off, making an obscene sucking noise as he does -  that makes his father
moan his name. 
"Get off your knees, Sammy." John pulls his cock back and takes the leash
again, tugging it a couple of times until Sam scrambles onto his feet, using
his father's thighs to help him stand. The kid's lips are already swollen and
his face is flushed, teeth grazing along his lower lip as he waits for more
instruction. "I want you on the bed, on your knees," John starts, pushing Sam
back toward the mattress, turning to look at Dean, "and I want you leaning
against the headboard." 
He lets go of the leash and stands back, watching as his sons get into their
positions: Dean sits against the headboard, his legs spread as Sam gets onto
his hands and knees between them. They look at each other and then turn to look
at John, both of them giving him a look that only makes his cock harder. 
After stepping out of his boxers and kicking them aside, John grabs the dildo,
the vibrator, and the lube before sitting on the edge of the boys' bed. He sets
the vibrator between Sam's legs and pops the top on the dildo, drizzling lube
over it before capping the bottle again, tossing it onto the mattress. 
As John strokes the lube over the rubber cock, he looks at Dean, grinning.
"Lift your ass up for me."
"Yes daddy." Dean bites his lower lip and presses his hands against the bed,
lifting his hips up just enough for John to slip a hand underneath him, fingers
moving over his entrance, rubbing the excess lube against him. A moan escapes
and Dean lets his head fall back against the headboard, breathing heavily
through his nose as he rotates his hips, pushing back against the digits.
"Nu-uh," John chastises, pulling his fingers away before replacing them with
the dildo, "you only get this up your ass for now, while Sam sucks that tiny
little cock of yours." He watches as his son deflates, almost immediately, at
the insult and he grins at the way he blushes, eyes immediately going to the
cock that's laying against his stomach. When Dean's attention is on his own
cock, John slides the rubber one inside of him, not stopping when the eldest
boy starts moaning and whimpering, begging him to stop.
Once the dildo is all the way in, John twists it a bit and pushes on it,
chuckling as Dean nearly screams. "You can sit down," he mutters, pulling his
hand away, wiping the rest of the lube on the sheets underneath them, watching
Dean settle down against the bed, small whimpers leaving his throat.
"How's that feel, baby boy? Does that make your cock hard, huh? Make you wish
your cock was as big as that, I bet." Dean rocks his hips and grinds them down
against the mattress as John talks, whimpering yes over and over again. Licking
his lips, John wraps a hand around the leash connected to Sam's collar and
pulls him forward, "Suck it."
The second John speaks those two words, Sam dips down and licks a stripe along
the underside of Dean's cock, dragging his tongue up and swirling it over the
head. His brother moans and bucks up, then backwards, one hand moving to cup
the back of Sam's neck, mumbling, "Keep going, baby."
Humming quietly, Sam wraps his fingers around the base of Dean's cock and
brings it closer, pressing the flat of his tongue against the underside of his
head. He gives Dean a look and a wink before sinking down, taking as much as he
can on the first try, bobbing his head up and down slowly, sucking hard. Above
him, Dean drops his head toward his chest and watches as Sam bobs up and down,
his fingers moving up and into the crop of silky, sleep-mussed hair on top of
his brother's head; he tightens his fingers in Sam's hair and pulls him down,
forcing the entire length of his cock down Sam's throat.
The sudden movement doesn't prepare Sam and he gags violently on Dean's cock,
pushing back despite the hand on the back of his head, coughing as soon as his
mouth is free. He gags a few more times before he controls himself and calms
down, sucking Dean's cock again, hollowing his cheeks out. The hand on the back
of his head stays still and gently guides him as he bobs up and down, sucking
harder and harder, taking Dean almost all the way into his mouth before pulling
out again.
From the edge of the bed, John watches his boys and groans, licking his lips as
he lets go of the leash, grabbing the vibrator and the lube again. He gets up
and moves behind Sam, pouring lube onto the toy before slicking it up, pressing
the tip against Sam's entrance, listening to him moan around Dean's cock,
though it's muffled.
"Don't see how you're gagging on Dean's cock," John says as he inches the
vibrator inside of Sam, smoothing a hand down his spine. "I mean, you've got a
bigger dick than Dean, Sammy -- should make him choke on yours." A loud, albeit
it muffled, moan comes from Sam's throat and Dean makes a noise like a whimper,
his hips bucking toward Sam's mouth. Without warning, John pushes the entire
length of the vibrator inside of Sam and makes sure it's secure before turning
the dial up to the lowest setting.
The toy buzzes in Sam's ass and he wiggles his hips, pressing them down toward
the bed until John smacks his ass roughly, rubbing the irritated skin.
Whimpering around the cock in his mouth, Sam stops moving his hips and lifts a
hand, cupping Dean's balls gently, rubbing his thumb over them, back and forth.
A loud moan rips from Dean's throat and he pushes Sam's head back down, his
entire shaft disappearing into his brother's mouth, the head hitting the back
of his throat and causing him to gag more.
When Dean feels Sam's throat constrict around his cock, he eases him off and
lets him breath, chuckling breathlessly and throwing out halfhearted apologies
as the youngest coughs. As he coughs, Sam strokes Dean's cock and lays his head
against his  thigh, twisting his wrist and gripping the base when John turns
the vibrator up onto a higher setting. The toy buzzes even louder and Sam moans
against Dean's leg, biting at the inside of his thigh before pulling away,
arching his chest toward the mattress.
"D-daddy..." Sam's voice is broken and he coughs, turning to look at John over
his shoulder, moaning when he sees his father stroke his cock, the other hand
rubbing Sam's ass in slow circles. Swallowing hard, Sam closes his eyes and
whimpers when he feels John's hand move away, only to come back down, hard. He
whimpers brokenly and moves his hips against his father's hand as he rubs the
skin, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat when he feels John's
lips against his ass.
"Such a good little boy," John praises, moving his hand down the back of Sam's
thigh and back up, fingers going toward the vibrator. He dials it up on high
and pulls it out halfway, pushing it back in until Sam is moaning a mantra of
John and Dean's names, mixed with a myriad of curse words that Sam is far too
young to use, but John doesn't care. "Does daddy's baby like getting fucked
with this naughty little toy?"
Another strangled noise leaves Sam's throat and he barely chokes out, "Yes,
daddy."
"Mm, such a good little bitch. Do you wanna fuck Dean, baby?" John pushes the
toy all the way in and listens to Sam come undone; he moans loudly and his
entire body shudders, John can feel the tremors underneath his fingers as he
strokes a hand up and down Sam's spine. 
"Yeah -- yeah, wanna fuck Dean, daddy. Can I? Can -  fuck - can I daddy?" Sam's
rambling and repeating words over and over, moans popping up between words and
that causes him to start over; it takes three times for Sam to get it right
and, when he does, John grins and smacks his ass, leaving a hand print on the
other cheek.
John steps away and takes the toy out of Sam's ass, turning it off. "Of course,
but I wanna watch you eat him out. I know how much you love to lick Dean's ass
-- don't you, Sammy?" John talks in a voice that you'd normally use when you're
speaking to a child, a baby, or an animal, his nails grazing up the middle of
Sam's back, moving over his shoulders.
Swallowing hard, Sam nods and exhales sharply through his nose. "Please,
daddy," Sam whimpers, pushing his hips back against nothing, seeking some sort
of friction but getting nothing. A whine leaves his throat and he shivers when
he feels John's hand on the middle of his back, guiding his ass down onto the
mattress; Sam winces when he sits down, his ass too sore and raw to be sitting,
but he doesn't protest.
"Take the dildo out of your ass, Dean." John moves to his own bed and sits on
the edge, hands on his knees, watching as Dean slides the rubber cock out of
him, letting it fall onto the mattress. He's a writhing mess the entire time,
hand shaking, legs trembling, breath catching in his throat, and when he
finally pulls it out, Dean exhales hugely, like he's been holding his breath
the entire time. "On your knees," their father demands, snapping roughly as he
leans back.
Dean huffs and moves onto his knees, gripping the headboard as he dips his
chest down, sticking his ass out for Sam; it's already slick from the lube
(which is flavored) and Sam groans, looking at John for the okay to start. When
his father nods and motions toward Dean's ass, Sam bites his lower lip and
turns back toward his brother, leaning in to lick a stripe from the top of his
ass, down the crease and back up.
"Holy f--fuck, Sammy," Dean breathes out, hands tightening around the
headboard, pushing his ass back more. From behind him, Sam growls and spreads
his ass, spitting on his entrance before licking it roughly, tongue brushing
against it over and over until Dean is writhing and pushing back, keening.
Taking his time to tease his brother, Sam licks at his entrance and drags his
tongue up and down, moving them close to Dean's balls before taking them away.
The entire time, Dean is kneeling in front of him, moaning and whimpering his
name loudly - mixing in 'daddy' and 'fuck' every few seconds, pushing back
against Sam until he, finally, wiggles his tongue inside. His muscles instantly
tighten around Sam's tongue and the kid moans against him, tongue-fucking him
for a moment before pulling back, blowing cool air on Dean's entrance.
Neither of them notice that their dad is stroking his cock, watching their
every movement, his breathing shallow; Sam keeps licking Dean's ass, blowing
air on it from time to time, which makes his brother whine loudly and push
back. "Mm, fuck -- touch that small cock of yours, Dean," John says, out of
nowhere, the hand on his own cock slowing.
A strangled whine leaves Dean's throat and he leans his forehead against the
headboard, moving one hand down between his legs, touching his cock. The first
touch makes him buck forward, pulling his ass out of Sam's reach (which makes
the kid whine) and he breathes slowly, trying to calm himself down as he wraps
a hand around the base.
"You can fuck him now." 
Sam turns when he hears this and swallows, mumbling, "Thank you daddy." John
smiles at his son and hands him a condom, moving his hand over Dean's ass
before pulling it away. He grips his own thighs and watches as Sam rolls the
condom down over his cock, securing it at the base; Sam pours lube over his
cock and slicks it, pressing the head against Dean's entrance, just barely
pushing in.
And, at that moment, all three of them groan at the same times - though Dean's
is louder - and John bites down on his lower lip, watching Sam's cock
disappear. When the kid bottoms out, he moans and slumps forward, wrapping a
hand around Dean's leash, pulling it until he's choking his older brother. His
hips start to move in a quick and even pace, slapping against the eldest's ass
roughly, filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin.
"Yeah, baby - that's it. Fuck your bitch real good, Sammy; show him how you use
that big dick, make him wish his cock was as big as yours." John
rambles insistently, one hand going to his cock, the other dropping to his
balls, squeezing and rolling them between his fingers. The room quickly fills
with the smell of sex and John feels lightheaded from the combination of their
musk and the sight of watching Sam fuck into his older brother.
"Dean, fuck - such a good little whore," Sam moans, leaning over Dean's body,
brushing his lips along the eldest's shoulder, mumbling the same thing over and
over again. He pulls out all the way and slams his hips forward, pulling the
leash harder, choking Dean and cutting off any noises that he's making, which
makes John moan -- suddenly feeling proud of his son.
Underneath Sam, Dean strokes his cock and pushes his hips back against Sam,
moaning as much as he can, feeling the collar press tightly against his throat;
he can barely breathe but, from the way his brother's hips are moving, Dean
guesses he doesn't have long before Sam comes. 
The pace of Sam's thrusts gets sporadic and he starts to pound his cock into
Dean harder, breathing heavily against his neck before biting it, loosening up
on the leash, which allows Dean to breathe. He sucks a deep breath into his
lungs and exhales sharply, moaning Sam's name loudly as his entire body
shudders, signaling that his orgasm is approaching.
"I'm gonna - fuck - gonna... gonna come, Sammy. Fuck, baby, love your big cock
inside me, feels so fucking - good," Dean moans half the words out and slams
back against his brother, stroking his cock until his orgasm hits; he comes
hard, panting and nearly screaming both Sam and John's names out, whimpering as
he comes undone underneath his brother. His muscles clench around Sam and
that's all it takes for him to come, Dean's name a constant on his lips, daddy
a close second.
Watching both of his boys come makes John get closer and he fucks into his
fist, squeezing his cock as he pulls his hips back, loosening his grip when he
thrusts forward. His entire body is shaking, sweat is rolling down his neck and
back and he lets his head fall back, groaning Sam and Dean's name as he comes,
hips jerking forward. Thick ropes of come shoot over his thighs, stomach,
chest, and hand as John slows down, barely stroking himself until his orgasm
subsides.
All three of them are panting and Sam pulls out of Dean with a grunt, falling
onto the bed and wincing at the pain in his ass. Dean falls onto his stomach,
laying in the mess of come underneath him, and looks at John with a grin on his
face; their father is laying on the middle of the bed, come covering his
stomach and chest and his thighs.
"Come on," Dean rasps as he moves off the bed and kneels in front of John,
cleaning the come off his thigh; Sam follows behind a moment later and goes to
work on their father's stomach. Moaning quietly, John moves a hand to the back
of their heads and lightly scratches their scalps until they stop licking and
pull away.
Exhaling sharply, John sits up and chuckles. "Damn," he mutters, unhooking the
collars from around Sam and Dean's throats, letting them fall to the ground,
along with the leashes. "You two should go get cleaned up; I think the rain has
stopped and, if it has, we're gonna go to work, hear me?"
"Yes sir," his sons speak in unison, giggling as they stand up, holding onto
each other for support. The two of them walk toward the bathroom and John
watches them walk away, biting his lip as he sees the marks on Sam's ass; he
chuckles at the way Dean walks, his bow legs even more bowed than before.
Shaking his head, John lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling, his
breathing returning to normal as the rain starts to ease up. He thinks about
what they did and hopes, in the back of his mind, that it rains tomorrow so
they can do it again.
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