The boy was moving his hips like God damn Shakira, and John was damned proud of himself that he even knew who that was. Not the hectic ass-shaking that everyone seemed to do these days, but slow, deliberate. He was drifting to the music, some dusty classic which only redeeming feature was its beat, fingers trailing over his thighs, occasionally reaching up to brush dark bangs out of his forehead. His silhouette blurred from the smoke of too many cigarettes and no windows. John’s eyes stung but he wasn’t about to abandon this. He wasn’t in a hurry. No hunt, no grave-digging, Dean mellowed out somewhere in a corner after a back-alley blowjob. And this kid, moving amongst the few bodies on the dance floor like he wanted to seduce even the most straight man in the vicinity. He wasn’t dancing with anybody. He was dancing for somebody.

John was watching the kid, and the kid was watching him. He didn’t even bother to pretend he wasn’t. He moved, but his eyes were glued to John, watched him gesture for another bottle, watched him light up, the flare of his lighter harsh and yellow against the blue smoke. John blinked the irritating brightness away, pulled an ashtray up next to him. He made a show of it, taking slow, deliberate drags without ever looking away from the boy. The red glow was hypnotizing, lighting up with each inhale. John drew out stubbing the smoke until he was almost burning his fingers. He turned to the ashtray to get rid of it. Let his tongue drift over his lower lip. When he looked back at the boy on the dance floor, he had stopped moving.

John gestured him closer and he came, hips swaying lightly to the beat, stopping just out of John’s reach. He waited as John looked him up and down, watching him through dark lashes and the bangs falling into his face.

“What’s your name, boy?” John asked, letting his voice rumble from his chest.

“Sam,” the kid answered lightly.

“John.”

Sam took a step closer.

“You gonna buy me a drink?”

“You eighteen yet?”

The boy met his measuring stare evenly, seizing John up just as John was him, before giving him a bright little smile.

“No.”

John couldn’t help but laugh at that. He signaled to the bartender and opened his other arm to Sam who climbed into his lap readily, letting himself be pulled onto one thigh. He was tall but light, narrow like a girl but not soft enough. Whatever flesh he had, it was muscle. He let his hand run down the side of the t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and was all the more tempting for it. It was a little too thin, a little too short, flashing a strip of white flesh whenever the boy moved. John could feel his ribs. He bit back a swear as he settled his arm around the kid – Sam – to keep him secure. The boy seemed to simply melt into his touch. Probably didn’t have to worry about this one being a cocktease.

A feathery touch against his elbow had him looking around. Dean was standing at his side, eyes trailing down Sam’s back and the length of his endless legs. They passed a nod of consent. John didn’t mind sharing, Sam was exactly Dean’s type when he wasn’t chasing after anything with a cleavage, and the look Sam cast his son over his shoulder wasn’t exactly deprecatory either. John reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes.

“Sam, this is my son Dean. Dean, Sam.”

Sam gave him a shy, “hello stranger”-smile over his shoulder like he hadn’t just been on his knees in the dusty parking lot, Dean’s fingers fisting in his hair. There was still reddish dust on his jeans. John brushed it away lightly before letting his hand drift along the boy’s thigh, reminding both of them that he was a prominent part in the equation right now. Sam immediately whipped his head back to John, quickly checking that he wasn’t angry, before turning to read the labels on the bottles behind the bar, proudly displayed for those foolish enough to believe they would actually be served the real deal. Dean leaned in to say a quiet “20 minutes” into John’s ear. They passed another understanding nod before the younger man stepped away, immediately swallowed by the crowd.

The bartender set a glass of whiskey down next to John’s beer. Sam leaned into him as he reached for it, his hot breath ghosting over John’s ear.

“So I guess you really are old enough to be my Daddy, huh?”

The hunter gave the thin waist a squeeze, settling the boy more comfortably against his body.

“Want me to put you to bed, little boy?” he growled into his hair.

Sam laughed as he drew back, drink in hand, tainted by the innocence of the sound.

“As long as it’s your bed…”

His voice, so soft and sweet if it weren’t for the words he was speaking, shot straight to John’s dick. He grabbed Sam’s face with a growl and pulled the boy close, let his lips and tongue claim him. Sam’s mouth opened readily. John knew he was imagining the taste of another man’s come on him, but the boy’s lips were still tender and raw. John wanted to shove him to his knees right then and there, zip open his jeans and claim him for all the barflies to see, but he knew he couldn’t. The kid couldn’t afford to be arrested. Neither could John, for that matter.

So he held himself in check, letting his hands roam under the boy’s shirt, over hot skin and sharp bones. One small hand was in John’s hair, the other rendered useless by the glass he was still holding, but the boy arched and writhed into his touch, groaning into John’s mouth, gripping the back of his shirt-

Dean cleared his throat lightly.

Sam broke away, blushing crimson under Dean’s wicked stare, and damn, that was not helping at all. John lifted him off his lap easily, kid was way too damn skinny, and adjusted his denims, ignoring the barkeep’s pointed look. His hand found the small of Sam’s back easily, sliding there almost naturally as the kid quickly downed the last of his drink.

The doorman didn’t even spare John and ‘his boys’ a second glance, sending them off with an acknowledging nod. John steered Sam after Dean, one arm hooked around his waist, stopping when the boy twisted away.

“Hang on,” he said.

Steering towards one of the dumpsters, he reached behind it and pulled out a battered backpack which he slung over his shoulder, giving the waiting men a sheepish grin.

“Okay, we can go,” he said, fingers unconsciously rubbing over where the cool night breeze formed goose bumps on his skin. 

Dean raised an eyebrow at John who shrugged. He held out a hand and gave a smirk as his son sighed but obediently pressed the keys to the Impala into his palm. Dean scowled a response as he turned to Sam who had been watching the exchange silently with wide eyes, teeth caught against his lower lip, beckoning him closer.

“Come on, Sasquatch, let’s go,” he called, hooking an arm around the boy’s shoulder. Even in the cool air, Sam’s flush was hard to miss and he ducked his head as if trying to make himself smaller. But he grinned and allowed Dean to half drag him to the passenger’s side of the Impala. The front seat was too small for both boys but they crammed in anyway, folding themselves over each other and across the seat. One of Sam’s giant feet came to rest in John’s lap, teasing touch against his crotch making his driving shaky and distracted. John wasn’t even sure when they’d started kissing, only that Dean’s grunts and Sam’s little groans had him rock hard and he couldn’t help but stare out of the corner of his eye at the skin Dean exposed as he tugged at the boy’s shirt, fabric riding up, revealing a light layer of muscles. Kid was going to be huge one day.

Sam’s fingers were dipping into the waistband of Dean’s jeans and his son’s hands were on the kid’s fly when John finally pulled into the parking lot of their motel, breathing a quiet sigh of relief that he had managed to get them there in one piece.

He looked over at the two boys, watched as Sam arched forward under the kisses and bites Dean was trailing along his skin, as the boy ground his ass down, smiling when the older groaned into his chest. John swallowed heavily.

“Okay, beat it,” he said, nudging Dean’s shoulder.

The boys broke apart, eyes slightly dazed. Sam had to duck his head as Dean ushered him out into the parking lot. There was an awkward moment as Dean handed the kid’s backpack over, as Sam stood in the parking lot, shivering slightly in his thin shirt, staring at Dean – and his obvious arousal – and at John, who shrugged.

“Room number 08,” he said, indicating it with a nod.

Sam nodded, following behind John with quick, careful glances over his shoulder as if he half expected a serial killer to jump out behind a trashcan somewhere.

John smiled.

He pulled out the room key, pushing the door open a few inches. He listened into the darkness inside, but no sound came. He nodded an “All clear” to Dean and stepped over the salt line carefully, watching out of the corner of his eye as Sam did the same, blinking. To his credit, he didn’t say a word.

Dean plopped down on the couch, settling his feet on the armrest and slinging his arms behind his head. John headed for the fridge, pulling out a couple of beers, watching the kid out of the corner of his eye. Sam stood by the door, hand on the strap of his backpack, eyes shifting from Dean to John to Dean to John. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to hop up on the couch next to Dean or run the hell back out the door.

John handed a bottle to Dean who popped the cap off with his ring. He offered another one to Sam, holding it between them like a carrot. The boy eyed him warily. He took a few steps forward, closing the space between them, fingers curling carefully around the sweating neck of the bottle. John smiled. He took the boy’s elbow and shoved him onto the couch, into Dean who immediately wrapped his arms around Sam’s skinny chest, lips quirking as well. Sam stiffened for a moment as Dean nuzzled the back of his neck, kissing behind his ear. Then the boy twisted in his arms, opening his mouth to Dean’s tongue. John smiled. He gathered up his pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the table, closing the door quietly behind him.

He settled against the support beam of the rain cover, staring up at the slightly cloudy sky. There were a few odd stars, but not enough to distract him from the increasing groans and grunts from inside, the small gasps and loud moans. He willed the blood out of his cock and refused to think of Sam’s pink lips, of his long limbs and soft skin, of the sounds coming from inside and who was making them.

John was on his fourth cigarette when the door opened quietly.

Sam’s hair was mussed and sweaty, clinging to his forehead and the back of his neck. He’d pulled his own jeans on but taken one of their shirts, it was always hard to tell whether it was John or Dean’s. It was too wide, cut to accommodate a hunter’s broad chest. The boy looked even more fragile in it than he had before.

He sat down next to John and pulled his legs against his body. He took the cigarette from John’s fingers and took a deep drag, letting his head tip back as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“You good?” John asked.

The boy nodded, blinking his way lazily, and breathed in again.

His lips parted slightly, letting a thin trail of smoke escape, and John knew an invitation when he saw one.

He leaned forward, pressing his rough lips to Sam’s soft, tender ones, catching the smoke in his mouth, inhaling the scent of cigarette and boy and something else that was uniquely Sam. He drew back, chuckling when Sam followed him, his eyes blinking open, and blew a perfect smoke ring into the still night air. Sam smiled weakly.

“No, that wasn’t it,” John assured him, allowing himself a smile when the boy’s eyes widened at John’s ability to read him, and leaned in again. This time, Sam’s tongue darted past his lips, small and quick. John smiled into the kiss – he loved it when the shy ones weren’t so shy after all – and placed his large hands firmly on the boy’s narrow hips. Sam squeaked into his mouth when he was suddenly lifted into John’s lap but he recovered quickly. Twisting his waist, he slid his legs down on either side of John’s thighs, tongue in his mouth again, a little bolder this time. John leaned back, supporting himself on his arms, and let him explore. Let him taste, feel the texture of John’s tongue against his own, sweep along John’s gums and teeth.

By the time he drew back, they were both slightly breathless. Sam’s cheeks were flushed.

“Bed,” he whispered.

John nodded, lifting him up and off of him. He took Sam’s hand in his own as he lead the way through the living room, Dean curled up on the couch, fast asleep, and to the bedroom. He would have carried the boy if he hadn’t been so damn tall. Anything not to lose contact now.

This was the crucial moment, he knew. This was the moment when the upstairs brain managed to get a word in, the all-or-nothing decision that determined whether it would be just John and his hand tonight. Because it was one thing for the kid and his barely-not-a-teenager-anymore son to give each other handjobs, and quite another between the boy and him. John was a scary son of a bitch, and he knew it.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Sam’s hands were in his shirt the moment he closed the door behind them, pulling John down with him as he dropped onto the bed. His teeth gleamed as the boy smiled up at him, eyes dark and wide.

“Stop,” he whispered, giving a wicked grin when John froze in mid-movement, propped up on his hands above him. He just stared at him for a moment, not moving at all, until John growled, impatience getting the best of him; because damn it all, if the boy decided to cock-block him now, John was going to have something to say about it.

Sam gave him a wink when he felt John twitch. He shimmied out of the jeans that were already riding low on his hips. John smiled when he saw that the boy had been going commando, settling his large hands around Sam’s narrow ass. He let the kid tug his t-shirt over his head, then the slim fingers set to work at the buttons of John’s shirt. He kept going even when John slid a finger inside him to prep him, whispering “please” and “yes” into his shoulder as John’s first shirt slid off.

A hand on John’s shoulder stopped him when John moved to push the discarded clothes to the floor.

“There’s lube and a condom in my pocket, front left,” the boy whispered, and John groaned. He searched the denims quickly, pushing the objects into Sam’s hands as he pulled back to fully undress. He kept his eyes firmly on the boy as he undid his belt, watched him open the small bottle with hungry eyes. When Sam reached behind himself, John pushed him onto his back, smacking his hands away. He went slow at first, scanning the thin body for signs of discomfort, but Sam was tight and hot and hard, writhing and groaning underneath him. The long legs wrapped themselves around his waist, drawing him in deeper, and there was only so much a man could take before he went over the brink.

Pulling out slowly, his hands found the boy’s dick, moving steadily until Sam was moaning into his fist, arching off the bed so far that John couldn’t help worrying his back was going to snap.

He pulled the boy close, settling him against his waist, breathing in the sweet smell of warm, fucked-out boy. Sam’s fingers closed around his arms tightly, almost painfully. He was shivering a little, and John stroked his hand along the outside of his thigh, again and again and again, until his breathing evened out and his head, growing heavy, rested on John’s shoulder, warm cheek pressed against his skin.

John blinked his eyes open to find grey sunlight filtering in through the blinds, crisscrossing a pattern on the beige comforter. The sheets bunched against John’s side were empty but still slightly warm. He could hear Dean’s quiet snoring from the living room and the gentle drum of shower water against the porcelain. Sam’s backpack was propped against the wall, close to the open door, drawing a gentle chuckle out of John. He wasn’t exactly the person to turn his boys out on their asses the moment he’d gotten off. At least not unless they were truly awful.

He settled more comfortably into his pillows, letting the crisp motel sheets slide down to his waist, and just listened for a while, the steady rhythm of the shower lulling him into a doze.

He’d almost drifted back to sleep when the sound stopped abruptly and Sam emerged a few minutes later – John couldn’t help smiling at the fact that he’d locked the door -, clad in yesterday’s jeans, a maybe fresh but equally rumpled white shirt and wet hair plastered to his skin. He looked so pitiful in his wrinkled clothes and mismatched socks that John could feel something tighten in his chest. He gave the boy a wide smile that seemed to drain somewhat of the tension out of his shoulders and greeted him with a raspy “Morning.” Relief flooded Sam’s face as he returned it, taking a few careful steps forward and toward the edge of the bed until he came to a stop between John’s spread legs. He gestured to his backpack in a silent question, but John shook his head.

“You can stay.”

A small smile quirked Sam’s lips in response.

“I guess I don’t have to take off right away.”

John shook his head, using the boy’s momentary confusion to wrap his legs around his, yanking him forward with one foot in his hollow of his knee and the other just below the small rise of his ass. Sam grunted in surprise, bracing himself with his hands, but John pulled him against his chest anyway.

“Who says I’m ever letting you go?” he whispered into the wet strands of hair that smelled like John’s shampoo. He held on tight until he felt the boy relax against him, sprawled over his chest, his hands coming to rest in the coarse black hair on his chest. John watched the top of his head, moving with the rise and fall of John’s chest, watched Sam reach up to rub his eyes in a way that made him even younger than he was.

He reached up to brush some dark hair out of the boy’s forehead, letting his other hand lightly rest on the back of his head.

“So, now that we’ve gotten that out of your system, are we good to go?”

Sam nodded into his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.”

John nodded as well and rubbed one hand over Sam’s shoulder, letting the other trail down the curve of his spine and across the small of his back.

“Good. You get your brother up, I want to be back on the road in thirty minutes.”

Sam nodded again and John patted his ass lightly, but all the same, he found himself holding on just a little while longer. 


~