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Dean passed the closed door of his mother’s room, pausing when he heard soft sounds from within. Glancing down the hallway and seeing nobody else around, he tiptoed closer, hovering near the door and listening closely. A whimper, a gasp, and a quiet groan. In any other situation, he’d be grinning and listening for the sounds to get louder and more overt, but the groan has sounded pained, and he frowned as he leaned closer.
“Shit,” came from inside, the word somehow both a low growl and a hiss, and Dean realized that whatever was going on, Mary was in pain. He knocked on the door. After a long moment, Mary called, “Come in.”
Opening the door hesitantly, Dean peeked in, glancing around. Everything looked normal, with Mary sitting upright in bed, the blanket pulled up to her chest with just the shoulders of her lacy nightgown visible. “Uh… are you okay?” he asked, stepping into the door.
Mary smiled, but it didn’t warm her eyes, which looked tight at the corners. “I’m fine, Dean.”
Dean closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. “I heard you from the hallway, you sounded like you were in pain.”
Cheeks flushing slightly, Mary glanced away for just a moment before meeting Dean’s gaze again and repeating, “I’m fi--” she cut off in a gasp, her brow furrowing. “Fine,” she finished in a tight voice.
“Yeah, cuz I’m gonna believe that,” Dean said, pushing off the door and stepping up to the side of the bed to gingerly sit next to her. “Come on, Mom,” the word almost stuck in his throat, feeling awkward to say. “You’re clearly not fine. What’s wrong. Do you…” He hesitated. “Do you miss Dad?”
“No… I mean yes,” Mary shook her head with a quiet chuckle. “But that’s not what the problem is. It’s fine, Dean, there’s nothing you can do. I’ll be fine, it’s just going to take some time.”
“How long? What’s the problem?”
Dean turned so he was facing Mary more directly, his weight tugging the blanket, pulling it tight, and Mary let out a loud, involuntary gasp of pain, grimacing and squeezing her eyes shut.
“Mom?!”
“It’s okay,” Mary tried to reassure him, unsuccessfully if the worried look in his eyes was any indication. Sighing, she realized she wasn’t going to get away with hiding this, especially as it was only going to get worse, and finally she explained, “When I… died… I was still breastfeeding Sammy.”
Dean nodded, and when she didn’t continue, prompted, “Okay…?”
Mary couldn’t help the look of amused affection that crossed her face. Her son was certainly cute, but he wasn’t connecting the dots too quickly. “I’m still lactating, honey, and the milk has nowhere to go. It’s going to be a couple weeks before it dries up. With you, I was able to wean you, but in this case I’m going cold turkey.”
“... Oh.” Dean automatically glanced down at her breasts, able to see their firm, round shape even through the nightgown and blanket, now that he was looking.
“Sweetheart,” Mary said softly to get his attention, but stopped and groaned when a warm, tingly rush filled her breasts. Pulling the blanket away from her chest as her milk let down, she marveled that her body somehow recognized that this man was once her baby. A strangled sound from Dean drew her attention to his astounded face and wide eyes and she explained, “I don’t want to get the blanket wet.”
Dean’s adam’s apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed, staring, transfixed, at the spreading wetness turning the thin white lace partially transparent.
“Dean,” Mary said, her voice firmer now, finally drawing his attention from her breasts. “You should probably go back to your room.”
Hesitating and looking back down at Mary’s chest, Dean gave a jerky nod and almost stumbled to his feet. He’d never had a pregnancy or lactation kink, and sure, there was that one time when Cas sent him back in time that he had a brief thought about having sex with his mother, but she’d been younger than him at the time, so who could blame him? Of course… she was younger than him now, too.
When Dean stood, Mary’s gaze automatically swept over his body and she paused, her eyes widening as she saw that he was erect within the confines of his jeans. “Oh,” she breathed, her body reflexively warming, and she squirmed slightly as her thighs tensed at the heat pooling between them.
Dean stopped his slow turn toward the door and Mary’s eyes rose to meet his. “I could…” His voice rasped to a halt and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I could help you,” he finished, looking pointedly back down at her chest.
Mary opened her mouth to decline, but a sharp pain through her left breast robbed her of her breath for a moment, and she considered the alternative. It had only been a day since she’d been resurrected and she was already in considerable pain -- how bad would it get before her milk dried up? Perhaps, if Dean was truly offering, she could go through the weaning process instead. “Are you sure?” she whispered. It didn’t feel right to speak the question at normal volume, not when her grown son -- her son -- was offering…
“Yeah,” Dean’s voice came out low, almost as quiet as hers had been, and stepped back to the side of the bed. “If you want.”
The ball was in her court, and god, she shouldn’t say yes, but the ache was distracting in its intensity, and she refused to examine too closely if it was the ache in her breasts or the growing one between her legs that drove her to slip out of bed, standing close, too close, to Dean. She reached down to grab the diaphanous fabric of her nightgown, slowly drawing it up over her head. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder as she pulled the gown off and dropped it to the floor, leaving her nearly nude, covered only by a simple pair of white cotton panties, their lacy band resting halfway between her mound and bellybutton.
“Oh… wow,” Dean murmured, running his gaze over Mary’s body, taking in her long legs, smooth stomach with the lightly visible stretch marks, and finally stopping at her breasts, high and round, nipples insistently peaked, shiny with the milk leaking from them. He didn’t move, stunned into place.
After a long moment, Mary whined low in her throat and swayed closer, breathing, “Please…”
The broke Dean out of his trance, and he reached out, smoothing his hands over Mary’s hips, holding her as he turned them so he could sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes even with her belly, he leaned forward, nuzzling the soft skin below her navel and mouthing at the end of a pale pink mark, evidence of Sam’s recent habitation.
Mary’s breath caught at the affectionate touch, and her hands moved to Dean’s hair, running through the short strands and gripping at the back of his head. She trembled in his hold and repeated, “Please,” her voice needier, her breasts over-full and dripping.
Looking up, Dean met her gaze and pulled her closer, onto her knees over his lap so that he was even with her chest. No matter how much they both wanted him to, he didn’t wrap his mouth around her nipple immediately. Instead, he kissed between her breasts, licking up her cleavage until she shivered, then finally made his way to one side, brushing her nipple with his tongue. He could taste the milk on her skin, sweet and creamy, and instantly wanted more.
When Dean’s lips sealed around her nipple, sucking firmly, Mary couldn’t stop the moan it pulled from her lips, both from the sensation and the anticipation of relief.
That set him off, Dean sliding his hands around to Mary’s back, holding her tightly against him and settling into a rhythm of suckling and swallowing, the milk flowing into his mouth almost faster than he could handle it.
Above him, Mary practically writhed, gripping his hair and neck, holding him tight to her breast, moaning and whimpering and gasping. It didn’t take long for Dean’s suckling to change from light pulls to stronger ones, chasing the milk that was no longer so pressing to get out, and she tilted her face down, kissing the top of his head. “Baby…”
Dean groaned loudly at the word before Mary could continue, holding her tighter and sucking hard.
“Oh!” Mary gasped, her fingers tightening, nails rasping against the back of his neck. “Baby,” she repeated, and continued, “you need to move to the other side.”
It took a few seconds for her words to filter into Dean’s brain and when they did, he pulled his mouth away from her breast, breathing hard and looking up at her with glassy eyes.
The look could not be mistaken for another other than devastated arousal, and Mary swayed in his grip, her thighs trembling and giving out. When she sank into his lap, she felt the hard press of his erection and automatically rocked against it, moaning.
Dean’s body tensing was the only warning he gave before he flipped them over, laying Mary out on her back and settling between her thighs. He dipped his head, taking her neglected nipple between his lips.
This time it wasn’t the sensation of her milk being released that made Mary moan -- it was Dean’s hand moving boldly between her thighs, fingers pushing her panties aside to slide his fingers into the dripping wetness there, two pushing into her confidently, making her back arch and her core spasm at the intrusion. She gripped his shoulders tightly, rolling her hips into his touch.
The slick wet, tight around his fingers, made Dean’s hips jerk, and he pushed against her thigh, grinding against it, seeking pressure even as he suckled at her breast and curled his hand to press the heel of his hand against her clit.
“Oh, fuck, baby,” Mary gasped, her voice high and soft, the voice from Dean’s memories, only breathier. Her hands roamed over his shoulders and neck, squeezing and raking her nails gently against his skin as she moved against him. Pulling up one leg to hug his side and make more room for his hand, she shuddered as he slipped his fingers deeper into her and pleasure clouded her brain.
Mary’s milk was slowing, and although Dean could have nursed more, pulled deeper from her, he broke the contact, looking up at her with eyes that had pupils blown wide, nearly obliterating the green rimming them. “Mom,” he groaned.
It shouldn’t have sent her over the edge, making her core clench tight around thrusting fingers, but it did, and Mary threw her head back as her climax washed over her, moaning throatily and trembling beneath Dean’s body. When she was able to breathe again, in hitches and shudders as aftershocks ran through her, she looked down at him and whispered, “My sweet boy.”
Dean took his turn, hips jerking and pressing roughly into her thigh, wetness making the denim between them slick and sticky. “Mom,” he said again, tightly, and pressed his face between her breasts.
Sighing as they came down together, Mary softly pet Dean’s hair, soothing him to relax against her, his body weight heavy and comforting as he pressed her into the mattress. “My sweet boy,” she sighed again, closing her eyes.