Just One Night

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: NC-17

Year/Length: 2007/~9,429 words

Pairing: Sam/John John Winchester

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Summary: John goes to check on Sam at Stanford, and things take a turn neither of them expected.

John Winchester stood outside in the shadows, looking up at a window from which the lights gave a soft glow. He could see the silhouettes of two figures moving about from one room to the other. One was a female with long hair whom he didn't know, hadn't met, and the other was tall, slim and well built. Sam Winchester. His son. His youngest. The baby boy he had been forced to let go of against his will by Sam himself.

Young Sam had indeed been a force of nature - a force equal to a hurricane or a tornado. Since childhood, when he'd first learned to walk and talk, Sam had fought him nearly every step of the way, resisting nearly everything John had tried to teach him. He'd learned, of course, but he hadn't liked it, and he'd made that very clear. He was so unlike his older brother, Dean, and yet so much like him in other ways. Dean was a fine, strapping young man who'd grown up handsome, charming and was a formidable partner, someone he could always count on. Dean was always there when John needed him. His lovely, handsome, boy who reminded him so much of Mary.

But Sam, his little Sammy, was more like him. Headstrong. He was smart, very smart, but with what John knew of Sam, his smarts were not going to save or protect him in the long run. As much as he had tried to instill safety into his son, John feared that now that Sam was on his own, he would get careless. And knowing what John did, that just wasn't acceptable. So here he was, keeping an eye on the baby boy he loved. John had always feared that if Sam went out on his own something would happen, that his carelessness would come back to harm him. So at times John felt it his duty to check on him. He had an uncontrollable need to keep an eye on his wayward son without him being aware.

Here he now stood, out in the rain, hands deep in his jacket pockets as he watched each light being dimmed. He knew that Sam was an adult now, capable of looking after himself. So why was it that all he could think about was going up there, pulling his son from his bed and into his arms?

Studying was finished for the night. Sam had finally closed his books and risen from his seat to go and wash up to get ready for bed. Jess was already sleeping. She had a test first thing in the morning, and Sam stood looking down at her for a moment before he pulled off his clothes and slid in beside her.

Sleep always came easily to Sam, but remaining that way was a different matter. He was soon deeply asleep and dreaming. His dream was scary - a shadowy presence that watched him, waiting for something. He was afraid that it was there to threaten Jess, and he woke up sweaty and clammy, scared without being completely aware of what had frightened him.

Rising from the bed, he went to look out of the window, and saw the dark shape loitering down below, black in the shadows. "Son of a bitch," he growled, pulling on his sweats and hoodie prior to heading downstairs to see who it could be. Pausing to grab a knife, he ghosted out into the hall and down the stairs.

John hadn't seen Sam wake, nor did he notice as his youngest drifted down the stairs, coming to the gate near the fire escape. John had his phone out, looking at yet another voice message. He ignored it, because it wasn't from Dean. He and his elder son had set up a plan, and a schedule of sorts. No matter where they were, one would call the other every two days just to touch base. John would let Dean know where he was and if he needed Dean to join him.. Dean would let him know likewise.

It was only when he heard the gate open that he raised his head and looked over to check it out, but no one was visible. He frowned, staring at it as it drifted closed then bumped a few times. Had he missed something? John decided to go closer, crossing the street to the alleyway and making his way over. He didn't touch the gate but looked it over, seeing no signs of sulphur.

The night air was cool and damp, and Sam had drifted into the shadows to observe the being that seemed so focused on him and his girlfriend. He waited, unsure whether the unwelcome watcher was a rapist, waiting for him to leave so he could have a clear shot at Jess, or something much more sinister, something from his old life.

When the shape crossed the street to take a closer look at the way through to the fire escape, Sam felt a sudden jolt go through him. This wasn't a rapist, although it was definitely something from his old life, and something that was less than welcome, although he had the feeling that his thoughts on that wouldn't matter. Stepping forward to reveal his presence, he frowned. "Dad?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

John quickly turned, clearly startled and cursing himself under his breath for leaving himself open as he had, allowing the boy to sneak up on him. He gathered himself just as quickly as he had been startled. He turned to face his son fully, hating that he had to look up at his youngest. John shoved his hands deep into his pockets, resisting the urge to hug him. "Sammy."

"That's my name." Sam was irritated. He'd been poised to fight an intruder, and to find that the loiterer was someone so familiar had left him with a knot of anger in his chest and nowhere to vent it - nowhere, that is, except on his father. The pattern had been set somewhere in his childhood and Sam couldn't recall the time before he and his father had been at daggers drawn over more or less any order that John Winchester had given him. "Why are you lurking outside my apartment? I thought that you were a felon of some kind. You don't know how lucky you are that I didn't just strike first and check later."

"At least you remember part of your training," John looked over his son, wanting to reach out and pull him close. To hold him and just breathe him in. He'd missed his youngest. His little boy. He had regretted the words thrown at Sam that day when the door closed behind the boy as he left.

"Well, I had a drill instructor," Sam half snarled, half mumbled. He folded his arms, "What do you want, Dad? The last time I saw you, it was your way or the highway, and you made it clear that there would be no second chances. I've got a life here and I don't intend to come back."

"If I hadn't trained you like I did, you wouldn't be enjoying this life," John stepped closer, his own voice becoming angry as well. "You, your brother, you know what's out there. You've seen it. At least your brother understands that, but I bet I could go up there right now and know I won't find any salt around the windows or door."

"I have no need for it. What the hell is coming to get me here at Stanford? I'm studying law. I have a girlfriend and a life. Nothing's going to come after me." Sam's face was completely without expression, and he hadn't moved any closer to his father at all. "I'm done with the back roads of America, dad. I'm going to make something of myself, and I'm going to settle down and give my kids everything you never gave me."

John looked away, his anger at his son's carelessness feeling like nails on a chalkboard. "It doesn't matter, Sammy," he snapped. Sam angered him so, unlike Dean. Dean looked up to him. Dean did whatever was necessary to please his father, to help him, not butt heads with John for no reason. "You can't just ignore what's out there," he pointed behind him into the nothingness, to everything that was out there. "You may not be on the road but it's all around you. You can't run from it. And I did the best I could with you boys," he snarled. "I did what I could to keep you safe. Don't close your eyes, Sammy, because that's what you are doing, and if you do you will lose everything around you." Little did John know how prophetic his words would be.

"Spare me the lecture, dad; I've heard it all before." Sam was angry, but then his father always did make him angry. "You don't get it. I've taken myself out of the game. I'm not going to hunt. I'm not going to do anything at all except study and succeed, and this time you're not going to drag me away. I'm done with it; do you hear me?" He turned and put his hands on the wall as if to ground himself. "At least one Winchester is gonna make the grade, for mom's sake, if not for yours."

"You think I chose this life? You think I wanted this? I had the garage. I had you boys and..." And he also had the love of his life, Mary. "I didn't want this life!" John's voice rose, "But what's out there... This is as much for you. Damn it, Sammy, you can't just let your guard down because you think you're safe."

"Why not? Because if nothing happens to me, you'll have to admit that you fucked up our lives for nothing?" Sam turned back to John, eyes glittering. "I got out, but Dean... Dean's still a suckers for all of that stuff, and you’ve still got him trapped, haven’t you?" Shaking his head, he laughed sarcastically. "Way to go, Dad. Rest on your laurels."

John grabbed Sam and slammed him against the wall. "Your brother is doing the right thing!" John nearly raged. He wondered why it always came to this. The two of them going at each other's throats; butting heads fiercely. "He didn't run out. You did."

"And I'm staying out, Dad. I told you, I'm done with hunting, and I'm done with the way you always bullied me. I'm exercising my free will, Dad." There was a cold smile on Sam's face as he let his father manhandle him. "And if you don't take your hands off me, I'll deck you, father or not."

"I didn't bully you. I did those things for your safety. To keep you alive. I did everything for you boys." John gave Sam a shove and took a single step back. God, forgive him, because he really wanted to kiss him. Sam was devastatingly beautiful when he was angry.

"You did everything except let me have a childhood." Sam was still snarling angry, but the sight of his father had awoken a longing in him that he'd almost forgotten. "I wasn't ever allowed to have toys, or friends, or play for the football team. God help me, I couldn't even go to my senior prom because you wanted me two counties away to kill some poltergeist, and no, it couldn't wait till the next day. All for what ? Because you are a control freak! Your way or the highway!" He paused, eyes flashing and chest heaving. "I'm not Dean! I didn't just say 'how high' when you said jump, and that really crazed you, didn't it?"

"No, it couldn't wait because lives were at stake. And you needed to be reminded that we don't just do this because we want to. We do this because it saves lives. Your brother sees that. What makes me crazy is..." John was breathing hard, the anger and something more building in him, "Is..." He couldn't stand it any more. Sam was too close. Sam was too... John surged in, grabbing his taller son and dragging him down to kiss him as he pinned him to the wall with his body.

Sam froze, his surprise utter and complete as John pressed him back and captured his lips, forced his tongue between them to taste the inside of his mouth. Breathless and flustered, he pushed at John's shoulders, shook his head, wondering how his father could have this kind of hold over him, when he'd told him not to ever show his face again. "Why did you come here?" His breath was short, and he flushed, looking down at his father, seeing nothing but the gleam of his eyes in the shadows of his frown. "What do you want from me?"

John was surprised at himself as well. To be this close to Sam, to smell him and touch him, his youngest, which he had tried to keep safe and prepare him so well. John had to admit he'd never been really a good father to the boy. Dean had been his carer, more so than he, but at least Sam was safe. Alive, unlike his beloved wife. "It was a mistake to come." John backed up, shaking his head. All the dreams and fantasies he had of both his boys, especially Sam, were too tempting at this moment. Sam's warmth against him, his mouth, were too delicious. His scent filled every part of John, and he wanted; needed. He wanted his own boy, and he couldn't even voice that.

"Dad?" The single word, only that, and Sam's voice was fractured, pain showing through the way it never had before. Sam was shaken. He didn't know what to think, but just for a moment he had felt forgiven, loved and wanted. "Dad? Why now? What do you want from me? You told me to get out and not come back." He leaned forward, his face catching the light, and pain showed on it in the strain around his eyes, the set mouth, all bleached into ivory by the glare of the sodium lamps. "I don't understand," and as that final sentence was dragged from him, all at once Sam was a kid again, lost and confused.

Sam was all of six again, in John's eyes. Those eyes had always melted him. That look upon his face had always made John want to reach out and comfort him even when he shouldn't. Sam was his little boy, Mary's little boy. And as much as he tried to steel himself to those looks, they weakened him down to his knees, making them want to buckle under his own weight.

"I want you to be safe. It's all I ever wanted for you, Sam. I... I loved you boys. Love you. You are all I had left when Mary..." John felt his own throat tighten. "I... I said those words not because I really wanted you to leave but... I hoped that with you away from the 'family business' you could have what you always wanted. And that..." John looked away, "I love you, Sammy. You're still my little boy." He reached out, wanting to touch, but kept himself from doing so, "I..." John couldn't form the words.

Sam's eyes were suspiciously bright. He seemed to shrink in on himself as he processed John's words. "I would've..." Whatever he was going to say was lost as anger filled his eyes. "You meant it. You didn't find me useful, did you? Dean never questioned you; he always did what you told him, didn't ask why. Dean would die for you if you told him to. You had no use for me, because I asked why." Sam passed his hand in front of his face, scrubbing at his eyes, and then raised them to skewer John with a look. "I just don't understand why you've changed your mind." A thought suddenly struck him. "Dean...? He's okay, isn't he? He's not dead?"

"No, he's fine. If you just bothered to call him you could find out for yourself," John half scolded. "But then you told him to stay away. You not only pushed me away but him as well. Was Dean that mean to you? Or was he was too much like me, is that what made you hate him so much, to hurt him like you did?"

"You don't understand. I had to learn to do things for myself, and he wouldn't let me." Sam looked distressed. "And Dean... Dean's spent his life living for you and me, when he should have been living for himself. If I hadn't pushed him away, he'd still be doing it." He shook his head. "I love Dean, but he has to do his own thing, live his own life."

John just looked at his son. "He did it for you, Sam. He did it because he loves you. Most of the things he did were not because I asked him to. I wasn't a great father but I knew he would be there for you." John reached out to touch his arm. "Dean knows how to live, trust me. But Sam..." He dropped his arm away, feeling frustrated again, "Sam, just call your brother."

"I can't." Sam's words were bleak. "If I do, everything will go back to the way it was, and he'll want me again, the way we were, and in the long run he'll hate me worse for letting him back in." He gave John a long, defiant look. "I've got a girlfriend now - a lover, and there's no place for Dean that he'd accept. He would want me to go back to being a gypsy with him, and Jess wouldn't like that. He'd hate to settle down and live like regular people do, and I don't want to go back to being a nomad."

"So you would rather hurt your brother than upset your girlfriend?" John nearly snapped. "And do you even know your brother any more? You haven't talked to him. He won't come see you, because you asked not him to. That shows right there how much he will give up just for you, Sam, and you feed me this line of bull?" He shoved his son back into the brick. "Damnit, Sam. You hurt us both when you left, Dean worse, because you thought it was best for us all. You can't run from what you are."

"I can," retorted Sam. "I have." But as he spoke, he was remembering Dean, seeing his face and feeling pangs of guilt. "How is he? Tell me what he's doing now? I've missed him." He shook his head as if to push away the memories. "Tell me about him. I do miss him."

"You haven't learned a damn thing. No you can't run from who you truly are," John snapped. He stared at his son for a long moment, "If you miss him so much, call him. You know Dean will do anything you ask of him. If you tell him to stay away, he will. If you ask him just to talk, not to see you, he will."

"But he needed to let go of me, Dad; he really did." Sam looked distressed. "Dean loves me; I know that - none better, but he was never going to do anything for himself and not for me. I hated that he was living his life through me instead of finding something wonderful for himself. He and I couldn't... we're brothers. It was only hurting him that we..." Sam looked stricken. "I had to leave. We were going to end up in so much trouble if I hadn't."

"Excuses, Sam. That's all they are." John kept that stern look upon his face.

"You mean you knew about Dean and me?" Sam's face registered shock. "You never said anything."

"What was I supposed to do? Poke you both with a stick to keep you apart?" John hissed, stepping closer. "You were Dean's world. He took all that upon himself without me asking. He just did it. It was clear he needed you. You needed him. I needed you both... close to each other. What should I have done?"

Sam's eyes were round now, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to look his father in the eyes again. "You're trying to tell me that you didn't mind? That I could have stayed with him?" He blinked rapidly, trying to stop himself from shedding the tears he could feel pressing his eyelids. "I don't know what to say."

"Others would see it as wrong. But you are my boys. And in this..." He motioned around him, "You two are all I have. You two are all you have. It was you who left, and that nearly killed Dean. When you decided to leave, you never once saw how much it hurt him. Why do you think I told you not to come back? Because you hurt him more than I ever could. He's been more reckless than ever. If it wasn't for his skill..."

For a moment, Sam's jaw hung open, as if he was trying to process John's words and failing, and then he slumped against the wall behind him. "Where is he, dad?" he asked. "I knew it hurt him - it hurt me, but I couldn't just let him screw his life up completely, could I? We were both so fucked up already. He deserved a chance to be normal."

"Did you even bother to consider what he would want?" Of course John didn't know how those words would come back to haunt him. "You know, when your mom died, Dean didn't talk for weeks, although thank god he eventually did. When you left, it happened all over again; it was about two weeks before I could get him to string more than three words together." John paused a moment, "You have his number. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"I could call him," murmured Sam at length. "I haven't talked to him for ages, and he never..." He fell silent, pondering the fact that Dean hadn't tried to contact him since he left home. "Suppose he doesn't want to talk to me? Suppose he hates me now?" He lifted his eyes to John's. "Dad? What should I do?"

"Call you? Sam, he was only doing as you asked. Dean does whatever you ask of him. Of course he's not gonna call you. Don't blame him for not trying to make contact. You haven't seen his face, staring at, watching the phone, wanting you to call. He gave up hope some time ago that you would. But he doesn't hate you, Sam. If anything he loves you and worries about you. He asks about you. As for what you should do... you do what you want. I can't tell you that. You made that all too clear to me some time ago. I can't tell you what to do."

There were tears in his eyes as Sam leaned back against the wall. "I think it's too late," he whispered. "Dean must hate me now, the way that you hate me." He dashed a tear away from his eye with his sleeve, angry at the fact that his eyes were watering. "I tried so hard to be what you wanted, but you were never satisfied, never thought I was good enough. Why didn't you love me the way you loved Dean?"

"I don't hate you, Sammy. I love you both. And I'm sorry that I pushed you, but I had to, to keep you safe. I pushed Dean. He just... He did as he was told more times than you. Yes, I know he hated it. He probably still resents it, but he did it, mostly for you. Dean doesn't hate you either, Sam. We both love you." John reached out and cupped Sam's face.

This time, Sam didn't pull away angrily from John's touch. He leaned into it, needing to believe his father's words. When he finally spoke, it was only to whisper, "It didn't feel like it. Dean was the one who always got the extra cookie. I always felt like you didn't care about me, and what I needed. All you wanted was to make me more like you, and I'm not."

John moved closer, "He got the extra cookie because I knew he would slip it to you under the table. And in those early years... I paid more attention to you than Dean, which I regret. I regret a lot of things but... it's the nature of the business. I just wanted both of you safe but prepared. I had to... I had to make sure one of us was going to be there to protect you. To be there for you. Dean... was the better choice."

"Why do I need to be protected? I never understood that. I never really got why I wasn't able to go play and do the stuff other kids in my class were allowed to do." Sam had relaxed a little, seeming to need this contact with his father. He put out a hand to touch John's arm, left it there, feeling the muscle through his father's jacket warm against his palm. "None of us had what we could have had."

"Because your mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you," John lied. There was more behind it, but what he said wasn't entirely a lie. He reached out and touched Sam's cheek again, cupping it. "You will always be special to all of us, Sammy. We love you very much."

"See, Dad." Sam had stepped forward and now stood close to his father, head tilted down so that he was only inches away from John, eyes wistful as only he could make them. "That's just it. I never understood why I was different. Tell me, please. What made me special? Why was I always in danger? I don't understand."

There was temptation there, too much, to tell Sam what he knew - to tell Sam what was to come. But he knew that Sam wasn't ready. He wasn't ready, and it was much easier to lie. That was the scary thing, that a father could so easily lie to his own son and not bat an eyelash over it. "Because you... are our last connection to your mom. To Mary. You never knew her but... you are a lot like her." A hell of a lot. They had the same temperament, the same kindness and hope for people.

John reached up, finding it strange that he had to. Had Sam grown even more since he left for college? He cupped Sam's cheek, moving his fingers to curl around the back of Sam's neck. He had a great urge to pull him down and connect their lips. He had fallen so far, to be thinking the thoughts that were running through his mind. He stared at Sam's lips, as if willing Sam to want him as well. He loved his boys, probably too much.

It had been years since Sam had seen eye to eye with his father. There had been a burning rage in him, resentment that he'd been forced into a life and role he didn't want, just to satisfy what he thought of as his father's blind need for revenge. All that time, he'd nursed an anger that had left him burning, completely unsatisfied with his lot in life, and unable to see his father as anything but a hostile, arrogant burden for him to bear. Now, seeing him suddenly soften and express love for him, Sam felt a wistfulness arise in him - a need for his father that was almost all consuming.

"Dad...?" The single word was a cry for help, and in it was all his need and longing for the things he'd lost, and more, for the things he'd never had. He felt John's fingers slide through his hair and curl around his neck, and it seemed natural to lower his head a tiny fraction and kiss him.

John met that kiss halfway, his fingers curling tighter, gripping, and he half believed he was dreaming. The feel of Sam's lips seemed almost unreal. John had always wondered what it would be like to kiss either of his sons. The temptation had always been there - God only knew how much it was there to this day, but he'd never acted upon it, til now. The rush he felt was more than he could ever have imagined in his solitary, wet, non-fatherly dreams.

He pressed in closer, pushing Sam back as he gave himself over to the desire that was burning through him like a wildfire. It was eating him alive and he knew that the only cure for it was right here in his arms.

Of all the reactions Sam had expected, he hadn't thought that he'd feel the sudden surge of desire that John's body pressing him into the wall induced. He broke away from the kiss at last, chest heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing.

The look on John's face was incredible. Lust vied with tenderness, and Sam suddenly wanted that kiss again. He couldn't remember a time when he'd had his father's attention so completely, and he craved more.

"Dad?" His voice was a husky whisper, shot through with need, and he bent his neck again to capture John's mouth. "Dad, I need..."

His own were overriding Sam’s need and desire. John felt the simple three-letter word cut through his gut and twist it. He moaned deeply into Sam's mouth. His body was shot through with his need and desire, proof upon his lips. The growing erection pressing to his youngest son's leg was even more telling. John pulled back, looking at his son, "You are..." He couldn't finish before connecting his mouth to Sam's once again.

It was cold. Sam shivered, pulled John in against himself, arms tight and straining to hold him closer, tighter. He could feel his father's arousal pressed to his thigh and the idea of having his dad loving him, wanting him, made his head spin. He could feel his own body responding to the kisses and caresses, could feel the tremors running through John's arms as he kissed him hard again. "We can't go inside," he whispered, voice harsh in the still night. "Jess... she's a light sleeper." He looked around; trying to spot the vehicle his dad was driving. "Dean still got the Impala? What're you driving, Dad?"

John felt like he was drowning, and he wanted to. Sam's arms were holding him tightly, making him feel whole for just that moment. His chest strained for air and voice, and his breath was heavy. "Yeah, he does, I have a truck, we could... try," he breathed. "Over there," he motioned.

Wordlessly, Sam pulled away and started for the truck, his hand hooked into John's. Climbing into the cab he turned to look at his father. "Drive, Dad. We need to go... somewhere." He reached out to put his hand on his father's knee as John clambered behind the wheel. "I don't know what I'm doing here, but... I don't want it to stop."

John was having problems getting the key into the ignition. Was this some bizarre dream he was having? Was Sam actually with him, wanting him as well, commanding him the way he was? No wonder Dean couldn't resist his brother. Sam's hand felt like it would burn through the material of his jeans. He threw a glance over at his youngest, then drove, not sure where he was going. The truck was no place for this. Not only was there not enough room, but his tools were hidden in the bed.

He paused at the nearest cheap motel he could find, climbed out reluctantly and got them a room. He half expected when he got back to the truck that Sam would not be there, having changed his mind, or maybe to just put John through some of the same kind of torture Sam felt John had inflicted on him in his childhood, but he was waiting. John quickly climbed back in to drive them around the back to find the room.

Sam's head was spinning. He felt giddy, breathless, and he'd forgotten Jess, forgotten everything except that his Dad didn't hate him, was there for him and wanted him. Slowly, he climbed out of the truck and followed John into the room. Memories of other cheap motels, other sagging beds and stale smelling rooms welled up in his memory. He remembered Dean, and his Dad, and the feeling of utter despair that he'd never escape that life. Well, he'd done so, and in the doing he thought he'd lost the love of father and brother.

Turning to face his Dad, he gazed at him, suddenly inhibited, longing to feel the strong arms around him again.

John stood at the door, tempted to just bolt out before anything happened. This was wrong, and he knew it. He had resisted the temptation all these years. His boys were beautiful, far more handsome than he'd ever expected. However, through the years, he had fallen so far in his journey. And now, he was gonna fall even more. Mary, please forgive me.

John took his jacket off, tossing it aside before slowly closing the distance between them, reading in Sam's green eyes what he wanted. He reached for his boy, pulling him to him, his mouth closing over those all too tempting lips. Sam was dangerous, he knew that. He kissed Sam with passion, desire and need, fingers starting to push off the clothing Sam wore, grabbing, tugging, pulling to get clothes off and see his boy - see him naked.

For Sam, it was as if he was dreaming. He'd loved his brother, and Dean had loved him back, fiercely, but his father had always seemed remote, harsh, more inclined to hard words and discipline than soft words and affection. He'd longed for the love that other parents showed their children, and now here he was, and somehow so was John Winchester, stripped of all his harsh words and anger, revealing the man behind the iron discipline. Sam melted against him, body tight and needy, arms wrapped around him, willing him to stay this way for just another moment.

Somehow, he lost his jacket and T-shirt, and John's hands slid over his skin, mapping, tracing each defined muscle. He shuddered, pressed closer, feeling safe in a way he never had before. His mouth was glued to John's, and he was hopelessly, desperately aroused. He tried to speak, soft words that were slurred against John's lips, but he gave up trying as John pressed his tongue into his mouth, and merely hung on for the ride.

Sam had kept himself in shape. Those muscles were tight and felt good under John's fingertips. He wanted to feel more, wanted them to be skin to skin. When Sam tried to speak, John just pressed in closer, deepening the kiss. He turned Sam around, pushing him onto the bed and lowering himself down over his son. He kissed Sam once again, working his hand into those torn sweats to get them down. "Need," was all John could voice as he pulled open those pants. His senses were overwhelmed. .

Hands clutched him, held him, warm arms surrounded him, and Sam felt as if he were floating, his body loose and tingling under the touches. He was fighting with John's belt, trying to get it unfastened so that he could slide his hand inside and feel his Dad, hot and swollen under his hand. He cursed as the buckle finally came loose and he popped the buttons free so he could get John's jeans off. At last he got his fingers wrapped around his Dad's thick cock, hefted it, squeezed it in his hand and drank in the sounds that came from John - little whimpers that grew with each movement of his wrist.

John's body was quickly responding to Sam's touch and his pumping hand. He grabbed his son's wrist to stop him. If he kept going, John wasn't gonna last long, and he desperately wanted it to last forever. John wasn't young, and he suddenly felt like a dirty old man, which should have repulsed him but instead geared him up even more.

"Easy, boy, I'm not as young as you." he gave a lop-sided smile before pulling back and getting Sam's pants off, then his own. He felt very vulnerable, but he moved back to his son quickly and used his hands to start mapping out every part he'd wanted so much to touch, sliding his hand over Sam's thighs and hips, over his ribs and back before coming around to feel his chest. Sam was as lovely as ever, and John wanted him even more. He wanted to claim Sam as his own, no one else ever to have him. When their cocks scraped and bumped, he moaned.

"I think I knew that," smirked Sam. He was sure that this was a dream, and that it would burst like a bubble by the time morning came. "But that's okay. Once I've sucked you dry of all your energy, I can work my wicked wiles on you and not even get short of breath." He ran his fingers over John's thickly muscled back, feeling the strength in his father's body and hugging it close enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs. "I missed you. I really thought that you hated me."

"I could never hate you," John moved his hand around to Sam's back, pressing them closer. Sam had no idea what it did to John to feel him squeeze and hold him this way. He was so happy feeling their bodies touch; their bodies pressed together like this. He could feel Sam's heart beating against him, inside his chest, his own heart matching it. John surged in and kissed him deeply. "Let's see if you're more than just talk."

Willingly, Sam sank back onto the bed, still clinging to his father. "Show me. You told me never to show my face again. Prove that you didn't mean it." He pulled his Dad hard against him and rubbed himself, catlike, against John's body. "Show me," he repeated.

John gave a little growl, capturing Sam's lips in a fierce kiss. His hands gripped Sam tightly, pulling and caressing, shoving his youngest son onto his back. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but at this point, John couldn't stop himself as he lowered his body down onto Sam's and grasped his cock. He pumped it with his hand, watching as it filled, oozing that little pool of clear wetness at the tip as the head turned purple with need. He blew against it, a cooling breath, while blue eyes watched for Sam's reaction.

The faint caress made Sam shiver and he tried to reach for John's cock, "Don't fuck around," he growled. "Just do it; I need you to do it." He arched up to wrap his legs around John's waist , offering himself up to whatever John decided that he wanted to do. "Don't just tease me. That wouldn't be kind at all." He rolled his head against John's shoulder and bit sharply into the thick pad of muscle there. "I want you to do it."

John closed his eyes, moaning. He took his son's hands in his to pin them to the bed and moved down to Sam's cock, licking him, swirling his tongue around him. Sam convulsed, and John licked him again before taking him into his mouth. At last he was tasting what he'd never thought he would. He felt a darkness washing over him, weighing heavy on him, but he didn't stop as he sucked Sam's cock with renewed vigor and wondered, just wondered, if Dean tasted the same way.

The jolt that went through Sam then was almost electric in its intensity. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up into John's mouth, crying out as he tried to get just a little deeper into the amazing heat and slickness that was surrounding his cock. As John settled down to suck his brains out through his dick, Sam didn't give Jessica a thought. All he could think of was his father, and that this, here, right now, was something he hadn't realized he craved so much.

John moved his head over Sam, his beard scraping skin as he did. John lavished attention on him, pulling off to lick at him before returning to swallow him down once again. When Sam got too tight, too close to his release, John pulled off, running his tongue over another part of him, pulling with his teeth at tender skin and pushing Sam's legs back so he could get to his ass to wet it. He'd let go of Sam's hands to do so, and Sam ran them over John's back, touching him where he could, making him shiver. God, his boys were...

John raised himself, running his hand from Sam's cock up over his well-defined stomach and to his chest. He lowered his mouth to Sam's, kissing him with hunger and greed. He wanted Sam's mouth to be raw from his beard and lips, so that when he went home and kissed Jessica, he would feel his father, and not her soft lips . He hoped that he could somehow leave a memory of this shared moment.

There were no thoughts of Jessica left in Sam's head. He was mindless, empty, mere sensation. John was playing him as if he were an instrument, and all Sam could do was hold on tight and experience the effects of his expertise. Memories flickered past him and were gone, until all that remained was the deep longing for a home he'd never had other than his father, his brother and the car that had hauled them from place to place. More than anything, John's presence in his arms was like coming home.

His arousal grew more and more intense. John wouldn't let him come. He was desperate as John licked, and sucked and teased at him, and he'd long since begun to babble and beg for release. "Please, god, please Dad, I need to... I have to, oh, god, yes, please, right there!"

John's fingers had worked over Sam's entrance. When he crawled up again to kiss his lovely son, his fingers slipped in as well, curling and twisting till he could just graze Sam's all too sensitive gland. He had his boy ready to scream, melting under him, begging. This was the all too lovely Sammy he had always yearned to see. He was beautiful when he begged. John half wondered if Dean looked like this. The boys were both beautiful, and he wondered if Sam would go for sharing Dean with him? Would he even let him see Dean this way? Sam could be selfish at times; that had been evident even when they were children. Sam was always rubbing his hair against Dean's face to bring Dean's attention back to him when his brother had their father's attention. The thought of having both his boys was almost too much .

John removed his fingers, pushing his weight off Sam and settling to grasp his own cock and rub it over Sam's tight bud. The feeling made John shiver, astonished at the thought that he was actually going to fuck his son. His youngest. Dean, Mary, please save us both, he silently prayed as he started to push into Sam.

A hitch of breath, a twist of the hips, and John was inside him. Sam didn't think he needed saving. He thought he needed just exactly this. Since he'd come to Stanford, he had had only had one lover, Jess, but the memory of the way he used to feel when he and Dean were together flooded through him as he felt John stretch him, filling him tightly with his flesh.

At first, it hurt. It had been way too long since he'd had anything in his ass, and he was panting, hoping that the agonizing burn would wear off soon. He wanted this so badly, wanted to feel a reconnection with the family he'd thrown away when he left for college, wished Dean was there too, because more than anyone else in the world, Sam loved the brother who had raised him.

He moaned, urged John to move a little, crying out as John's cock swept over his prostate and set little tingles sparking inside him.

John, once he was able to let go of his cock so he could press into his youngest son, dropped onto his hands as they rested on either side of Sam's chest. He supported himself on trembling arms, pushing till he was pressed firmly inside that all too sweet ass, and his balls were flattened against Sam's ass. His head was lowered, and he was unable to look at Sam right then. He could only concentrate upon the labored rise and fall of Sam's chest and the way his own skin prickled with goose bumps as his cock scraped Sam's prostate.

For a moment, John held still, then he started moving. "It will stop hurting soon," John managed to get out as he pushed up, grabbed Sam's hips and bruised them as he started to fuck him.

Sam remembered. He remembered the way Dean had held him, his surprisingly gentle big brother, sliding inside him, whispering sweet, soft words to him as he'd entered him. Dean had been tender, gentle, and he'd clung to Dean as if he were the whole world. It was different now. John was harder, rougher, and Sam was glad for the difference. He gasped, pushing up to meet John's thrusts, knowing that it was going to feel amazing soon enough. The burn was fading, changing, becoming a dull, dark pleasure that would soon ignite like a flash-fire and set him alight.

Clutching his father's arms, he gritted out, "I know. Just do it. I want it."

John's movements grew steadily more eager and harsh, needing this encounter that he had thought about, dreamed of, wished for, for so long. He couldn't believe he was actually fucking Sam, something he had longed to do since he'd grown to be as handsome as he was. John closed his eyes just for a brief moment, he but didn't want to miss a moment of this. He placed his hand upon Sam's chest, holding him down, just taking what he wanted - taking and claiming, leaving his mark so that even if Dean was to come back, he would know, know that Sam was now his.

This wasn't like with Dean, or with Jess, or anyone he'd ever touched before. Sam felt safe, felt small again in his father's arms. He could feel his arousal growing, climbing with each thrust of his father's hips, each passage of his father's thick cock over his gland. He couldn't speak, was afraid to do so for fear that it would make his father stop, realizing what he was doing. Instead, he wound an arm around John's neck, pulled his head down to him and pressed his mouth to John's, sucking on it as he sent his tongue inside, probing and searching for its fellow.

John's own lips claimed him, even as his son initiated the kiss. Events had suddenly moved beyond checking on his son, telling him to call his brother, becoming 'you are mine and no one else's.' Even his hips were sending that message as his thrusts grew harder, more desperate to claim, and the hand that squeezed between them, capturing Sam's cock, pumping it, was nearly as erratic as his thrusts.

John tore his lips from Sam's, his mouth dropping to one well-padded shoulder and biting just at the moment when he felt his cock trying to expand within that tight ass. His seed spilled into Sammy, trying to wash away the remains of any other lover, of Dean even, so much so that it leaked out around him. John's world suddenly crashed down in the delicious pain of climax. He tasted the sweet salty tang of blood in his mouth. The smell of sex was heavy in the air, and he was still throbbing within his son.

Shaking now with the unfamiliar stretch and thrust of the cock in his ass, Sam rolled his head from side to side, desperate to feel more, harder, deeper. He couldn't keep from bucking, and as John began to lose it, his hand tightening around his cock, Sam cried out, feeling the hot flood of liquid spurting into him squelch down and ooze out around John's cock, and he couldn't hold back any more. Just the thought of what had happened, the sight of his father's fucked-out expression was enough to bring about his own climax and he felt himself spurting, sticky juices setting his dick on fire and spattering over his belly in the best orgasm he'd had since he and Dean had parted company.

"Oh, Jesus," he whimpered. "What the fuck happened? I think my head exploded."

John carefully pulled away from Sam, kissing him softly, before dropping down beside him. Jesus was right, although the curse wasn't because he'd just had the best sex since forever; it was because of what he had just done. Men went to jail for this. At least Sam was of age and no one else knew. No one knew, he thought to himself, and neither would Dean. He would have to keep Dean away from Sam for a while.

Sam lay, confused, body still tingling from the aftershocks. He hadn't thought of Jess once since he'd touched his father for the first time, and now her face floated in front of his eyes, accusing, shocked, miserable. "I... uh... think I had probably better go," he whispered, voice low as he rolled to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'll call Dean in the morning, I promise."

Sam wasn't the only one guilt-ridden. John could hear Mary's voice, see her face, hurt and disappointed in him. In his mind she was telling him this was NOT the kind of love she'd meant for him to have for his sons. He sat up as well and began dressing, "I'll take you back." He didn't want to; he wanted to hit Sam on the back of the head, knock him out, throw him in the truck and leave this place. Keep Sam with him, but that would only make his son even angrier with him. It might be different if Dean was here. But then, if Dean was here, none of this would have happened.

Torn, Sam sat looking confused. "I... I don't know why..." He coughed, hunched and hugged himself, turning to face John but not quite meeting his father's eyes. "I'm not sorry. I think we needed to..." He waved his hand, indicating himself, the bed, John himself. "Been a long time coming. You really always knew that Dean and I were... were together?"

John nodded, "Yes, it was." His voice was low, barely audible. "I knew, I just didn't say anything," even though inside he had wanted to. It had been his solution for the safety of both his boys. Sam, so lovely, thick dark hair, eyes that made you melt, and a smile wider than the world. Then there was Dean, and just everything about Dean screamed sex. His eyes, his lips, his compact body. John had wanted both his boys in the manner he had just taken Sam. But John, more importantly, needed the two of them close to each other. Together.

John finished dressing. "C'mon, let's go."

Sam dressed himself, slowly, methodically, ran a comb through his hair and finally turned to his father, still looking uncertain and very, very young indeed. "Are you mad?" he asked his father, hanging back for a moment. He felt off-balance somehow, as if the wild sex he'd just experienced had somehow destroyed his confidence. "Don't be. I didn't mean it." He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, only that he wanted his father to look at him with heat in his eyes again.

"I'm not mad, Sam," John tried to reassure him. But he couldn't say it with conviction. Guilt was laying too heavily upon him. "It's getting late and Jessica is gonna worry about you."

"Yeah." Sam stepped forward, went to the door and opened it. He didn't speak until they were settled into John's truck and John was getting ready to start the engine. He leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed and his hand pressed to his forehead. "I've got a test tomorrow," he murmured. "She'll think I'm studying. That's what I do." He sat forward suddenly, turned to face his father, his heart in his eyes. "Will you come back again soon? Will you let me know, so I can make arrangements?"

John glanced over at Sam, and what he saw wrenched his gut. "I don't know when I'll be back, but I will try." That was all he could promise, even though he wanted to say more. He truly wanted to kidnap his own son and take him away, put him in a place where no one would find him... not even Dean.

The voice of dismissal was familiar to Sam; he'd heard it all of his life. He merely nodded, "Okay. Just call me when you can. I... I'm glad you came. Give him my love when you see him, won't you?" he added, knowing that he didn't need to name the missing third of their triangle. "I love him. Love you too, dad."

It was that last statement that quenched the urges in John. He couldn't deprive Dean of this, of Sam. The look in Sam's eyes told John that if he tried, his son would hate him forever. He reached over and touched Sam's shoulder, "I will and... I know. We better go." John stared at Sam for a moment, wondered if he dared ever do this again. His body so wanted it. His heart did too, but his head was the one he was using to think with at the moment, and he wondered if Sam would call Dean.

John dropped Sam off by the gate. There were no farewell kisses, no hugs, not even words. Looks were exchanged, and John stayed long enough to see Sam disappear through the gate, make his way up the stairs, and watched as his shadow passed a window. The old truck rather reluctantly pulled away, and John drove into the night, heading toward another musty motel room on the other side of town.

Upon his arrival, he climbed out and entered his room, startled for a moment as someone emerged from the bathroom, bright and handsome. There was a tired look on the young man's face and in his eyes, a gash at his neck, and blood on his shirt, but he looked good. "Hey," John acknowledged the figure.

Dean gave a nod of a greeting, "Hey yourself. You see Sammy?" He was moving over to the other bed, dropping heavily onto it to pull off his boots.

John took his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair, "He's good," he frowned, his true meaning buried in the vague words. "Unlike you," John cast a look toward his firstborn.

"Hey, my middle name is Timex, remember? Take a lickin' but I keep on tickin'!" Dean gave a little sigh.

John couldn't help but stare at this other handsome son of his, the one he hadn't touched, hadn't stained. His beautiful boy, who would one day take care of Sammy for him and maybe save him from his intended fate. He moved over and sat down on his own bed, taking his boots off. He saw Dean's cell phone sitting there upon the nightstand. Would it vibrate with a call? Would it play the song Dean had loaded onto it, the one that meant Sam was calling? Only time would tell.

Fin

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