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let me feel you

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John aches. Being thrown around and banged up on the job doesn’t get easier with age. His left wrist feels a little weak and his back and side hurt where no doubt a bruise will be blooming by morning. Still, there’s no blood, nothing to be stitched up. Nothing that would warrant the worried-out-of-his-mind look on Dean’s face. His lip is already chewed bloody, and his eyes keep darting to the tender-red on John’s side.

“Stop worrying, boy,” John says gruffly as he steps out of the shower and grabs a towel. Dean shifts where he’s perched on the closed toilet seat, ducks his head.

“Dad-,” he starts, voice raw. Rubs at the side of his neck. “I’m fine, Dean. Go get cleaned up.” Dean hesitates but nods, shakily. Rises and strips out of his clothes. John brushes his teeth, watches Dean through the mirror that’s fogging up further the longer the hot water runs. It had probably looked worse than it was, crashing through the drywall and dropping to the hardwood floor. But ever since Sam had left, Dean has been extra fussy over every bruise and cut, like John would disappear, too, if he so much as breathed wrong.

The water shuts off. Dean’s skin is pink from scrubbing and from the hot water and he shivers as he steps out of the shower. He’s strong, muscle built from hard work, but right now, the expression on his face makes him seem fragile, the unbridled need for reassurance in his eyes making John almost feel sick to his stomach. It makes Dean look so weak, breakable. Fortunately, this is something John knows how to fix. How to make Dean feel connected and wanted and most importantly, not alone.

“Hey,” John says, snapping his fingers to get Dean’s attention. Dean looks up at him, all wide eyes and emotion. He’s a beautiful boy, even as raw as he is now. John takes the towel off his own hips, wraps it around Dean’s back, dries him off. The wet towel drops to the floor between them. Curling his hand around Dean’s wrist, he gives a tug, says softly “Come.”

Dean follows like a puppet on a string, his pulse rabbiting under John’s fingers. John sinks down onto the edge of the bed and Dean steps easily into the open sprawl of his legs. His chest shakes with a deep breath and John smooths his hand down the unmarred skin, rests his palm against Dean’s belly.

“It’s okay, baby. C’mon,” John gentles and Dean exhales softly before dropping to his knees in one graceless swoop. John cups his cheek, rubs his thumb over the red-raw of Dean’s lower lip. “It’s okay,” he repeats, and Dean’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth dropping open as John keeps hold of his dick and presses closer. His wrist twinges. He’s not hard, but he doesn’t need to be, not for this. Dean takes him in easily, lets him rest on his tongue in the warm-wet heaven of his mouth. Dean groans softly and some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

John hums, runs a hand into Dean’s damp hair, scratching gently, rubbing softly at the shell of his ear. Dean leans into it like a cat. “Good boy,” he praises and the pink blooms high on Dean’s cheeks.

It’s not why they’re doing this but before long, John starts chubbing up. He can’t help it, with Dean’s soft mouth and those sinfully beautiful lips on him.

It’s an exercise in self-control to keep still, to rest on Dean’s tongue just for the sake of it. Dean rubs his cheek on John’s thigh. The stubble bristles against his skin. He remembers when Dean was baby-smooth all the time, not just when he had the time to shave. He misses that innocence, how Dean hadn’t been so on edge then.

“Daddy’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he reassures and Dean whines for it, the vibration rippling pleasurably up his dick. “Just you and me, I’m not leaving you, I’m okay.”

Dean takes him in a little further, just because he can, and John pets him, traces a finger over his cheekbone. Dean’s eyes flutter open for that and his jaw drops a little. He’s more relaxed now, the look in his eyes somewhere far away, glassy and blissed-out. Almost there. “My sweet boy, always taking such good care of your daddy. Keeping me all nice and cozy.”

Dean makes a noise, what might have been a “Daddy,” and then his posture goes lax, and he sways forward into John, presses himself impossibly closer, his tongue wiggling against John’s dick as he works through a swallow.

John cradles his face, holds him until Dean blinks up at him, all floaty and out of it. “So good, baby, gonna let me take care of you now, yeah?” Dean nods, but still makes a little displeased sound when John pulls his dick out of his mouth. He wets his lips, sways in place.

“C’mon, up, baby,” he says softly but Dean doesn’t move. “It’s okay, I got you.” And Dean may no longer be a child, but he lets John lift him up and onto the bed like one anyway. His thighs fall open in invitation, dispelling all notions of childish innocence and John goes to grab the lube before he settles between Dean’s legs.

Dean’s body doesn’t offer much resistance, not anymore, one slick finger easily breaching him, and Dean tosses his head into the pillow with a keen. John runs a soothing hand down Dean’s chest, his belly, to where his dick is laying against his thigh still mostly soft. John works in a second finger and even that goes smoothly. “So good, baby, always so good for me.” By the third, Dean is looking up at him with a wet sheen in his eyes, a wordless plea.

“Alright, alright, baby,” John soothes, as he lubes himself up, gets himself all the way hard. Uses the leftover slick on his hand to jerk Dean a couple of times. He hardens instantly under the touch.

Dean’s head tips back on a soft moan when John lines up, rubs and presses inside where it’s soft and warm and snug. It’s still a thrill, even after all this time. He ruts in deep in little increments and Dean pulses hot around him, his tight hole straining against the stretch. He holds himself still once he’s in to the hilt, stretches out over Dean’s trembling body, rests on his elbows. “Sssh, it’s fine, baby, we’re alright.” He nips at Dean’s chin, noses along his jaw. Dean turns into the caress, brushes their lips together. John lets him, knocks his mouth open, licks inside. Dean mewls softly, rocks his hips, impatient.

And God, it would be so easy to just give in and fuck him, deep and hard, and oh-so-satisfying. But Dean is still all soft and vulnerable, eyes brimming, and John reaches up to brush his hair back, gently tracing his brow, his nose, his temple. “Daddy,” he chokes out on a sob and John shushes him, lets his hand cover Dean’s eyes. His body bows up against John’s almost instantly, the muscles of his hole working around John’s dick. “Yes, that’s it, baby boy,” he rumbles right against Dean’s ear, and he can feel Dean’s eyelashes flutter against his palm. “Just relax for me, let Daddy make it all better.”

John allows himself a lazy thrust, two, rocking into butter-soft insides. It’s not enough to get him there but Dean sucks in a harsh breath, rubs his dick up against John’s belly with a hitch of his hips. “Please, Dad, fuck-,” Dean slurs, and who is John to deny his boy?

He brings their lips together again, swallowing every little gasp and moan straight from the source, as he begins rocking into Dean’s body. And it’s good, so good, even if his back protests the movement and his wrist spasms when he brings his hand between them to help Dean along. It’s worth the pain to see his boy flying apart, spurting hot between their bodies, hole clenching vice-tight around his dick, lips parted in a soft gasp.

John ruts forward, choppy and out of rhythm, buries his groan in Dean’s neck as his balls draw up and he spills deep in Dean’s body. Dean’s breath is uneven as it fans over his cheek, and John slowly drags his hand off his face. Dean blinks against the brightness, leans up for a kiss, lazy and open-mouthed and just a bit dirty. He starts to protest when John pulls away and out of him.

“Just a moment. C’mon, up on your side, baby,” John says with a smile and Dean shifts onto his side with a little frown. John slides in behind him, gets Dean’s top leg up and forward with a gentle push. He’s still hard enough to slide back into Dean’s pliant hole, come and leftover lube easing the way. Dean whines for it, oversensitive, reaches back to pull John’s arm around him, his fingers curling around the bad wrist in a soft, massaging touch, his head lifting to let John slide his other arm underneath.

“’M not going anywhere, baby,” he promises, tongue heavy with exhaustion and sleep. He presses as close as he can, buries himself into Dean’s warm body. He’s going soft now, but it’s nice, to be this close, this connected. He nips at Dean’s ear, places a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Dean sighs softly, sleepy, as he snuggles back into John, his heartbeat finally slowing.

It’s the most relaxed they’ve been all week.