Dean was waiting for him on the couch, when John walks in, he sees that much – and that Dean had fallen asleep for the wait. John tries not to notice that Dean's hair is a ruffled mess, he just walks into the shower room and tries to forget it all under clean running water. He knew, in some part of his mind, that Dean would hear the shower and go to investigate. Some part of him wants his son, but he wants to be sure that Dean wants this too. It isn't right, but it isn't wrong – it's a need. John needs Dean because he isn't like what Dean is becoming, John is reserved and careful in whom he trusts while having sex. If he can not trust Dean, though, who can he trust? Dean is innocent in that wary care that John takes; he's becoming a carefree and sexual creature because there is so much of Mary in him.
Dean opens the bathroom door with careless regard for boundaries, and looks John up and down, as if he can read what happened in John's skin.
"A bad one…?" Dean asks him, head tilted to the side and his eyes full of sorrow that he can do no more then this, giving the physical comfort John craves. Dean doesn't know how rare his like is, how John loves him for such selfishness.
John touches Dean's messy hair when Dean comes closer, his cheeks flushed, and his hair already damp. John doesn't say anything, he rarely does, and Dean understands that and accepts it. John may feel as if he is using Dean for his own pleasure – but he will let Dean do it, he won't ask, he won't tell Dean what to do – not in this.
Dean drags John's hand to his lips, a quick tongue lavishing each of his fingers, sucking the fingers down to the last knuckle. John's hands are big, and Dean's mouth is little, and John closes his eyes as he sucks in a breath. Dean's eyes are darker and bluer when he looks again. Dean doesn't let his fingers go as he gets onto his knees, fingers hooked into his mouth, like some fish that John has caught. It should be ridiculous, but isn't.
Dean makes a soft, urgent sound, and John moves his hands out of the way as Dean presses his face against John's groin, inhaling, while John just thinks of breathing as he leans against the wall for strength. It's then that he sees Sammy, peeking in through the bathroom door, half obscured, John can see how wide Sammy's eyes are, and Sam is panting a little, licking his lips, hunger in his eyes as he looks at them.
John has to wonder how long his youngest son has been watching them. Then he doesn't have time to think as Dean's hot mouth licks at his balls, like a kitten with mike and cream. John gives Dean as much room as he can, and Dean rewards him with his throat. Dean is humming some hard rock beat that he so loves and John can appreciate his taste in music now, when Dean's singing it around his cock. Dean suckles at him, and John can't help thrusting his hips and though he isn't sure how Dean can breath, Dean takes it and swallows as John groans, his hand tangling in Dean's messy and shower damp hair.
Dean looks up at him, and his eyes are the blue of the ocean before a storm, his lips are pouting and abused, while he licks seed from his lips and chin. John has never seen anything like Dean, and Sam makes a soft whining sound, needy, and John pretends to not hear for a moment. Dean looks to the bathroom door, seeing that he left it half open – and cringes. Sam is long limbed and earnest even in his arousal, leaning against the wall.
"Kiss me?" Sam asks, coming in closer as if Dean is some wild thing that might bolt away from him. John smiles a little to himself as he recalls that Sam doesn't know this Dean at all. Dean is trapped between them now, and he looks as if he's had it all planed out from the start.