linda92595 (linda92595) wrote,

Earth Mother John/Dean FRAO PT 1

Mother Earth

Fandom: Supernatural

Paring: John/Dean

Rating: FRAO het sex, slash sex, strong language

Warnings: Genderswap fic (John)


Dean rolled over grunting as his elbow came into contact with the cheap formica toped table between the two beds. The blinds were hanging crookedly and a white stripe of sunlight crept into the window stabbing him right in the eye. He moaned as the remnants of the tequila and beer he had downed last night with his dad made their presence known once again. His stomach rolled, and he clapped a hand over his mouth just in case they decided to make an untimely reappearance.


John was snoring softly in the other bed, completely covered head to toe in the tangle of sheets and blankets. Dean was annoyed. It was John's fault that he was hung over and his dad didn't even have the common decency to sound likewise affected.


He stripped off his boxers and tossed them into the dirty clothes pile at the foot of the bed. The one they were going to have to deal with if the odor hanging in the air was anything to go by. Out of spite Dean grabbed the blankets on passing and jerked them off his father's prone form.


He stopped short, eyes going wide. In the center of the bed was a naked girl—woman really.  She was curled on her side so Dean couldn't really get a good look at her.  It was difficult for him to judge her age, but she looked older than him not as old as his father. How hell did that happen? How did his dad score and he come home alone?


The woman snuffled in her sleep groping across the bed looking for the missing covers. She twitched then rolled onto her back still snoring. Dean froze. She was tiny, probably no more than five feet one and a hundred pounds soaking wet. But a large part of those hundred pounds had been invested in a good old fashioned pair of tits. Dean felt his mouth water; they were firm and high just like he liked them, tipped with pink nipples. Wow, his dad had hit the jackpot with this one. Then he noticed the wisps of brown hair under her arms and on her legs. He didn't know John did hippy chicks. Oh well, just like her tits her legs were great, nice curves and slender firm thighs parted just enough that he could see the triangle of brown hair at her crotch.


Dean leaned back against the wall waiting for his father to get out of the bathroom. His boxers and t-shirt were carelessly strewn in the floor beside the bed so he must be in the shower, except that Dean didn't hear any water running. In fact, the bathroom door was open a little and he could see the empty interior. Where the hell was his dad?


With a shrug he figured that John had dressed and gone out for coffee. So he turned his eyes back to the woman. For an older chick she was still hot, he'd do her. For the first time he noticed that she looked enough like John that she could be mistaken for his sister, except that dad didn't have a sister. And she had a scar from an appendectomy, just like his dad. What a coincidence. She rolled over and Dean caught sight of the smooth planes of her back, nice muscle tone. Then he frowned she had a scar on her shoulder from a gunshot wound—also just like his dad. 


Dean let his eyes roam over her back past the funny little birthmark at her waist that seemed awfully familiar and down to her ass. He grinned, while her ass was not as familiar it was a peach, round and smooth, and he certainly wouldn't mind making its acquaintance if she hadn't just fucked his father.  But his dick didn't seem to mind, it was standing up nice as you please. He absently gave it a squeeze.


Something caught at the back of Dean's mind. He let his eyes wander up her back to her waist, to the funny little crescent shaped mark just right of her spine. Dean's breath caught in his chest and he gasped. He remembered why it was so familiar, he had seen it dressing John's shoulder wound.


"Holy fucking hell!" he gasped looking down at his dick then back at the girl. No way-- apparently his dad hadn't gone out for coffee after all, Dean thought then dropped heavily on the foot of the bed.


John rolled over when Dean hit the bed. He took one look at his son's face then bolted up right. The movement seemed all wrong, and he over-balanced falling on his face in the jumble of covers. With his face planted in the blankets John's ass was practically shoved into Dean's face. Dean felt his dick twitch, and he scrambled back, misjudged the distance and tumbled off the end of the bed, landing face down on the dirty puke green carpet.


"Ow!" Dean screamed. John hauled himself to the edge of the bed glaring down at his son. Dean was writhing on the floor both hands grasping his crotch. "I think I broke my dick," he whined.


John couldn't help laughing. Suddenly he stopped when the sound came out like the tinkling of little silver bells. He reared back settling on his knees with his legs tucked under him. Automatically he adjusted his stance so that his balls wouldn't be squashed by his ankles and bent over at the waist. He rose up on his smooth, lean thighs and ducked his head.


"Fucking hell!" John cried, and his voice sounded impossible in his own ears. With a shriek he bolted off the bed stepping on Dean's back and fled into the bathroom.


Dean leaned his head back resting his chin on the floor and looked at his dad in the bathroom. John was standing transfixed in front of the mirror staring in horror at the two large protrusions on his chest. Turning he looked at Dean. "Look at this!"


"I'd rather not," Dean sighed hauling himself up. By now his hard-on had faded enough that it throbbed more in pain than impending pleasure. He staggered into the bathroom and stood in front of John, whose head barely came up to his chest now. John winced when he actually had to tilt his head back to look his son in the eye. He noticed Dean's gaze dipping and put both hands on this hips.


"Hey, eyes front and center. Don't look at them."


"You just ask me to look at you."


"It was a figure of speech. I don't want my own son getting off on looking at my tits."


Dean grinned, "I didn't actually get off on looking at them; I just got hard from looking at them while you were asleep."


"You molested me while I was sleeping?" John shook his head. "That's low even for you."


"I didn't molest you. I never laid a hand on you. I just looked, and to be fair I didn't know it was you at first."


John waved his hands in the air. "So you just got off on drooling over what you thought was some poor woman you didn't even know?"


"Hey, anything sounds bad when you put it like that. And it's not like you were a virgin. I mean, I thought you slept with my father for god's sake." Dean stammered to a halt. John took a deep breath and his breasts jiggled fetchingly. Dean felt his dick take interest again despite the earlier mishap.


"Jeeze, can you cover those things up."


"Why are you looking at them? I'm your father for Pete's sake."


In answer Dean grabbed John by the shoulders hauling him around to look in the mirror. John could see Dean's head and shoulders above his own head. "You're not my father any more. Look at you--you're hot, Dad."


John looked torn between hyperventilating and fainting. He grasped the side of the sink and gaped for breath like a fish out of water. After a few minutes he stood back. "What do you think happened?"


Dean shrugged. "Curse, spell maybe, what did you do at the bar last night? Did you pick up anybody, turn anybody down or piss anybody off?"


"Yes." John sighed. Dean shot him a look and smacked him on the back of the head. John hitched forward and bumped into the sink, hissing in pain. Dean pulled him back quickly inspecting John's belly for bruising.


"Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you."


"I'm not some freaking princess, Dean."


"No, but you are a lot smaller now. I wonder if who ever did this put a spell on you to make you this little or this is just the way you would have looked if you had been born female."


Shrugging John hustled out of the bathroom and a sat down on the end of the bed again. "I'm thinking this is what I would have looked like if I was born a girl. I mean, this is my body—I feel it. I know this body--the muscle memory, it's all there. I feel an ownership of this body even in this form, so for better or worse it's me."


"I think I feel a migraine coming on from that one."  Dean suddenly felt exhausted. His hang-over was fading and his stomach rumbled.


"We've got to get this fixed. I swear to god, if I have to go through having periods I'll kill somebody." John sprang off the bed, grabbing Dean by the hand. Dean offered his father a one armed hug trying to keep from touching anything he shouldn't.


"Hey, look on the bright side; maybe you're too old to have periods."


"That's not helping."


"We have more pressing problems. First, we need to get you some clothes that fit and get something to eat." he rummaged through first John's duffle bag then his own. With a grin he came up with a sleeveless undershirt and a heavy back t-shirt that Sam had shrank in the dryer. They would still be a little baggy on his father, but were serviceable. To that he added a pair of John's really old jeans that were way too tight and that his father refused to admit he couldn't wear anymore.


Cinched at the waist with a black leather belt and rolled at the hem they covered John even if he looked like a displaced person who had scavenged clothes out of the lost and found. Shoes were a real problem so they had to settle for John wearing thick black socks under the jeans, and hoping that no one noticed that he wasn't wearing any shoes.


At the table Dean sorted through the latest batch of credit cards he had gotten, coming up with two that had the same last name. They had originally been for Dean and John as father and son, but decided they were now for Daniel and Jesse Carter, husband and wife. So he liked older chicks, no big deal. John had aged more gracefully as a female than he had as a man, no gray hair and no wrinkles around the eyes. He could pass for thirtyish. Most people would probably not notice the misspelling on Jesse when looking his dad in the face, especially if they were male. Another reason Dean had decided that they were going to travel as a married couple-not siblings, or mother and son.  Less opportunity for men to hit on John, and they would.  Several men were staring at him now. He winced when he thought about how John was going to take that.


His dad was sitting, head down, not noticing how many people were noticing him. He ate methodically, as if he was on a mission to get the food down and move on. Dean was getting tired just watching him. John's hand kept going surreptitiously to his pocket. They had spent almost forty minutes looking for John's wedding ring.  He had tucked it into the pocket of the jeans as if his life depended on it. This was the first time in his life that Dean had seen his dad without it. He made up his mind to get a chain for John to wear it on around his neck.


Dean had his grandparents' wedding rings in a box in the trunk of the Impala. John had probably forgotten about them since he had given them to Dean years ago. He might even believe that Dean had lost them, but Dean knew that his grandfather's ring fit him. He had tried it on when he was dating Cassie just to see how it would look. He was pretty sure that in his current form John's hands were no bigger than hers so he was certain that his grandmother's ring would fit John. Maybe he'd feel less "naked' if he was wearing a wedding ring---any wedding ring. At least Dean justified it to himself that way.


After breakfast they spent some time in the room, readjusting the ids to match the names on the credit cards. John had balked, a little, at telling people they were married, but Dean worked on him while pressing the new driver's licenses and finally John gave in. He even accepted the wedding rings with some semblance of good grace.  He was extremely grateful for the silver chain Dean had found and strung his own ring from it, pulling the chain over his head.


The rest of the afternoon they spent at various second hand stores buying clothes. John, as it turned out, was very small, and with the expanding waistline of the average American woman there was a lot to choose from. It took a good deal of fast talking on Dean's part to get him to agree to wearing a bra, but with boobs like John's going without was out of the question.


By dinner time John was well outfitted in acceptable even feminine looking clothing, and Dean sighed a breath of relief. That has gone very well; he didn't stop to think that meant everything else was going to be a disaster.  With his "real" clothes washed and packed away in shopping bags in the trunk of the car, John re-packed his duffle. Dean finished washing his clothes and got his gear together. They had called several contacts in John's journal and Jim Murphy actually offered the most hope in, at least, finding out what had happened to John. 


It was raining and cold when they got up the next morning. John was sulking and Dean was limping when they gassed up the Impala at the Chevron station across the street from the Motel 6. John was pissed because Dean had wrestled the car keys away from him with a snotty 'because the man always drives ' remark which had earned him a quick kick in the knee. Now he stumbled along cursing a blue streak under his breath while John huffed and puffed and pouted. They got tall cups of coffee and pastry, and the John just as snottily remarked that Dean could just pay for breakfast and the gas because "the man always pays."


Once they were on the highway Dean shoved the tape box at John as a peace offering, but John tossed it over the seat and continued to sulk. Dean sighed; it was going to be a long trip to Minnesota.


That first night was more than awkward when they realized that posing as a married couple meant sharing a bed. Although the look that the desk clerk gave Dean when John just glared at him meant he thought that Dean wasn't going to be doing anything in the bed but sleeping. Dean flinched, the smug bastard was laughing at him. Dean's anger flared and he grabbed John's arm a little harder than he intended. The sickening sound of his wrist bones popping shook Dean to the core and he jerked away, eyes glued to the pale bruises already forming on that slender arm. The look on John's face rattled him even more, and he was sure they were both thinking the same thing. If Dean could hurt John that easily how much more so could something like vampire or a werewolf? Or, god forbid, the demon they were hunting.


"I'm sorry," Dean whispered brushing his fingertips over the injured wrist, and Dean wasn't sure of he was apologizing for the bruises or the fact that John was royally screwed. John nodded, but he looked afraid.


Dinner was pizza in the room, sitting on the bed propped against the headboard watching a crappy old movie. John was showered and dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top that was cut too low, and gave Dean a spectacular view of his cleavage every time he bent over. Dean spent the evening half-hard and afraid to uncross his legs until his foot began to go dead.


After the lights were out and John had unwound enough to drop off, Dean lay in the bed too tired to sleep, and mired in confusion. The mattress dipped enough that they couldn't really sleep that far apart and John was practically in Dean's arm. Even though his hair smelled of the harsh shampoo he used because he refused to buy anything 'fruity',  and his skin was covered in the remnants of the cheap soap the hotel provided under it all John still smelled of that pleasant soft scent that meant warmth and woman and sex to any man.


After a while Dean forced himself to forget that the soft pliable body lying next to him held the soul and spirit that was his father, and just settled for the comfort of human contact. He fell asleep with his arm tucked around John's slender waist, his face in her short fluffy curls.


A few nights later they were sitting at the table eating Chinese take-out right out of the paper cartons. They had both been taking turns researching gender switching curses and had failed to really pin-point anything concrete. There were several curses and some spells that could have been used, and all the spells had different methods of breaking them, some of which really freaked them both out. Dean was beginning to see a pattern and neither he nor John liked where it was going.


Dean kept glancing at the window, even though it was just a little past six pm, the sky was black and flurries of snow were beginning to drift past the glass. He got up clicking on the television. "We may be stuck here for a few days if the weather gets too bad." He looked tired and distracted and John was worried.


"Maybe we could use a break. You don't look like you've been sleeping too well. Am I bothering you?"


"No, not exactly, it's just the situation. I mean I have sort of mixed feelings about it." Dean stuttered to a halt and he hated that he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. John smiled.


"Hey, look lots of guys cheat on their wives, nobody would think twice if you went home with a waitress. I know that you've been kind of antsy, the last few nights. I don't expect you to hang out with me all the time."


"You make it sound so clinical. Dad you've been faithful to Mom for twenty years and she's dead. People can live without sex…"


"It's easier when you're my age than yours, besides I don't go completely without. I just have a really good relationship with my right hand."  John grinned at Dean's scandalized expression.


"God, Dad I really didn't need to hear that."


"Oh get over it. You do it too."


Dean's eyes narrowed. "So have you tried it as a girl?"


"Dean," John's growl just wasn't as intimidating in that honey sweet voice and Dean found himself shivering instead of quelled. John blushed. "No, I've kind of been weirded out by it; just taking a shower in the morning is strange enough."


"Uhmm, Dad, don't freak out on me, but…"


"You know I hate it when you say that. It never comes to any good."


Dean held up a hand. "Maybe that's part of the problem. You know what we've read. Part of these kinds of curses is that you have to really use the body you're in. Get to know what life is like on the other side of the fence."


"I shaved under my arms and my legs. That's as far on the other side of the fence that I want to go." John frowned, but it wasn't unlikely Dean was right. Most of the curses had conditions that had to be fulfilled prior to being lifted. He wouldn't out it past whoever had crafted this one to make that a part. "I'm still your father, I can't just spread my legs and think of England."


"I'm not saying that you should. We don't need to 'go all the way', maybe just fool around a little."


"You're talking with your dick, not your head. But I hate to admit it, you might be right."

John settled back staring at the window. "But no more than third base, that as far as I'm willing to go. And it really freaks me out."


"Really, you think I might be right? Not that it's like I'm not right a lot of the time. Besides do you really want to try and do this with some guy you picked up in a bar?"


"Oh for god's sake, Dean. Shut up and come over here."


Once he was on the bed Dean felt nervous. Despite his early bravado he was well aware that new body or not this was still John in there, still his father.  John slid his fingers along Dean's shoulder and behind his head, pulling him down and forward. Their lips met, and John pressed his whole body along Dean's front. Dean closed his eyes. John kissed with just the right amount of pressure, sliding his tongue along Dean's lips with quick strokes. Dean was embarrassed when he heard himself moan. Damn John knew how to kiss. Dean might even decide to broach the subject again when his father was a man, if it meant he got more of this.


He slid a hand under the tank top, and gently squeezed John's breast. John shivered.  Dean worked his hand out, and pulled back long enough to tug the shirt over his father's head. John tossed it in the floor, and Dean leaned back down. He brushed his cheek over the soft mound, making John laugh when Dean's evening stubble prickled his skin.


"At least take your shirt off." John said. Dean smiled stripping all his clothes off while John pulled off the pajama bottoms. He lay back naked and Dean felt his mouth water again. He lay down beside John stroking his fingertip over the pink rosebud of a nipple. John sighed.


Dean leaned up angling his head for more kisses while John leaned down over him. He bent his neck and caught John's breast in his mouth, tonguing the nipple inside and sucking hard. John gasped his leg jerking reflexively. Dean took the opportunity to slide his hand along John's thigh and between his legs. John grunted when Dean raked his fingers through his public hair and circled his thumb over John's pussy. Spreading his legs a little John gave Dean room to part the tender folds of skin and rub his clit. John jerked back, and Dean paused.


"Too hard?"  Dean asked quietly, blushing John shook his head.


"No, I just didn't want to jump the gun."


"It doesn't work that way when you're a girl, let me introduce you to the wonderful world of multiple orgasms." Dean said pushing John back against the pillows. "I bet I can make you come at least three times."


Dean stroked his thumb up then switched to working in quick concentric circles. After a few minutes John's eyes went wide, and his hands clutched the blankets convulsively. He cried out and every tiny contraction was like a wave washing over him. "Oh my god."


"That's one." Dean said into John's stomach laughing. His father thumped him on the back of the head.  Dean slid his hands over John's thighs pulling them farther apart. He raked his tongue down John's belly and smiled against the dark curls at his center. "If you liked that you're going to love this."


John loved it to the point that he almost broke Dean's neck with his thighs before Dean pressed him down on the bed. John tugged at Dean's hip. "Move around here so I can do something for you."


"Dad, you don't have to…" But his voice choked off when John swallowed him down like a pro.  He panted turning onto one hip so that John didn’t have to strain his neck, and John went down on him like he'd been doing it all his life. Dean was afraid to ask if he had, so he just laid back and enjoyed it.


Afterwards they spent forty-five minutes laying on the bed looking at each other. Dean kept expecting John to sprout facial hair and a dick right in front of his eyes, but nothing happened. John kept looking at Dean to see if his son was suffering from any recriminations about getting blown by his father, but Dean was nothing if not resilient and he finally decided no harm, no foul.


Dean rolled into a seated position and grasped John's chin in his hand, running his fingers over his father's cheeks. They were still as smooth as silk. He sighed. John pulled his head away and glanced down. His public hair was matted with something he didn't want to try and identify but otherwise nothing else. Dean followed John's gaze. "Feel anything popping out?"


Putting is head in his hands John groaned. "That's my cue to hit the sack."


"We could go again. I think I still owe you one."


"No, I'm a little sore, and besides I sneaked a little one at the end when you were coming. So you did fine. It just didn't work."


"Well, if at first you don't succeed."


John glared at him. "Dean, put your over-active libido on hold. There's always tomorrow."


"Yeah, really?" Dean said smugly. Leaning over he kissed John on the cheek.


"Yeah, I'm not going to cut you off cold. That's cruel, besides maybe it’s a cumulative effect. A few more times might just do it."


"Dad, can I asked you something…"


"Yes, I've given head before. Back in the day, before your Mom, I played for the home team a time or two."


"So when you go back to being a guy we can still…"


"Dean you're my son. I don't think… it would be wrong."


"Bullshit, wrong is what we kill, Dad. This is just love. I'm a grown man, and perfectly capable of deciding who I want to bed."


"I don’t know, Dean. I can't just put it behind me. I'd always feel like I was doing something to hurt you."


"You could always hurt me, Dad. You're the only person in the world that I love. Just you and Sammy, and don't worry I would never do anything like this to Sam.  But you I feel…I need this Dad. It makes me feel right inside."


"You'll have to drive on this one, Dean. I can't do it if I feel like I'm pushing you. So you come to me when you want, and I'll try to give you what you need."

Tags: fiction het, fiction other, fiction slash

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