Some Things Change, Supernatural, NC-17
Jun. 16th, 2008 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Some Things Change
Pairings/Characters: John/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 876
Summary: Some things change. Some things never will. Largely dirty, angsty porn.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for the loverly![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ysbail on the occassion of her birthday! Happy Birthday, my dear. I wrote you John/Dean. I don't write John/Dean for just anybody you know! But I was looking at what you gave me for the birthday prompt and I saw John/Dean and angst and possessive? And this came out. Daddy!cest people. Consensual incest, adult, established sort of relationship.
There is something in the way the boy leans against the Impala, long legs stretched out in holey jeans that fit just a little too tight across the thighs, t-shirt riding up to show a hint of hip bone and a stretch of stomach that’s tight and toned as he leans back, hands against the black paint, shades tilted just so as two girls saunter past, their eyes glued to him.
Something that makes the blood boil.
Something that makes the girls walk into lamp posts.
Something that makes the boys want to bloody his face.
Something that makes him want to teach the boy a lesson.
He’s all smirk and charm, even as he sees John coming, stands and tugs the shirt down over warm skin. But it’s too little, too late and he knows it, just from the look on his face.
“In the car.” John’s voice is a growl, hungry, predatory.
Dean nods, cocks his head, adjusts his attitude.
They drive, out of town, away from the motel. Because this isn’t a thing they do in motels. John’s hand holds the back of his neck as they drive, as he finds a place that suits this thing they do when the heat and the stress and the goddamn hunt burn up inside them and the fire is too much to fight.
In the middle of some field where the grass tickled the fenders of the car, he stops, opens his door and pulls Dean with him out of the car. They don’t talk, there are no words. Just hot, aching need that fills his gut and blinds him to what this is…lets him deny, lets him pretend.
Just like Dean does. He drops his jeans and bends over easy as you please. Lets John push and prod and stretch him open and when his skin touches the black paint he hisses and it sounds a lot like “John” when he does…because in this moment his isn’t a father….he’s not a lover…he’s the one in charge, the one who takes.
He sinks in to flesh with little more than spit to ease the way. “You’re a goddamn slut, boy.” He growls it into Dean’s back and Dean’s legs quiver under him. “Saw you with that girl.” He pushes down and Dean folds until his whole upper body is against the hot hood and John moves harder inside him, grips his thighs and rocks him off his feet, pulls the boy back onto his cock, grunting with the effort.
It’s sweaty and sticky and fucking obscene with the noises coming from them, from their bodies. It’s heat and possessiveness, driving him, snapping his hips against Dean’s ass, growling, rocking the car.
Dean’s fingers scramble for the fender, his knuckles white as he uses the little bit of leverage to push back, to take more, faster, harder…and his mouth is spitting out filthy things, telling John to fuck him, telling John slut…slut….give it to me….
It’s maddening, quickening the fire already burning hot inside him. He thrusts in deep, lays across Dean so he can reach his ear. “Did you mark her the way I mark you?” His mouth found the curve of shoulder to neck and clamped down…over the same spot…always the same spot. Dean’s head tilted away, giving him more room. “Did you come inside her the way I come inside you?” John growls, pushing back and going back to fucking into him.
“Painted her ass with it.” Dean says over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming. He licks his lips, those goddamn lips and John is done, his come filling Dean and oozing out as John steps back.
Dean slides off the car, turning. His cock is red and hard and dribbling. He reaches for it with one hand, the other falling back against the car, mirroring the pose that had brought this on in the first place. His glasses still cling to the end of his nose, his smirk is dangerous and fuck that boy.
Dean’s hand is almost lazy as it smears pre-come down his cock, his eyes on John. Then John is lurching forward, catching Dean by surprise, pushing him onto the hood and opening his mouth. He swallows and strokes and sucks and Dean’s caught panting and shaking and coming before he’s fully registered what was happening.
Five years this thing has come over them randomly. Five years and Dean’s always finished himself. Until now.
Dean’s still trembling when John backs off again, spitting into the grass. He’s sitting bare ass on the hood, jeans dangling off one foot. John pants and paces away, goes off to pee and give Dean a chance to pull himself together. Just like always.
By the time he comes back, Dean’s found a cloth to clean the come off the hood, and he looks up, the shades tucked away in his collar. “That was different.”
John shrugs and heads for the driver’s side. Dean takes a last swipe at the paint job and moves to get in the passenger’s side. “Got work to do tonight.” John says as they pull back onto the road and head for the motel.
Dean nods and slips the shades back on. “Some things change. Some things never will.”
Title: Some Things Change
Pairings/Characters: John/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 876
Summary: Some things change. Some things never will. Largely dirty, angsty porn.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for the loverly
ysbail on the occassion of her birthday! Happy Birthday, my dear. I wrote you John/Dean. I don't write John/Dean for just anybody you know! But I was looking at what you gave me for the birthday prompt and I saw John/Dean and angst and possessive? And this came out. Daddy!cest people. Consensual incest, adult, established sort of relationship.There is something in the way the boy leans against the Impala, long legs stretched out in holey jeans that fit just a little too tight across the thighs, t-shirt riding up to show a hint of hip bone and a stretch of stomach that’s tight and toned as he leans back, hands against the black paint, shades tilted just so as two girls saunter past, their eyes glued to him.
Something that makes the blood boil.
Something that makes the girls walk into lamp posts.
Something that makes the boys want to bloody his face.
Something that makes him want to teach the boy a lesson.
He’s all smirk and charm, even as he sees John coming, stands and tugs the shirt down over warm skin. But it’s too little, too late and he knows it, just from the look on his face.
“In the car.” John’s voice is a growl, hungry, predatory.
Dean nods, cocks his head, adjusts his attitude.
They drive, out of town, away from the motel. Because this isn’t a thing they do in motels. John’s hand holds the back of his neck as they drive, as he finds a place that suits this thing they do when the heat and the stress and the goddamn hunt burn up inside them and the fire is too much to fight.
In the middle of some field where the grass tickled the fenders of the car, he stops, opens his door and pulls Dean with him out of the car. They don’t talk, there are no words. Just hot, aching need that fills his gut and blinds him to what this is…lets him deny, lets him pretend.
Just like Dean does. He drops his jeans and bends over easy as you please. Lets John push and prod and stretch him open and when his skin touches the black paint he hisses and it sounds a lot like “John” when he does…because in this moment his isn’t a father….he’s not a lover…he’s the one in charge, the one who takes.
He sinks in to flesh with little more than spit to ease the way. “You’re a goddamn slut, boy.” He growls it into Dean’s back and Dean’s legs quiver under him. “Saw you with that girl.” He pushes down and Dean folds until his whole upper body is against the hot hood and John moves harder inside him, grips his thighs and rocks him off his feet, pulls the boy back onto his cock, grunting with the effort.
It’s sweaty and sticky and fucking obscene with the noises coming from them, from their bodies. It’s heat and possessiveness, driving him, snapping his hips against Dean’s ass, growling, rocking the car.
Dean’s fingers scramble for the fender, his knuckles white as he uses the little bit of leverage to push back, to take more, faster, harder…and his mouth is spitting out filthy things, telling John to fuck him, telling John slut…slut….give it to me….
It’s maddening, quickening the fire already burning hot inside him. He thrusts in deep, lays across Dean so he can reach his ear. “Did you mark her the way I mark you?” His mouth found the curve of shoulder to neck and clamped down…over the same spot…always the same spot. Dean’s head tilted away, giving him more room. “Did you come inside her the way I come inside you?” John growls, pushing back and going back to fucking into him.
“Painted her ass with it.” Dean says over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming. He licks his lips, those goddamn lips and John is done, his come filling Dean and oozing out as John steps back.
Dean slides off the car, turning. His cock is red and hard and dribbling. He reaches for it with one hand, the other falling back against the car, mirroring the pose that had brought this on in the first place. His glasses still cling to the end of his nose, his smirk is dangerous and fuck that boy.
Dean’s hand is almost lazy as it smears pre-come down his cock, his eyes on John. Then John is lurching forward, catching Dean by surprise, pushing him onto the hood and opening his mouth. He swallows and strokes and sucks and Dean’s caught panting and shaking and coming before he’s fully registered what was happening.
Five years this thing has come over them randomly. Five years and Dean’s always finished himself. Until now.
Dean’s still trembling when John backs off again, spitting into the grass. He’s sitting bare ass on the hood, jeans dangling off one foot. John pants and paces away, goes off to pee and give Dean a chance to pull himself together. Just like always.
By the time he comes back, Dean’s found a cloth to clean the come off the hood, and he looks up, the shades tucked away in his collar. “That was different.”
John shrugs and heads for the driver’s side. Dean takes a last swipe at the paint job and moves to get in the passenger’s side. “Got work to do tonight.” John says as they pull back onto the road and head for the motel.
Dean nods and slips the shades back on. “Some things change. Some things never will.”
