littlestarling (littlestarling) wrote,

As Silver Refined: The Road West

Title: The Road West: As Silver Refined
Author: shea
Rating: nc-17
Pairings/Characters: sam/dean/john
Category: au, slash, horror
Notes/Warnings: spanking, dean/john in this chapter.

Readers Beware. This series is an AU, John is not physically Dean and Sam's father. He's a dangerous, nasty, kinky, horny, serial killer of the supernatural with a heavy hand, a loose belt and a big cock he likes to stick into teenaged boys. I can't say it more plain than that.
Chapter Summary: John knows just what to do with a lying teenaged hunter.

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The Road West.

Dean lifted his head, looked over his shoulder at John. He was still naked, wrapped-up in a sheet. He shaded his eyes with one hand, trying to block out the light streaming in through the motel curtains.

"What time is it," he asked rolling onto his side.

"Eleven o'clock."


"Today," John laughed. "You needed to sleep." John tossed him a bag from the Gap. Inside was new underwear, socks, two pairs of jeans, tee-shirts and a jacket. "Take a shower and get dressed. I want to hit Utah by this afternoon."

"You went to the mall?" Dean laughed. He sat up on the side of the bed. "My ass hurts." He sounded surprised.

"That's because I strapped you last night," John said gathering up Dean's old clothes and dropping them into the trash can.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. What was it I had to do to avoid that again?"

"Follow the rules."


Dean let his eyes fall shut.

The snap of a belt jerked him awake.


Dean rolled his head sleepily against the back of the seat and stared at John's hands as they loosely gripped the steering wheel. Big, fucking hands. Three spankings in two days had Dean about ready to jump out of his skin.

"You learned yet?" John had asked after setting him on his feet again that morning after breakfast.

"Yes, sir," Dean had replied. He hadn't even tried to resist the urge to rub his ass after he'd pulled his pants back up. He was grinning but he'd wished he'd had the opportunity to swipe some narcotics at the doctor's house the day before. He didn't say that out loud.

"We'll see," John had replied. "Let's hit the road."

"Can I do that standing-up?"


They took interstate 40 out of Oklahoma City and headed west. Dean went over John's lesson in his head: How to Clean a Shotgun. First make sure it's empty, them remove the barrel. Then put the rest of the shot-gun away. Then spray WD-40 down the barrel. Open one regular-sized, Tampax tampon and insert it onto the bore. Push it through with your cleaning rod..... There would be a quiz.

Dean snickered out loud, drawing an amused grin from John.

John knew how to kill things, things that a year ago Dean hadn't hadn't known how to find, unless they found him first. There was an arsenal in this truck, and a book that Dean was itching to get a look at. John had promised to teach him how to use both, if he did what he was told.

Dean was determined. He had done his best to protect Sam, but it hadn't been good enough. He was still gone.

Christ, if John thought Dean was trouble, just wait until he met Sam.

Dean let his eyes shift to John's profile remembering the butterflies in his stomach when he'd recognized John's black Ford pick-up truck in the side mirror, it's lights flashing.

"Better pull over," he'd told the truck driver.

"You sure?" Bill had asked. He hadn't liked the look of that driver. "We can keep going."

"Nah. It's okay," Dean had easily lied. "It's my dad."

Dean let his eyes fall shut. The warmth of the car and the hum of the road conspired to make him sleep. Luckily sleeping in the car wasn't against the rules.

Neither was getting hard when your Daddy spanked you.

"Last night," John had said watching the truck driver watch him in his side mirror as they waited for a break in traffic to pull back onto the road. "He make you do anything you didn't want to do?"

"No," Dean had admitted.

"GOD DAMN IT," John had yelled pounding his fist on the steering wheel before turning off the engine and reaching for Dean.

Dean's eyes popped open.

"Huh?" he asked.

John was smiling gently. "I said do you want to eat. We just crossed the boarder into Utah."

"Yeah, I can always eat."

Dean sat across from John in the booth at the diner, shifting uncomfortably on the hard, wooden seat. He felt raw and his balls ached from not being allowed to come. His wrists had been grabbed every time he's reached for his dick.

They were the only customers in the place. It was mid-afternoon, the time half-way between lunch and dinner. Dean watched dust motes floating in the sunlight that passed through the streaked diner windows as they waited for their sandwiches.

John wrote in his book, cup of coffee at his elbow. He chewed on the end of his pen.

Dean touched himself, one hand in the pocket of his jeans. It wasn't enough.

He looked at the salt and pepper whiskers on John's face. He looked at his lips, knew they wanted a cigarette. John was wearing a dark-blue shirt that Dean had seen before.

Dean dug deeper into his pocket, stroking, aching, remembering the feeling of his fingers sliding over buttons and peeling open John's shirt to rub his face against his teacher's chest, so hot under his cheek that Dean had wondered if Mr. Winchester had a fever.

"No, boy," his teacher had said as Dean started to get down on his knees, instead lifting him onto his desk, and kissing each newly exposed inch of freckled skin as he stripped Dean down, pausing only to fold the clothes with care into a pile with Dean's socks bundled neatly on top.

Dean looked at the waitress. She was quietly smoking a cigarette near the the open front door. He stretched out a leg and nudged John's calf with one foot.

John looked up, amusement sparking in his dark eyes. Dean watched John's big hands. He just knew John was waiting for him to mess up again.

Dean leaned back in the booth and spread his legs. He held John's eyes as he slid his hand out of his pocket and down the front of his jeans.

Rule number one was no more fucking random strangers for favors.

Waitresses, truck driver's especially had come in handy for him and Sam as they hitched their way south to Cassadega, Florida. Most were nice guys, family men. Some wanted a hand job. A lot of the time they just wanted to watch as he and Sam sucked each other off. The payoff was a big meal at a truck stop diner and a warm, dry place to tangle their legs together in bed and watch t.v., someplace they could salt the doors and windows and feel safe.

Dean dragged a finger over the head of his cock, over-sensitized from too much bare rubbing against John's denim clad thighs. Dean whimpered and bit his lower lip.

"What are you doing there, boy," John drawled.

Dean shook his head, "Nothing."

Rule number two was no more lying. Dean comforted himself with the knowledge that John had overlooked adding 'no more secrets' to rule number two or they would possible be on spanking number four by now.

"Are you touching yourself?"

"Yes, sir," Dean slurred. "Didn't figure you were going to." He ran his tongue over his teeth and thrust his hips up away from his seat.

"Get your ass up and go to the bathroom. Right now."

Always follow orders. Rule number three. The most important rule of all.

Dean kept his back to the waitress as he limped towards bathroom because his cock, tenting the front of his new jeans, looked obscene even to him.

"Ma'am," John called to the waitress still smoking by the door. "My boy's not feeling well. Could we get that food wrapped to go?"

Dean barely had the door closed when he tore open his pants, needing the irritating brush of cloth off of his ass and cock, needing to come. He knew he only had moments before John followed him.

He didn't play around, no double fisting, no thumbs and fingers, no palming the head, just the single fist of his dominate hand sliding up and down, getting the most contact, rubbing, squeezing hard. It was gonna hurt afterwards.

"Come on!" Dean yelled pounding the fist of his left hand against the wall. He leaned his head back and flooded his mind with filthy pictures, his cock sliding wet and red in and out of Sam's ass... in and out of Sam's mouth. He had to... He needed to....

John opened the bathroom door and was all over him in an instant.

"Daddy," Dean said and he would have fallen if John hadn't held him up.

"Need some help there, little boy?" John asked kissing his throat. He closed one big hand over Dean's fist and squeezed down, stilling Dean's hand.

Dean struggled in his grasp. "PLEASE," he gasped.

"No. NO! First you tell me who this brown haired boy is you're hoping to find in Utah." John gripped tighter as Dean tried to thrust into his hand. He leaned into Dean, pressing his bare ass into the wallpaper, and lifted him so his feet left the floor.

"There's no one, I swear...."

"Tell me the truth, or we're going to start on spanking number four. You want that?" John growled in his ear. "You can come in my hand, or I can beat your ass right here in this bathroom so that old lady out there can hear and I'll keep you from coming all the way to Salt Lake." John squeezed. "That what you want?"

John loosened his grip enough to give Dean a rough stroke, and Dean sunk his teeth into John's shoulder. John grunted.

Dean knew he didn't have a choice.

"Sam," he sobbed. "My little brother, Sammy."

John shoved Dean's hand out of the way finished him off with two quick pulls.


John put Dean in the truck, buckled him in.

"I hope your son's okay," rasped the waitress. "It's hard to be sick so far from home." She smiled at Dean.

"Thank you ma'am." Dean said taking their sandwiches and drinks from her through the window.

John started the truck. He turned to look at Dean. "This boy Sam, is he really your brother?"

Dean smiled. John was getting to know him pretty well. "Yeah, he's my brother. Just like you're my daddy."

"Great," John said. "Boy, you're almost more trouble than you're worth." John winked at him. "Now quiz time. What's the proper sized tampon to use to clean a 12-gague shotgun?"

Blood Thickens: 'Get in the truck Sam, before I salt & burn your ass!'
Tags: daddy winchester, my fic, sam/dean/john

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