Dean drives well into the night, stopping through any and all bar parking lots or the occasional motel parking lot in search for John's truck down the interstate. Dean figures his father hasn't gone too far, considering the beginnings of a possible hunt they were scouting about in this region.
His stomach is a mess of knots even as he listens to the calming, caressing voice of Robert Plant singing the opening lyrics of Stairway to Heaven, and Dean almost feels carsick for the first time in his life, upon even focusing on the drive.
Dean drives by a Waffle House and figures that a motel on Dad's impromptu budget would be somewhere close.
And to his luck, there's a Super 8 adjacent from a run-down local bar about five minutes down the road of the Waffle House, and an old model, black, GMC Sierra was parked in the Super 8 lot. Part of Dean hoped for coincidence, that someone else had such an overbearingly badass truck, and the other part hoped and ached that he found his father.
He stares on for a while before pulling into the gas station across the street, parks the Impala in the shadows by the BP Station and its garbage bin, and begins his way to the Super 8. He figures his dad would recognise the engine of their car in a heartbeat and bolt, so Dean plays it safe so he's able to snag John a bit more easily.
Dean settles himself to lurk by the motel door of the residence directly in front of wear the truck was parked. After about 15 minutes or so, he plans on making a small rucus outside the door to attract John's attention if he was in his room, but he spies John across the street of the Super 8, striding out of the bar.
He definitely feels nervous, and he lets out a gust of air, feeling like he got kicked in the gut a bit upon seeing his father. But Dean remembers Sam's advice, that it's now or never, and Dean forcibly wills himself to not bolt, but to steady himself against the wall and his eyes smolder upon John's person.
Once John gets rather close to entering the truck, Dean lets loose a gravly call of "Dad."
John is visibly startled at the sudden voice, even more so secretly startled and nervous that it was Dean's voice, he asks, "Dean? What are you doing here?"
Dean pushes off from the wall and suddenly feels kind of mad as he walks up to his father. "I should be asking you the same thing."
John pauses and stares down at his son for a long time before sighing and looking away from Dean. He shuffles to the driver's door of the truck, figuring a quick getaway is the best solution to the problem, but Dean quickly strides over to the passenger's side and catches his chance to stop John.
He stares down at the steering wheel as he hears Dean close the other door, and John doesn't even bother putting the keys in the vehicle now that his son has invaded his vehicle. John looks over at Dean grimly. "Why did you follow me." It wasn't even a question.
Instantly, Dean fires back with: "Why did you leave me." Shit, I didn't mean to say-
"Dean." John begins, focusing upon the motel door in front of the truck rather than who he was adressing. "'M not a good a father. I tried to be." Dean gives John a look of confusion, he being the devout follower to his dad, hearing blasphemy about John from John's own lips. He quietly explains with a cover-up; "Got you all upset at the bar." But really he mostly feels like a failure of a father because of how he secretly felt about his son. Dean didn't have to know that.
At Dean's further confusion, John just shrugs and continues. "Better off without me, y'know?"
And at that, Dean's heart sinks, thinking of all the things he wants to say to that, or what he shouldn't say. Dean's heart breaks when John gives him a grim smile.
"Dad, you haven't done anything wrong." And John could almost sneer at himself at hearing that. "It's my own... problems and shit that's kinda fucking up our family dynamic."
That choice of phrasing really perplexes John. It takes him a minute or so to reply. "I could just leave if this 'problem'," his father kind of raises an eyebrow about the word before continuing, "Isn't something you're willin' to sort out for yourself, or, whatever you want, I guess."
This was the moment he couldn't hide from himself any longer. Dean closes his eyes and tips his head into the the headrest of the truck. Christ, it's seriously now or never, isn't it? How do I even say it-
His thoughts are disrupted when he feels his father's eyes resting upon him tentively. "Dean, really, maybe you and Sam can just handle things on your own from now on." And Dean's heart freezes up and this is it he has to-
"No." Dean whispers brokenly, startling John.
He turns to look at his father, his green eyes shimmering from unshed tears, almost sparkling with the bathe of moonlight, his lips parted, wanting to speak, but having no words because of heartbreak and fear, and in that instant, John is almost breathtaken by his son's beauty. A tear rolls down Dean's cheek, his brow furrowing before looking away from John. "No."
At the sight of his son crying and apparently put this way because of him, John has no idea how to even approach and react to these mixed signals. The only thing he can think to do is to stare at his son's form in concern until he realises his son is edging closer and closer until his leather jacket is pressed up against his own, and John takes that as invitation that yes, Dean needs his father's comfort right now, needs to know it'll all be alright. John wraps an arm around his son and Dean immediately clings to him, his arms around John's neck, burrowing his face in the crook of his father's neck, savouring the warmth, scent, and feel of his father around him. Just in case it may be too late to ever experience this again. Too late to even ever think of experiencing this again.
The close contact weighs down on John's soul, the struggle to touch too much, to love too much, aflame. After a few moments of hesitation, he matches Dean's desperate hold and wraps both arms around Dean's waist. To any possible passerbys, it definitely looked like a distraught lovers' embrace. Dean could nearly fall asleep then and there, intoxicated by his father's prescence. He felt like he was melting away, like he didn't need to worry about anything anymore.
John notices that Dean is much, much more relaxed than he was earlier, and pulls back slightly to check on Dean, to see if his assumptions that he was fully alright was true. At the shift of contact, Dean peers up at his father but otherwise holds his ground on John, nearly on his lap.
Dean, positively languid and in his element now that he's all calmed down, whispers half-purposefully, half-accidentally, a gruff call of "Dad", and damn if that wasn't a kick in John's gut, that boy was to be the death of him.
"You alright now, Dean?" John asks steadily. He's totally freaked out inside.
Neither of them have moved and are wrapped up in each other even though they realise its no longer a necessary comfort.
"I need to tell you something." Which was all Dean had to say in reply to his father's question, almost seemingly mirthful in his statement, which befuddled John, considering the whiplash in mood.
"A- alright." John curses inwardly for stuttering, What the fuck John what are you doing what's wrong with you-
Dean leans in and molds his lips against his father's for a couple seconds before pulling back only slightly. He looked almost bashful to John's eyes, or that may have been a trick of the moon's light. Regardless, his heart is racing. His son has kissed him. The son he's fantasised over for years. The struggle he'd had to endure to not touch, for years. But this was his son. He couldn't.
"Dean," he begins roughly, choosing his words carefully. "I'm your father."
"I know that. In fact, I've know that for a very long time, Dad." And really, of course Dean would be unfazed and joking around in this situation, now that he's caught John completely off his game. Secretly, he's just as confused and scared as John is right now. "And I've just recently found out that I just don't fucking care."
John lets out a gust of breath in shock that he didn't know he was holding, and by doing so he also realises that he was clutching onto Dean's waist still, his grip more powerful in anxiety. Dean also realises this too, and shifts so he's lightly straddling his father, his back against the steering wheel.
"Please, Dad."
And John wants this too, he really does. But he can't. He shouldn't. And-
Dean grinds his hips down slightly, letting his father know for damn sure that this is what he wants. "I know you want this, too." Which was a gamble on Dean's part to say, but he could only hope that that was the persuasion he needed.
It was John's boiling point, really, and he swoops in and feverishly begins kissing Dean, causing his son to give a surprised grunt and press all of his weight down on his father: his growing, straining erection a heavy weight atop John's own, his chest pressed tightly against John's, the buttons of John's plaid shirt digging into Dean's thin tshirt, their mouths, roaving and roaming heatedly. John slides he tounge into Dean's mouth, causing his son to to lean into John as much as he possibly could, and roughly carasses Dean's clashing tounge until Dean's vibrations of moaning is felt through the kiss by John. He desperately ruts against his father, his libido on overdrive at the prospect of This Finally Happening.
At Dean's wanton display of a plea for friction, John pulls away and slides his hands down to firmly grasp at his son's denim-clad ass, throughly enjoying the jerk of surpise and arousal Dean gave against him. John bites down on his lip semi-conciously and smothers down Dean with his dark stare as a sign of encouragement, and he rocks down against his father fast and rough, almost uncomfortably so in their jeans, the truck squeaking in protest each time Dean grinds against John, his moans needy- and loud.
"We need to take this somewhere else," John states, holding Dean's waist again to stop him from alerting too much attention to the truck, concious of their surroundings. But to this, Dean defiantly arches to press down firmly against John's own erection, causing his father's eyes to flutter a bit. Dean strips himself of his shirt and tosses it aside, the cotton slapping against fogged glass, as he continues his movement upon his father. After doing so, Dean re-anchors himself in a better postion on his father's lap, his legs tightly, powerfully, against John's own, and he grinds slowly, but purposefully against his father. Breathily, he begs: "fuck me".
John very nearly snarls as he pushes up roughly against Dean's grind, the action causing Dean to almost yelp, and he moans, "Now. Fuck me now, please, Dad, please."
His father groans at how sinfully, deliciously eager Dean is. They're going straight to Hell. "Baby, it's probably best if we take this indoors."
But Dean is almost delirious in need, and he frantically shake his head. "I need you right now, right here, please, Daddy, please-"
And at the call of 'daddy', something awakens and brews within John, pushing Dean back so he can gain access to his fly. "You need it that badly?" he says gruffly as he pops the button. "You need me to fuck you so badly, you can't even get off of me?" And his son just moans as he hears John's zipper slide down, and in turn Dean props himself against the wheel slightly to allow John to be able to slide his jeans down.
John lets out a huff of a laugh, his voice rumbling and almost drenched with sex itself. "Can't even do anything yourself now, boy?" And he takes Dean's 'offering' of lifted hips to unbutton and unzips his son's jeans. "Commando?" John says in mock curiousity at what he see and he grasps Dean's cock, staring his son dead in the eyes.
Dean tries to chuckle, but it comes out more of a wheeze than anything, his eyes threating to roll back- "Let's just say I had high hopes coming out there."
John slides his son's jeans all the way off and down to the truck below, the denim mingling with the gas pedal and brake. He admires the view below him for a moment, the tantilising, throbbing cock, the beautifully, freckled and flushed face of his son. As he's pulling down his own boxers, John growls down at Dean: "I'm gonna fuck you until the shocks give out on us."
Dean groans and grinds his dick against his father's abdomen, the coarse hairs tickling against the underside of his sex, impatient. "So far you've been all talk, Dad- show me."
John raises an eyebrow, humouring Dean, before presenting his fingers afore his son's mouth. "Suck," he commands, and instantly Dean's perfectly puffy lips wrap around the flesh, slurping and sucking at two of his father's fingers eagerly.
"Fuck you're just beautiful," John heaves out, and Dean's eyes flutter open at the praise to intently stare into John's eyes, showing off for his father now as if he were sucking cock rather the digits he was to penetrated with, causing John to bite at his lip softly in lust and need for what he was viewing.
He soon removes his fingers and Dean shivers and licks his lips at the pop his mouth produces. He instantly decides he wants to keep his mouth at further use, and kisses his father again, their mouths' wet and sloppy from Dean's still salvating mouth. John props an arm behind Dean's head at the wheel as their mouths slip around each other hungerily, and to Dean's surprise, one of John's wetted fingers slip up into his hole. Dean jerks back out of the kiss and gasps deliciously as the small burn and consistancy of the finger slides up in him. John smirks down at Dean and, with some resistance from the hole, wedges in another finger within him. Dean squirms, hips gyrating slowly to get used to it, when his father changes up the pace and delibrately slides the fingers in and out of Dean, fucking him open with his fingers.
Dean's mouth drops at the burn, and god does it feel good. "D- Dad, please, I need your cock," he breathes out desperately.
John isn't one to deny his son anything he asks for, and without hesitation he quietly replies: "Yes, baby."
Once John's cock begins to breech his hole, Dean's mouth falls completely slack and his brow tenses up, and even though John has admired his son's beauty before now, he can definietly say that this was the most beautiful sight of all he has ever seen. By the time he's in to the hilt, Dean is already trembling and begging: "Fuck me, Dad, please, fuck me already." He's almost crying in need.
At his son's request, he pumps up into Dean and each rough thrust causes Dean to moan out, spurring John on to fuck his son even faster- and harder.
"Oh, oh, god- oh, fuck-" he cries out, his father steadily pumping into this son, before stopping a moment and shifting in his seat to sink down lower, and then he thrusts up into Dean and the result is magnificent, albeit a bit taxing on his own lower back. Dean screams out at John's experimentaly new thrusts, causing his father to growl and fuck into Dean with renewed vigor.
Dean is now just a mess of guttoral cries, peppered with exclaimations of "oh FUCK, Dad- DAD-" and John's breathing and low groans are dwarfed by the sounds of Dean's crooning, coupled with the noise of balls slapping up against Dean's backside.
John holds off upon coming until he feels Dean begin to tremble and shake, his muscles straining in need to release, soon, graspin upon the wheel behind him in attempt for more leverage for his prostate, and that's when John shifts and bends up, his back firmly against the inner hood of the truck, bending and holding Dean over in the process to the point that his feet are almost against John's face and John slams into Dean with more and more force, causing his son to claw against his back until Dean is coming onto John's chest, loud, whining moans exploding from his lungs.
The sounds and the thought of pushing his son over the edge, coupled with the clenching and unclenching of Dean's walls from the release, John finally buries himself in Dean ball's deep, roughly, causing his son to let out one last groan as the hot sticky seed rests within him.
John slides back, taking Dean with him, his son lying against his chest as he sits in the driver's seat, his pants and boxers pooling around his ankles, and his dick wiliting slowly within Dean.
As Dean regains his breath, his son looks up at him, a devious twinkle in his tired, green eyes, and he asks in a fucked-out voice that gives John's cock a little interested, but futile twitch: "The cops out there for us?"
John chuckles and runs a hand against Dean's close-cropped hair fondly. "I reckon they'd be here already if they're gonna be here, but I gotta say I'm honestly surprised that they ain't- I didn't expect you to be a crooner, boy."
Dean merely gives his father a dirty smile. "'Expect'? You think about this often?"
John doesn't dignify that with an answer, just a tired huff of a chuckle that Dean more felt than heard, cradled against his father's chest.