A\N: This story contains, mentions of alcohol use, implied violence, sexual themes of Homosexual orientation, and INCEST, if you do not favor or dislike this topics, please turn away right now! Those of you who do find it enjoyable please read and review if possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or its characters, I make no money out of this fanfiction

Tittle: Jim, Jack and Jose

Rate: M

Summary: Even when he is with Jim, Jack and Jose; the only company John wants is Dean's

John Winchester has never felt so alone. Even in the good company of the ever-faithful Jim, Jack and Jose; John feels lonely. He hadn't realized how much he has become used to the presence of his eldest son. Dean has been with him since the start, always taking care of the remaining tatters of their family. Always ready to jump at John's orders, his father shadow. Lately even more so, after Sam left for Stanford two years ago, Dean dogged after John's steps relentlessly. Now that John has left the kid behind for good, he is feeling the itching for company, that feeling you get when you turn around expecting someone only to find they are not there. More than once the eldest Winchester has caught himself barking orders to an empty, dingy motel room.

John sighs and downs another drink. If he feels this way he can't even begin to imagine how affected Dean must be by his abandonment, how worried he must be. But it was for the boy's own good, he can't drag his son to the impending war. He is getting closer to Yellow-eyes and it would put Dean in an immeasurable danger compare to their normal hunts –not that those are tea party safe. Still John feels justified in leaving Dean behind, in trying to protect his toy soldier for once in his life.

Another shot burns down his throat. A busty young lady –though judging by the way she is dressed and the suggestiveness of her glances that term is debatable- caught his eye. She has been flirting with him for a while -that is to put it kindly- John just doesn't have a name for her bending over the pool table with a micro miniskirt and no underwear nor for her straddling the pool stick and licking it after every shot. Now he watches her approach, her hips swaying, brunette locks bouncing around her face and down her back, dark chocolate eyes promising porn-star dreams. And John finds he is not in the slightest interested and goes back to his drink. She has reached his side and takes the bottle of bourbon that sits before him and drinks from it deeply. John eyes her with a raised brow but otherwise unmoved.

"You look like you could use some company," she says, her voice more than a little sultry.

"I don't," John says shortly, taking his bottle of Jim Beam from her and settling it down deliberately.

"You waiting for someone? Maybe they ditched you" she now presses her front to his side, one arm coming up to play with his hair, her lips close to his ear.

"I'm not, you see I'm with my buddy Jim" he gestures to the bottle next to him "soon I'll be giving Jack a ride and Jose is waiting for me at the motel and that is a tight enough fit for a single," he finished coldly almost bored.

She undraped herself from his frame "Your loss…pops" she gave him one last indignant glare and stormed into the lady's room.

The barky looks at John like he is insane for turning her down, and maybe he is. She is the kind of girl he used to seek after when the need got too oppressing to handle with his own right hand. She is definitely the kind of girl Dean used to favor, easy, and wild and with no strings attached; a good fuck he didn't need to have breakfast, nor exchange phone numbers with -or names for that matter.

'Used' being the correct tense. It had been a while since John or Dean had need for such fine examples of the feminine gender. Which brings him back to the reason he is in this bar to begin with. The thing he misses and regrets more about being away from his eldest son. For a brief moment he wonders if Dean is sulking in a bar like John is, or if the boy has reverted to his old ways and in absence of his father he is now fucking a double of 'sluty' he just turned down. The thought puts the oldest Winchester in an even more morose mood and he decides to ride Jack home early, Jose is waiting for him after all.

The bottle of Jack Daniels was still under the front sit, it used to be Dean's, but they had ended up using the whiskey as both disinfectant and anesthetic in a hunt gone awry. It was a little past mid bottle, not enough to get as drunk as he wanted, but enough to entertain him on the drive back to the motel. He reaches his room door as he takes the last swing from it; it is always the bitterest and the strongest. He struggles with the keys and lock for a bit, then stumbles in, he decides against turning on the light, the neon sign outside provides enough illumination for his eyes, used to the dark by years of night hunting. John digs through his duffel and finds a brand new bottle of Jose Cuervo; the one Dean had bought him when he bested the boy in a pool game a few months ago. He curses at the irony; the very same liquor he wants to imbibe to forget about his eldest is the same thing that reminds him of Dean. The hotel isn't helping either, as he is currently staying at the hotel where it all started for the first time. True it is not the same room, but still the room is familiar enough to be a constant reminder. Twisting off the bottle John sits on the lumpy bed and takes his first shot of tequila, letting his mind wander off to the inevitable.

That night he had been drunk; stinking, balls to wall drunk. He remembers very little of it, in fact he had a vague recollection on how it started and a burned print image of how they woke up the next morning. All John knows is that it had been a rough week, Dean and he had been tracking down a vamp nest, a rather large and dangerous one. The plan was for John to storm in and for Dean to cover his father taking position at the roof and shooting as many vamps down with a cross bow and arrows dipped in dead man's blood as he could. The vicious fight had taken John to a blind spot in Dean's cover and the middle Winchester abandoned his post and jumped down in to the fray resulting in the kid almost being bitten. John had been scared, worried and furious; he got in to Dean's face about disobeying orders and then stormed off to the nearest bar –the exact same one he had been at tonight. He came back to their motel room to stumble upon a slightly hammered Dean in the middle of a wild fuck with a very drunk chick. Dean had turned ten shades of red and stammered, shyly asking John if he could step out for half hour or so. The drunken chick seemed to have a better idea and suggested John joined them. John would've laughed at Dean's expression if he hadn't been so utterly inebriated, turned on and jealous. The truth of the matter being the moment he stepped in to the room and caught on what it was playing out before him he got a raging hard on. The naked girl with her round fake boobs, her full lips, the tousled hair, soft curves; all heavy moans and high pitched cries. It was all very enticing; but what got John's attention was his boy. The tight muscles on Dean's back, rippling under taunt skin as he thrust into her. His arms bulging as he supported his weight above her. The thin sheen of sweat soaking his body. For the first time, John saw his boy as a sexual being and he became enthralled by him. Dean's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when John actually removed his clothes, the blushing boy tried to look at everything except his father buck naked. But Dean's eyes kept finding their way to John's frame, raking over his broad shoulders, his toned abs and lingering far too long on the older hunter's erect cock. Crowding into the bed John allowed the chick to fondle and suck him, Dean seemed to accept the imposed three ways and resume the rocking of his hips albeit a bit out of rhythm, clearly still shocked by the turn of events. However uncomfortable as his son might had been, his gaze never left the soft lips encircling the father's manhood, or was it on his father's manhood sinking in to parted lips. John on his part had his eyes trained on his boy's face. Dean licked his lips unconsciously and John suddenly wanted to know how those particular lips felt around his cock, surely much better than the girl lapping sloppily around his shaft. He pulled his cock away from her, and grasping the back of Dean's head, he leveled the younger man's face with his dick. Dean tried to pull away with a startled gasped "the hell?", but the bigger man held him in place and commanded "suck". The middle Winchester struggled again, but his father pulled his head back painfully "Are you disobeying my order soldier!" That seem to get him, and with a nervous shudder Dean took John's cock in his mouth –now reflecting on it John has to wonder why Dean didn't socked him out cold? In John's drunken state Dean could've taken the man down easily, but instead he had complied. After that everything is too blurry, John has a vague memory of having kicked the chick out without getting any from neither of the Winchesters. The next clear memory is of waking up hung-over, naked, next to an equally nude Dean; who sported a slap mark courtesy of the dismissed chick, and a creampie courtesy of John.

John is half way through the tequila bottle, he recognizes the urge to pee, but with the raging hard on he has now thanks to his wandering mind that would be next to impossible. So with a sigh the eldest Winchester lays down on the bed, his mind going back again. Things had been very awkward after that first night. John was mortified and ashamed. Dean though, wasn't angry as John had expected, instead he was embarrassed and it seemed, confused. But both of their prides as usual masked their respective feeling with irritation. The following days where spent in avoidance, uncomfortable silence, glares and snapping. With the next hunt in sight they reverted to their old routine, in a mutual agreement to ignore and forget what had happened. It was wrong after all, religiously, morally and socially. A sin, an aberration, a crime; and yet John was never a religious man, always more than a little moral bankrupt and socially askew. So the older hunter didn't even bother denying to himself that he wanted to do it again, he wanted to fuck his boy and be actually able to remember it this time around. The only thing stopping him was his respect for Dean himself. Surely the kid didn't want to screw with John, first of all Dean is a ladies man and second even if he wasn't John as his dad is probably too old to appeal to younger man sexually, or so he had believed.

John was proven wrong a short week and half later. Another hunt, as always dangerous, this time a minor deity from some pagan culture or other as always was requiring a sacrifice of flesh and blood to survive. That being John's blood literally and Dean's 'flesh' figuratively. Again it was a very close call, with John almost getting killed and Dean being almost raped, it is obvious both Winchesters were very shaken. As they patched each other's wounds the adrenaline gave way to relief, and shaking hands sought to touch, to linger, to cling. To reassure themselves that the other was still there, alive, breathing. To erase the unsolicited, revoltingly intimate touch of a foreigner creature. They had sex for the second time in as many weeks and none of them care about kinship. It was the beginning of a sexual relationship between them that had lasted almost two years, until John decided to leave.

The thing is John loves sex with Dean. It never affected the way they saw or treated each other. John was still commanding, stern, proud, if only a little more affectionate from time to time. There was still respect, admiration and obedience on Dean's part. It was casual without any other expectation then getting off, it was intense and highly satisfying and it all worked well. Even when the Beta nature in Dean reveled and he dominates John. It makes the older man shudder pleasantly as he remembers the feeling of his son's cock sliding into him. On the rare occasions when Dean takes John, the youth does it leisurely, thrusting slowly with that trade mark cocky grin of his. Taking his sweet ass time –literally- in building their orgasms. But John prefers to be top. He simply loves to fuck his son; Dean is the best fuck he's had since Mary –probably the boy's resemblance to his mom helps. And that is because fucking Dean is unlike fucking any woman. For starts the kid is all hard muscles and planes, no roundness, no soft curves. John finds his son's toned body appealing and loves the feeling of those taunt muscles rippling and contracting under his hands. He also finds fascinating the difference in their frames, whereas Dean is lean and defined, John is more buff. Also John is a hairy scruffy looking man by nature, his chest, forearms and legs are cover with a light sheen of dark but soft hairs, his cock nestled in a thick matt of hair not unlike his head, and he remembers to trim it down as often as he remembers to shave his bear. In contrast Dean's chest is hairless and he has barely a hint of golden fine soft hair dusting his forearms and legs; not to mention his son is a neat, if not vain man when it comes to personal appearance, he keeps his downstairs department well trim as he does with his shaven face and close cropped hair. But what John likes best is that Dean isn't loud in bed, he doesn't fill the room with heated shrills, he doesn't talk dirty; he doesn't scream, groan, grunt or moan. No when John slides home inside Dean, the boy closes his bright green eyes and bites his lower lip. When John hits that special spot deep within his tight passage, the younger man turns his face away, burring it into the mattress and sighs deeply. He rolls his hips lazily against his father's, he doesn't take his cock in his fist and jerks off, instead he takes his shaft between thumb, index and middle finger and strokes it leisurely. Even as he cums Dean keeps his strokes light, he doesn't trash around or arches off the bed, he grows tense as his muscles clench tightly, his taunt abs sink down under his ribs and he shudders lightly and soft quiet gasps are the only sound to escape past his lips. And to top it off Dean manages all this while retaining that cocky, arrogant, manly, devil may care pride that Sam often defines as butch, but that John finds it to be admirable and sexually alluring.

John comes down from his orgasm with ragged breath, as his mind conjured the images of the sexual side of Dean; John's hand had found its way in to his pants. With a soft curse he leaves the bed and stumbles in to the bathroom, to clean his hands and prick, finally pee and change in to a fresh pair of boxers. His cell phone rang, he had left it in the room when he went out to the bar, he checks the screen, it IDs Dean as the caller and John lets it ring out, a few moments later the voice mail alert goes off. John listens to it; the voice of a very worried Dean asks if he's alright, where he is, and why did the left. John listens to it a second time and then erases the message as he has done the past few months with every text, voice mail, and missed call from his eldest son. Yes Dean is definitely having it worse than John, but it's for his boy's safety that the father most keep his distance. Still it's cruel to leave his son in that uncertainty, picking up the half empty tequila bottle John comes up with a solution, he'll send hunt jobs to Dean, to let him know John is indeed still alive and to keep the boy distracted in a goose chase leading away from John. It is the closes to a compromise he can come to. Settling in bed nowhere nearly as drunk as he had intended to be tonight John regrets having left the bar so early. But it didn't really matter, even with Jim, Jack and Jose; he misses the companionship only Dean can give.

The End