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Dad is still funny about sex. He’s a gentle and considerate lover, fucks deeply into him, strokes him and pets him, makes him come as much as he requests but… he’s still dad. Spur-of-the-moment Fuck Me On The Table situations turn into dad looking for a folded blanket or pillow to put under Dean’s ass so he’s more comfortable. Rough and fast in bed turns into dad holding the top of Dean’s head so it doesn’t bang against the headboard. In the shower dad leans against walls himself so Dean’s shoulders aren’t pressed into cold tiles. Cute overall, but definitely ridiculous to a degree.
He’s shy about attraction too – finds ways to cover and complain, other excuses to touch and to look. Ridiculous on a hot midsummer day, the sun shining mercilessly over their half-desert residence of the week. They decided to get some cleaning done before departing – shine Baby’s paint and leathers while they have the time. Dean put on a perfunctory shirt for the occasion, one of dad’s – hanging loose on his shoulders, more revealing than hiding.
Dad tried to make himself useful while Dean pretty much put on a show of soaping up Baby’s front and sides, her top on his tippy toes and ass stuck out ripe for ogling. Dad looked, he did, passed behind him with a hand firmly on his waist and not lower, with a kiss on his bared shoulder, with a small grunt and a soft scold to pull his pants up…
He put a hand on Dean’s face, rubbed his freckles with a thumb, even commented on how the sun brings them out and it’s cute. Dean plainly offered to take the shirt off too, show off the freckles on his shoulders, his back… Dad just pulled the shirt tighter around him and scolded him – something about sweat and cold, not wanting him sick, the necessity of keeping himself healthy. He liked his freckles, held them and petted them when under his hands– he was just being… He was just being dad.
Dean ignored him for the most part and kept his summer fun in their few free hours. Climbed into the backseat head first under pretense to clean out the bench and polish the leather, and of course. Of course dad answered the call of his arched back and ridden up shirt, sliding in behind him with a warm and broad hand on his waist – both measuring him up and checking for moisture, keeping him warm. He was scoffy at first, a rant about tucking his shirts and pulling them down and the heat not being an excuse, something about needing him at his fullest on a hunt, not with an unnecessary cold, and how worried he is or something, but it did not take long, indeed, for Dean to win him over.
So that’s how they end up now – dad’s thick cock deep in his ass, Dean moaning and drooling both from his mouth and his dick onto Baby’s not-so-clean-anymore’s leather bench, and dad still feeling his back up and down and talking about the dangerous summer breeze and sweat and shirts… as if Dean isn’t entirely wet from washing the car already.
He’s sliding deliciously deep, slow and measured, pumping his hips into Dean’s plump ass, patting his thighs and kissing his neck, breathing his air… And whispering about how he can’t watch him like this, he’s worried, cotton is a treacherous material – do you know how bad a stiff back hurts, Dean?
He knows. He doesn’t care right now – dad’s warm soft body against his back, his belly slotted perfectly into the dip of his waist, slow movements driving his insane – overheated and stretched out, sweat and wet cotton gluing them together in the crammed backseat, barely any air to breathe. He whines a deep Daaaad, turns his head to kiss him, bites at his lips. Dad just smiles at him and raises his eyebrows, claims he will not be convinced to stop, measures his back again with open palms – up to his shoulders, splayed underneath the shirt, and back down to his waist and ass – pushing and pinching, rising his body to trail his hands with his eyes.
He’s being ridiculous again – scolding but riding up his shirt himself, the worried parent with a dick up his kid’s ass. Giving him pleasure and a lecture at the same time. It’s immeasurably hot, Dean has to admit to himself, his dick bobbing and leaking just at the experience, despite the slow pace and his burning ears at dad’s disapproval. He pulls the shirt down to his ass finally with a gentle murmur, fucks deeper into him, splitting him down to the core with a strong push of his hips, keeps his dick as deep as it would go as he puts his hands over both of his shoulders, over soft wet cotton, “My big boy – “ guttural and soft, appreciative “ – look at how much you’ve grown” his hands slide up and over Dean’s shoulders, catch on the collar, pull the shirt down, roam over heated sweaty skin “ – freckles all over too – “ he laughs from deep in his chest, no mirth in it, more to himself “ – you got these from me, ya know? Much cuter, though.” He leans down to lap at his shoulders, pulls his hips back enough just to tease, gets it back in slowly, spreading him back open.
“Dad…” Dean is breathless, overwhelmed, pushing back against dad on weakened thighs and knees as much as he can, impatient at his point. Dad lets out a hmmm, looks at him with a smile in his eyes, conversationally, maybe a bit cheeky, his body still moving in slow rhythm, shallow thrusts, even as he waits for Dean to continue with bright eyes. He got the cuteness from him too, no matter how much dad refuses to accept it.
Dean lifts his head up just enough to kiss dad’s cheek, whisper into it almost conspirationally, eyes wide and intentionally childishly inquisitive “Do I have freckles on my butt too?”
Dad looks taken aback, did not expect the question. Almost mechanically sheepishly picks himself up to look down and check. Palms his ass appreciatively, pushes down on Dean’s shoulderblades with the other hand to make his ass perk even more. “Yeah…” he sounds dreamy, voice deep and longing, his cock twitches inside Dean, rumbling his belly. Dad grabs at his ass with a full hand, massages it, thumbs his hole where his cock is spreading him open, pushes the cheek up and down in his palm, digs his fingers in, before tracing what Dean can guess are lines between his freckles. His other hand moves down to his waist for support, leaning onto him with his full weight, hips stuttering in and hand on his ass tight as a vice.
Dean knows what’s coming, braces himself on the seat, juts his hips out as much as he can. Dad is grunting and trembling, calling him a good boy and so pretty, so big, his boy. Cock twitching inside him, cum drippling from his stretched-out hole, down his thighs and balls, onto dad’s thumb, smearing over just-cleaned and polished leather. Dad’s thighs are tense and hard against Dean’s, his hands pulling him back onto his cock, impaling him deep and sweet, belly soft on his ass, voice low and barely intelligible, breaths hard and deep, warm air over Dean’s back and neck.
He softens up eventually, lays slowly down back on top of Dean, careful not to crush him too hard – dad – pets his sides gently as he noses into his messed-up collar, leaves feather kisses on the back of his neck, hums low in satisfaction. “Are you gonna be a good boy, hm?”
He’s being cheeky, pressing his ass down so his cock catches Dean’s sweet spots, enough to jam into it and rub it into Baby, not enough to actually satisfy. “Whatever.” he’s done with dad’s bullshit, tries to wiggle his entire body to get some friction, tries to bear down to impale himself harder on dad’s cock. Dad holds him down with a hand on his hip, pushes it lower gently between his front and the car bench.
“Dean. This is important, okay?” he’s still a little smug but too tired to be too cheeky. He’s being soft, pleading. He could make it an order. He doesn’t. Noses at Dean’s shoulder instead, uncovers it more. Lets out an exasperated but gentle breath, air hot against Dean’s overheated skin. He’s palming him now, nice and slow, big hand enveloping him in tight pleasure and rough callouses, heat and movement soon to be too much paired with the thick long dick still wedged deep inside him, pressuring him just right.
“You gotta take care of yourself, baby, yeah?” his voice is almost small as he smoothes a hand down Dean’s side, the other still pumping him gently in the tight confines between his bulging belly and the car seat. Smoothes the shirt down to his ass, raises his body up and pushes his hips in as far as they would go, filling Dean up thick and tight, caressing him gently, whispering softly paternal worry and devotion, care, soft scolding and love, and…. Dean whines almost high, neck craned back, chin pressed into soft wet leather, his body suddenly taut and uncoiling, trembling beyond his control, dick leaking more than spurting wave after wave in dad’s hand, messing up both soapy cotton and leather. He’s barely aware it was coming and it takes ridiculously long to get it all out, too long of Dean only capable of incoherent whining and rutting back, his limbs not his own, his entire brain buzzing cotton, mouth agape and all muscles tense. Dad pumps him through it just as softly as he started, puts pressure in his hips to keep him stable, pets him down into the seat with a heavy hand, hums approvingly and lovingly, kisses his back and his neck, his hair, his temple, licks at his shoulders, connecting freckles into little constellations.
He feels boneless when he’s finally spent, when his dick has nothing else to give despite dad’s fingers still massaging and pressing into it – playing with it. Dad is heavy on top of him, tired too, appreciative and spent, lazy in the summer heat. “Promise me, puppy – “ he says into his shirt, rubbing his face into it “ – your safety first.”
He can only grunt noncommittally in response, too cotton headed to point out all the hypocrisy and unfairness, the ridiculousness of the situation, of dad himself. Dad stiffens up suddenly, picks himself up with an abrupt, curt gesture, his movements jostling them both and the car too. Dean’s head spasms with pain, no don’t be mad, please, not right now… He tightens his eyes shut and gets ready to offer a proper reply, an excuse, anything…
But dad just reaches for the blanket resting over the bench, spreads it out over Dean’s back and shoulders, right onto his head, pulls it over his ass as he lets his dick slip out – sticky mess leaking all over his thighs and getting on the blanket as he’s wrapped up in it. Dad backs out of the car, dragging Dean’s cocooned body with him, Dean’s pants still down and wrapped around his thighs, belt buckle clinking at the motion. He welps and holds onto dad’s arms – wrapped strong and solid around his middle, clings to him and tightens his knees as he’s hauled into the air and held like an infant, all wrapped up and cozy in the crazy heat.
Dad has decided rest and clean time is over – he slams the door shut with a knee, Dean held carefully against his chest, rounds to the driver’s seat and it’s time to take off. Baby is as clean as she’ll ever get around them – sticky seats included.
He rests against dad’s body as he’s driving, still wrapped up and cocooned, the blanket admittedly a nice shield against the gust from the open window and the high speed. Dad is holding him close one-handed by the waist, occasionally giving him a smirk and a quirked disciplining brow. Dean manages to free a hand to put on dad’s chest – thick black hair wet with sweat, shirt open and flapping in the wind. He pulls at the curls and kisses his shoulder, presses against his chest. “You’re not immune to colds too, ya know?”
Dad hums and laughs, winks at him as he taps on the steering wheel in tune with Accept on the player. Dean rubs his hand into dad’s chest, rests his head against his shoulder and neck, hair tickling his beard. Tries to warm him up, protect him from the gust, hold his heart close and beating in his grasp. “My safety is nothing without yours.” He’s whispering, murmuring against his throat, trying to smooth the words with kisses and licks.
Dad is quiet but Dean can feel his eyes on him, his heart slow but unsteady, arrhythmic in his palm. He dares a look up, bats his eyelashes before even seeing the expression on dad’s face. He’s solemn, contemplative, sad maybe. Serious. Eyes full and eyelashes wet. His hand climbs up Dean’s back and pulls him in, settled between his shoulderblades. Dad bends down to kiss his forehead, tickles his nose with his beard as he does, laughs at the noise Dean makes. Cranes his neck to kiss his nose too, rub it with his, kiss his cheeks where he knows they’re speckled with freckles – quick chaste little presses of pulp warm lips, dad’s breath, dad’s scent, the only thing in Dean’s senses.
He turns back to the road with a soft Alright, buddy. Dean doesn’t believe him. Reaches to button up his shirt anyway.