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praise you like i should

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It’s late, eleven going on midnight when they stumble into their motel room after the hunt they just finished. They’re both covered in grave dirt and John’s got a nasty split on his eyebrow that needs stitching. Fucking ghosts. They’d both gotten thrown around a couple of times before John had managed to shoot the damn thing with rock salt so Dean could finally drop the match. 

 

“Go ahead and shower first,” John says as he points to his forehead, “This thing can wait.” 

 

Dean shakes his head, “You’re filthy too. Just hop in with me and I’ll stitch it up for you when we get out.” 

 

John gives him a tired smile, gratefulness written in the lines of his face. 

 

Dean’s still not used to the fact that John’s so happy with just the smallest amount from him. Ever since they started doing this, being together in this way since Sam left, John looks at Dean like he’s a present on Christmas morning. It makes his blood thrum inside his veins.

 

They shower quickly, the day sluicing off them. Their hands in each other’s hair, tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner used up. Soapy hands roaming over one another’s skin, washing away all the grit. 

 

They dry off and wrap towels around their waists. Dean points to the toilet and John sits on the closed seat. 

 

The stitches are a quick thing, years of practice behind the act. Dean’s steady hand against John’s cheek. Whiskey and dental floss. Not even one wince. 

 

Dean puts all his focus into closing the wound, trying not to get distracted from the love in his father’s eyes as he stares up at him. This is new, the unguarded side of John. Before, it felt like there was a wall of stone up in his gaze. Now, it’s like John can’t stop himself. He can’t get his fill. 

 

Dean’s not used to it yet, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be. He ties the end of the floss up, trims the strands neatly. Runs a finger across to make sure it’s all snug. He finally meets John’s stare and is greeted with a smile. 

 

John’s hand comes up to grab his wrist and he guides Dean’s knuckles to his lips. Gives them a soft kiss. “Thanks, honey.” 

 

Dean sucks in a breath. That’s new too, the pet names. Every time Dean hears one, it’s a rush. A high that he can ride for hours. 

 

John gives him a knowing look, Dean feels like a window pane. His dad’s seen right through him. John gets up and examines his eyebrow in the mirror. Raises it and says, “Good work.” 

 

Dean shivers, can’t help it. John sees it and grins, “You like that, huh?” 

 

God, his face is hot. Dean looks away from his own reflection, avoiding the pink on his cheeks. 

 

John turns and lays his palm on one, the heat burning even more. 

 

His father’s hand upon his face, a heavenly benediction. His eyes slant close and he hears John take a deep breath before he says, “Dean.” 

 

He hums, a choir of angels singing inside him, he cannot speak words. 

 

“Baby,” Dean’s entire body jerks at the endearment and John’s voice is even softer when he follows it with, “I love you.” 

 

Dean’s found his tongue, “I love you too.” 

 

He opens his eyes to see a fond look upon his father’s face. “It’s okay. I’m not trying to embarrass you.” 

 

Dean mumbles, “M’not embarrassed.”  

 

John rolls his eyes. “Sure you’re not.” He leans in and kisses Dean’s forehead. 

 

Dean tilts his chin up and is rewarded with a kiss on his mouth. John’s hand moves down from his jaw to grip his hip instead, fingers digging in as he deepens the kiss. Dean opens up for him, their tongues meeting. John pulls back with a final nip to Dean’s lower lip. 

 

He gives Dean’s hip one last squeeze before he wanders out into the main room. Dean tries his best to compose himself before following.  

 

He sees John digging around in his duffel. He assumes he’s getting out clothes to sleep in and heads over to the fridge in the kitchenette to grab himself a beer. 

 

When he turns around, John’s holding up their bottle of lube and a condom. 

 

Dean laughs as he cracks open the bottle with his ring. “Oh, okay. Gotta appreciate a man with a plan.” 

 

John huffs out a laugh in return. “So you wanna?” 

 

Dean takes a swig. “Duh.” 

 

John drops his towel and gets on the bed, leans up against the headboard. 

 

The rest of his beer can wait, he sets it on the small table. Dean comes over, dropping his own towel on the way. Climbs right onto his dad’s lap. 

 

John’s hands come up around his waist and they kiss for long moments, mouths only separating to breathe. 

 

Dean thinks, as always, that he could do this forever. There’s no place more safe than this, there’s no place that feels more like home.  

 

Their lips part and John rumbles, “Ready?” 

 

Dean gives him a quick nod and John’s mouth curves into a smile. For the second time tonight his hand comes to rest on Dean’s face. 

 

“Alright, on your back. Wanna spread you out, take my time with you.” 

 

Fuck. 

 

John’s guiding him down and Dean’s head is close to the end of the bed, his legs over John’s. He swallows hard as he watches his father coat his fingers before they reach between his thighs. 

 

They share a look as John presses against his hole, a silent question. Dean answers by squirming closer, John’s trimmed nails brushing slick against him. 

 

At first, when they started having sex, Dean tried to keep all his noises in. John caught on pretty quick, encouraged him to let it out. Told Dean he wanted to hear it all, it’s so hot, c’mon, lemme listen to you. 

 

The second John’s pushing in, Dean’s mouth is falling open. Gasps and small sounds escaping it, desperate little whimpers. John’s eyes locked with his as he goes deeper. Dean’s been with a lot of people but it’s never been this intense. It’s heady in a way he didn’t realize it could be. 

 

It’s one finger after another, Dean concentrating on letting him in. It’s been a couple of days since the last time they fucked and he’s not as open as he usually is. It has to be a big stretch, his dad’s huge and they learned the hard way that rushing this part isn’t worth it. 

 

A few more minutes and John takes his fingers out, Dean letting out a whine at the loss of contact. He hates this part, the gap of emptiness. Crinkle of a condom wrapper and then John looming over him, Dean’s legs pushed up to wrap around him. 

 

“Remember to relax, darling.” It’s gruff, John’s warning, the strain in his voice as he holds back from moving forward. Dean lets out a slow breath, tension leaching out of him. 

 

It’s a drawn out process, John entering him. Dean’s eyes fall closed as he breathes through it. The pain’s minimal, the burn mild. John’s thorough, he’ll give him that. He’s been hard since he sat down on his lap and he stays that way, a testament to John’s prep. 

 

“Ready?” His father’s voice right in his ear, his stubble rubbing harsh on his cheek as Dean nods in the affirmative. 

 

“Yeah, give it to me.” It’s higher pitched than he wants it to be, he was aiming for something low and seductive. It spurs John on all the same. 

 

Christ, he’s never gonna get sick of this. John’s grunts, his body dripping sweat on his, the fullness dragging in and out of him. 

 

True to his word, John takes his time. Drawn out fluid motions, his hips pistoning evenly. 

 

Minutes go by, honey falling slow. This is what Dean lives for. All the fucked up shit they deal with, this love makes it worth it. The darkness in their lives, this is the light. 

 

John’s a lamp in the night and Dean’s drawn like a moth to his flame. 

 

Dean has no idea how long it’s been but he’s starting to lose his mind. John’s pressed so close to him he can’t get a hand on himself. He’s been pushed up the bed, his head hanging over the edge and blood’s rushing to it. John’s kissing all over him, from his forehead to his collarbones. 

 

He can hear himself over the roaring in his ears, sharp cries and moans leaving him freely. 

 

Then, “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” 

 

Oh my god.

 

They normally don’t talk in bed, their bodies speaking for them. Dean thinks back to the bathroom, he’s been figured out. His breathing stutters and he feels John smile against his neck. 

 

Jesus, he’s screwed. 

 

“You feel so good, Dean. You’re made for me, you’re so beautiful.”  

 

And just like that, he’s crying. Close to sobbing, actually, and John’s head comes up. 

 

His motions slow and Dean’s hips rear up, encouraging him to speed up. John gets the message, goes back to the same rhythm as he says, “You okay? You wanna keep going?” 

 

After a hiccup, Dean manages to get out, “God, yes. Don’t you even think about stopping. Want it so bad.”

 

“Good boy, that’s what I wanna hear.” Shit, he might even come without his cock getting touched. 

 

“Tell me, who am I?” Ah, this. John knows about this one. 

 

“Daddy, you’re my daddy. Please.” Dean’s eyes are screwed up, tears running from overstimulation, his chest falling then rising rapidly. His face is so warm that he feels like his skin is gonna start melting off. 

 

“Please what?” 

 

“I need to come, please, please,” Dean’s on repeat after that, begging on a loop until John interrupts him. 

 

“Just a little bit longer, baby girl. You can hold on, I know you can.” 

 

God in heaven, help me. Those two words are everything, John’s never strung them together before. Dean’s never heard anything more perfect in his life. 

 

John’s got his neck between his teeth now, tongue soothing over the bite afterwards and Dean’s going to die. 

 

Dean’s floating, he has to be close to the ceiling, and he can’t come down. He’s a balloon hitting a ceiling fan, he’s going to pop any second. He can hear himself breathing in the distance, a harsh and grating sound. John’s hands are soothing over his ribs, running up and down in a fluid motion. 

 

Then his father’s voice in his ear again, “Dean, I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine.” 

 

A few more thrusts and then, “Okay, baby. Come for me.” 

 

Dean’s gone that very second, spilling all over himself and John. He’s never come this hard, not ever. He’s groaning so loud that the entire motel must hear him and he doesn’t even care. 

 

He can feel John’s motions become harsher, uneven, and then a burst of warmth as he fills the condom. 

 

They’re both panting hard. Dean’s brain is a blown socket but he has enough of a mind left to cross his ankles to make John stay in him a little longer before pulling out. 

 

He’s still on the ceiling, he’s certain of it. He’s breaking out in a cold sweat, his throat clicking dry. 

 

Subspace. He’s had a couple of girls check out on him before. Their gazes distant and their bodies shaking, unresponsive to his soothing attempts to get them back down to earth. 

 

He’s never been here himself but he knows that’s where he is. John’s voice is far away, his touch miles apart from him. 

 

He barely feels his dad draw away, the sound of the condom hitting the bottom of the trash can an echo.

 

Then, a cold brush of a wet washcloth on his stomach and his chest. It grounds him. 

 

Reality starts setting back in and he can hear John cut through the fog, “You landing, soldier?”

 

Dean knows the smile breaking out on his face is gummy, cheesy, goofy. “Yeah,” his voice cracks before he continues, “Think so.” 

 

John wipes himself off and throws the washcloth in the direction of the bathroom. He leans down and kisses Dean’s mouth gently, smatters kisses across his brow, his hairline. Under his eyes where it’s still damp. His hands come up to frame Dean’s jaw, palms pressing in softly as he dips his forehead down to his. 

 

“You good, baby? Need anything from me?” 

 

“Water, please.” 

 

John gives him a smile before he gets up. Brings over a full glass and his beer. Helps Dean lean up with a hand on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. 

 

Dean feels lube leak onto the comforter below and grimaces. “At least the wet spot’s not on the sheets.”

 

John snorts, takes a sip out of Dean’s beer as he watches Dean finish off the water. Trades him and sets the glass on the nightstand. 

 

He lays down, his head hitting the pillows and he watches Dean chug the rest of the bottle. 

 

It joins the glass and Dean joins John when his dad opens his arms to him. He lays his head down on his chest, his eyes starting to sting when John’s fingers run through his sweaty hair. 

 

“You’re amazing, Dean. I don’t deserve you.” 

 

Great, he’s crying again. Just a bit. “Stop it, you do too.”

 

You’re amazing, he can’t get it out and he wishes he could. This isn’t about deserving, he wishes he could say, this is about what we want. All I want is you, you’re all I need. It stays in the back of his mouth, hiding there, and he just has to hope that John knows.

 

He feels a kiss on the top of his head, John’s arm tugging him closer.

 

He was tired before, he’s exhausted now. Drained. His body’s sore from everything that’s happened today. Still, he’s a warm and buzzing thing, the emotion he’s feeling welling up. 

 

“I love you so much.” It’s a whisper, close to John’s chest. So quiet that he’s not even sure his dad’s heard him.

 

“I love you too, Dean. More than anything.” 

 

He starts to drift off, John pulling the blankets over them and adjusting Dean so they’re on their sides. He’s drawn in to be the little spoon, their legs tangling. His dad beginning to snore against the back of his neck. 

 

His heart’s full. The choir of angels inside of him singing him a lullaby, singing him to sleep.