He really was lucky to have such pretty boys.
Sure, other hunters mocked them silly for their looks, assumed the worst of them because they weren’t paunchy and pimply, but they got to revel in the satisfaction that came with proving them wrong. And John got to revel in the satisfaction that came with knowing he’d raised them to be his perfect lovers.
Well, almost.
Dean was flawless. He was obedient and his ears were always open, waiting for his daddy to call him over for some much-needed attention. His big Bambi eyes watered through it but he’d gladly deep-throat John while he watched the game, a beer in one hand while the other gripped onto his spiked hair. The only way he could be improved, a way that would require magical intervention, was if he had a third hole for John to stick it in.
That was where Sam came in: he had another hole, but he was also far less trained. He could have blamed Dean for coddling him, but deep down some part of him knew he hadn’t done a good enough job with Sam. He was growing into himself now, starting to shoot up over Dean and fill out so he looked less like a stick bug and more like something John wanted a piece of—especially that tight ass he’d grown over the summer while John was between trips. He felt a spike of jealousy when he caught Dean openly staring at Sam in his boxers and one of John’s old Kiss t-shirts; he could’ve thrown that boy across the room if he was anyone but Dean.
No matter how much John tried, which felt like quite a lot on his part, Sam stayed defiant and angry. While John bent Dean over one of the beds in their motel room and rammed into him, Sam hid in the bathroom or sat far away and watched, like he wanted to be involved but refused because of John. He wondered what he’d done to raise such a spiteful brat, but he didn’t think he’d been around enough to be that big of an influence on him—once again, he was pretty sure he could blame Dean for encouraging that behavior.
John came home weary and aching from a hunt in Montana, barely through the door when he could feel a heavy tension in the air.
Dean and Sam were on the couch, Sam’s feet in Dean’s lap while he read a book, Dean’s arm thrown over the back of the couch. For a moment, John thought he’d walked in on pure domestic bliss until he caught Sam’s shooting-dagger stare.
John shut the door behind him, locking it reflexively, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“No ‘hello?’”
Dean got up immediately, walking over to John and wrapping his arms loosely around his neck. John kissed him on his pouty lips and placed one hand in the small of his back, teasing him with gentle grazes against the dimple of his ass through his jeans. No matter how tired he was, Dean never failed to reinvigorate him.
John broke the kiss and was pleased to see Dean grinning at the end of his nose, his eyes half-lidded.
“Hey, Dad,” his voice was low, deep in a phony way. He wondered what Dean was doing that had him forcing his voice like that.
John glanced over at the couch and found Sam still staring, a small scowl curling his lips. He still didn’t know what Sam’s lips felt like, but he assumed they wouldn’t be as plush and pliant as Dean’s. Yet, that still didn’t deter him from wanting to know.
“You said you’d be back next week,” Sam put a specific, bitter emphasis on “next.”
“It’s not like I’m interrupting anything, am I, Sam?”
He hoped not. Dean knew better than to fool around with Sam, no matter how much John suspected that he wanted to. He’d get an ass whooping if he tried anything with his baby brother, that was for sure. From what he could see, Sam had come out the other side of the two week trip unmolested, but there was no real way to judge with his clothes still on.
“Nah, it’ll be nice with you here,” Dean attempted to reassure him, before turning back to look at his brother, “right, Sammy?”
He returned his attention to his book, leaving John to nudge Dean over to the bed. He would’ve killed for a beer and a back rub right now, but adrenaline was pumping through his system and it’d be his best shot at getting hard tonight.
John threw Dean down onto the bed, his legs falling off the side and his pupils blown as John started kissing him again. He slipped one hand between Dean’s thighs and groped at the half-chub in his jeans; the kid could get hard on a dime and John was green with envy.
“You miss me, baby?” He asked as he ground the heel of his palm into Dean’s straining erection, feeling a rush when he bit his bottom lip and nodded.
“I wish you’d take us,” Dean breathed out with a pleased sigh as John massaged his cock. “We can help, really.”
John laughed, dropping down to kiss Dean again. He tasted cereal milk on him, he must have been running low on cash if he was resorting to cereal for dinner. Hadn’t John taught him how to hustle pool when he got Dean his first fake ID?
To their right, he heard Sam scoff. That little bastard did it deliberately, he was certain of that, and he was half-convinced to go over there and knock some sense into him. Instead, he craned his neck to look at Sam while Dean’s hands snaked down to undo his belt.
“Get over here, Sam.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean stop in his tracks, eyes wide. Sam glowered, staying in place for a moment before he threw his book down, storming over to the bed. He wasn’t standing there for long before John pulled him down onto the bed, throwing himself on top of his youngest and putting one hand between his thighs. Sam was radiating heat, like his virginal cunt was aching to be stretched around John’s cock.
At least, John hoped he was a virgin.
Sam looked to Dean, a scared, helpless expression crossing Sam’s face. John grabbed his face and turned his head back towards him, crushing their mouths together to try and keep him looking ahead.
“He doesn’t want it, Dad, not yet,” Dean’s voice was unsteady as he tried to plead with John, but that wasn’t going to get very far.
“I see how you look at him, Dean,” he spoke against Sam’s mouth, holding his jaw firm so all he could do was accept John’s kiss. “It’s fucking shameful.”
Dean had no rebuttal. Sam’s eyes were locked on his brother, like he was only just now learning that Dean had been perving on him for years. John could swear he saw disgust color Sam’s face, even if it only lasted a second or two, before Dean intervened. He was hurt, but not hurt enough to really fight John on it. What a good boy he was.
Sam whimpered against John’s mouth, glaring up at him when he pulled away. John’s free hand got to work rubbing at Sam’s clothed cunt like it’d grant him three wishes, and he was happy that his boy stopped fighting. Instead, he looked over at Dean, breathing roughly through parted lips.
“It won’t be long, Sammy,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true: if John had his way, he’d be breaching Sam’s virginal pussy tonight.
“It’ll be okay.” Dean attempted reassurance, but all he got in return was Sam furrowing his eyebrows, wordlessly begging him for help. “You’ll be fine, Sam.”
His legs twisted and he tried to jerk away from John’s hand, but he could feel Sam’s arousal leaking through his jeans. He was a contrarian bitch in heat and John was more than happy to fuck him into submission. That’s what fathers did: taught their kids about the world and trained them to not be whiny assholes. John had just been slacking with Sam, is all.
As John unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and started to slide them down his hips, Dean interjected again: “He’ll be gentle. If you’re good, he’ll be gentle.”
Dean couldn’t walk after the first time John fucked him; he fed Dean a story that he’d fallen while he was hunting with his daddy and nobody suspected a thing. At least, if they did, they never went to John with any suspicions. He had to make sure Dean wouldn’t let Sam tell anybody about what they really did behind closed doors, not unless he wanted them to be separated. Those boys couldn’t live without each other, and John knew Dean wouldn’t do anything to put their family in jeopardy—he just couldn’t trust Sam.
John felt his mouth water as he peeled Sam’s underwear away from his body. It was a shame the kid liked to keep himself covered up, he was a hot little number when he got his clothes off. He glanced over at Dean and saw the way he was looking at Sam—the concern furrowing his brow, the hunger behind his eyes, his fingers digging into the sheets. He was scared shitless: of John, of Sam not giving in, of his own fucked-up desires, he couldn’t tell what. All he knew was that he wasn’t sure he trusted Dean, either. He couldn’t treat John like God one second and doubt him the next.
“Why don’t you get us something to eat? Wallet’s in my jacket.”
Dean didn’t react at first, like he thought John was just playing. Then his eyebrows knitted together, his big eyes starting to water. Manipulative little bitch.
He swallowed down whatever pain John caused him—he remembered his manners after all—and got his jacket from the table next to the couch, standing to John’s side for a moment like he was going to beg. Very rarely, Dean reminded John of Mary, and this moment wasn’t one of those times. He wasn’t fiery, he wasn’t defiant, he wouldn’t ever rile John on purpose. Sometimes, perfection could get boring.
“It’ll be okay, Sammy,” he promised, but his promise was as shaky as his voice. Something underneath his exterior burned with a sudden flash of resentment; John could see it in his shoulders, the corner of his mouth.
It was no use to have his boys hate each other, but John wondered if that’d keep Dean from lusting after Sam if he had some reason to hate him. That’d make it easier to keep Sam all for himself, like he deserved.
Sam couldn’t help the fucked-up way he was born, and John couldn’t help that he just happened to have better parts than his brother.
Dean left the motel room, all but slamming the door as he exited, leaving John and Sam all alone. John slipped two of his fingers between Sam’s thighs and kept pressing up until they popped into that sopping wet, unused hole. He whimpered again, almost sounded like a tortured animal, and brought a hand up to cover his mouth. Now he was tearing up like John had sat him in front of the TV to watch Bambi.
“Trust me when I say this is gonna get so much worse, baby.”