A/N: I mostly wrote this story because I've read some analyses about how Dean might've gotten money to take care of Sam when they were younger and I saw something awhile back about one thing Jensen Ackles came up with for Dean was that when he was 16 he started selling himself, and I just really wanted to explore that. So yeah, this is definitely creepy.
WARNINGS: Underage prostitution, dubious consent.
Another argument, another hunt, another time that John neglected to leave Dean with money to take care of Sam as a form of punishment. Dean had been able to steal some food at first, but he'd gotten sloppy, and now the employees seemed wary. He was at his wit's end. He'd already gone hungry for a day and a half, letting Sam eat the last of the food, and he'd somehow managed to convince him that he'd eaten already. But he knew in a few hours Sam would be asking for dinner, and there would be no dinner to be had. He'd stayed up most of the night, too nervous to sleep. He didn't know what to do, and eventually, an idea that made him sick to his stomach came to him.
He was going to sell himself.
There was a club that Dean knew of in town. It was a Friday night. He figured he probably looked too young to get in, and besides, he didn't have time to make a fake ID, but he could hang around outside, and maybe, just maybe someone would be interested. He wasn't quite sure how to advertise himself, but when he went out he often got comments about his "pretty face", and lips that "need a cock in them". He of course didn't let Sam or their dad know about those comments, or the looks, or the grabs and playful slaps. Women put up with it, so he thought he'd follow after them and put up with it too. Besides, he was pretty sure it didn't happen as often. It was a scattered occurrence, once or twice every month or so. So Dean knew he was desirable. He just had to somehow add to that. Was he supposed to dress a certain way? Walk a certain way, maybe?
Sam was busy working on the school play and would be for a few hours, so Dean figured he had time to get ready. He went through all his clothes, trying to find jeans that were a bit too tight, a t-shirt that hugged his chest and his arms. He thought maybe a leather jacket would look cool, but he knew for a fact he didn't have one, so he settled for one of his sweatshirts. It didn't make him stand out at al, made him look like a dumb teenagerl, and he decided he looked better with it off. But it was chilly out.
Maybe I should just go without it.
Besides, why did it matter if he was cold? Sam was going to get hungry. So Dean ditched the sweatshirt, and he looked at his reflection in the motel's bathroom mirror. He tugged at the sleeve of his gray t-shirt. It was definitely tight. Dean didn't like it. And he wasn't sure it was particularly flattering enough.
Realizing that this entire night was going to suck no matter what happened, Dean decided he could at least try to make himself a bit comfortable. So he dug through his bags again, found a navy blue, long-sleeved henley, and put that on. It was much better than the t-shirt. At least he'd be covered. He figured the navy blue looked good as well. As he looked in the mirror he decided this would be a good outfit to wear to school if he was trying to get a girl's attention. There was one girl he had his eye on, a dark-skinned brunette who sat in front of him in chemistry class. Dean mostly spent his time admiring her, trying to get her to laugh, and amusing himself with thinking of lame chemistry pick up lines he was too nervous to try on her. He also liked her because she was kind to him. Some of the other students just veered away from him, gave him odd looks. Some of them had tried picking on him, but that had stopped once he'd pulled a knife on them. He hadn't meant to use it, was just an intimidation tactic really - which reminded Dean, having a weapon with him would probably be a good idea. He didn't know who or what would try and pick him up.
Dean figured next he'd have to practice moving in an enticing manner, but maybe he did that already since he sometimes got some unwanted attention. The thought of practicing that was embarrassing, even though he was all alone. He wasn't sure he could get himself to do it. And he really only had how girls walked to go off of, not men. Sure, Dean sometimes looked at some other boys and men, but really, he just liked them when they were being themselves, not trying to be something they weren't. Maybe he just had to try and be confident. That was going to be difficult. He'd faced some monsters before, had faced his dad coming home bruised and bloody and needing help being tended to, and he'd been sure and steady with that, but now, his hands were already shaking.
After washing his hands and face in the sink with cold water, hoping that would help him some, he just paced until Sam got home. And when he wasn't pacing he was sitting on his bed, tapping his feet, and drumming his fingers against his legs. What he really wanted to do was run his hands through his hair, but he didn't want to look like a mess when he went out. That wouldn't get him a customer.
Sam came home some time after 5:00, looking tired, but happy.
"How's the play going?" Dean asked.
"Good," he answered, "though Rachel keeps messing up her lines. I think Mr. Wilkinson is thinking of recasting."
"That bad, huh?"
Sam nodded, taking off his backpack. He made his way over to the little table across from the beds and took out a notebook and folder to start doing his homework.
"Really? On a Friday night?" Dean asked, going over to seat himself on the table so that he just beside him.
He wasn't shaking anymore, so that was good, but he was pretty sure talking to Sam was distracting him. He didn't have to leave yet, though, so maybe he could hang out with his brother.
Sam shrugged. "Gotta get it done," he answered. "Figured I'd do homework till you have dinner ready."
Dean sighed at that, and then turned away. "Look, Sammy, about that. There's uh… There's not gonna be dinner tonight, okay?"
Sam looked up from the worksheet he'd been reading over, his hazel eyes meeting his, and they were big, and worried. "Why not?"
"No food left, and I…" Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't want to put it all on their dad even though it was his fault and he'd done this many times before. Dean didn't want Sam to lose faith in their dad, but he didn't want him to lose faith in him either. "Dad messed up. He didn't give me enough money, didn't realize how long he'd be gone. It was an accident."
Sam knit his eyebrows together, looking down at the worksheet again.
"Some accident," he muttered.
"Hey, I'm gonna take care of it," Dean said. "I will. I… I got a job, and tonight's my first night. I told them a bit about what's going on, and the boss said if I work hard tonight he's gonna give me my pay early, just enough to get by."
"But there won't be dinner, will there?"
He shook his head. "Sorry, Sammy."
"So when do you have to leave for work?" Sam asked.
Dean looked at his watch, and it was only 5:16. He had plenty of time before he had to leave, but he realized Sam would get suspicious if he was still there when he went to bed. So he'd probably have to leave around 7:45, walk around, just find some place to sit that wouldn't be too cold. The fall nights in New York could get chilly. Those few hours ahead of him would be miserable, especially since he'd already figured out he probably shouldn't get to the club till 11:30. More people would be there at that time.
"Have to leave at 7:45," Dean answered. "My shift starts at 8:00."
"And where are you working?"
"Grocery store a few blocks away," he lied. "One of those places that's always open."
This part was easy. Lying to Sam kept him from thinking about what he was really going to do. For now he could just pretend. He could pretend that at 7:45 he would leave, walk to the grocery store, put on an apron and nametag and get behind a counter to check out groceries. He wished he was doing that mundane work. But there hadn't been any jobs available, and besides, he'd stolen from that store.
"Hey, why don't we see what's on TV?" Dean suggested.
"Sure!"
So Sam put his homework away, and he and Dean settled down onto Dean's bed together. A newer show, Goosebumps, was on, so they tried that first, and then after, they just settled for watching Scooby-Doo. Dean lost focus of what the episodes were about, and he started getting nervous again. For some reason the hours alone that he'd have to face first bothered him more than going to the club. Maybe it was because he'd have more time to think about what he was doing, more time to back out of it. Even now, feeling Sam lying beside him, the vibrations from him as he laughed, he wanted to back out. He wanted to stay and hang out with his brother all night. But he could hear Sam's stomach rumbling. Dean's had stopped doing that, had already figured out it was useless, he supposed. His brother was hungry, and if he didn't do something he was only going to get hungrier.
So Dean left at 7:45, and Sam had tried urging him to wear a jacket, but Dean argued that he'd be fine.
Then he was alone.
Thankfully it wasn't very windy, so he wasn't cold just yet.
If Dean had been asked what he'd done in those hours till 11:30, he wouldn't be able to answer. He couldn't really remember. He'd walked around, and had found a café where a few teenagers his age were hanging out, but he'd left after maybe ten minutes, getting embarrassed about not being able to buy anything. So the night wore on, and he grew cold, and he started thinking about just curling up in bed, Sammy lying next to him. That would be nice. That would be really nice. But he was hungry, and his brother was hungry.
By the time it was 11:30 Dean wasn't anxious anymore. He was determined. He'd made it this far in his plan, and he'd lied to Sam, so there was no turning back.
Lights were flashing from the club by the time he made it there, and he faintly heard a Madonna tune emanating from the brick building. There were a few people lined up outside, a big man in black checking their IDs at the door. Other people were arriving too, and it seemed to be very popular.
Dean took in a deep breath.
You can do this.
And then he made his way across the street. He made sure he wasn't too near the club as to catch the attention of the bouncer and get in trouble, but he wanted the patrons to see him. He wasn't too sure what he was supposed to do, so he leaned against the wall under the glow of a street lamp, his hands in his pockets, shoulders back, hoping he looked relaxed, but confident. He was extra careful to his head up too.
Dean gave everyone who spent more than a few passing seconds looking at him a half smile, hoping it was enough to grab their attention, maybe let them know what he wanted. No one really gave him any odd stares, which wasn't something he was used to, so it began to make him feel a little better.
He hadn't been there for long when a man who looked to be in his mid thirties came up to him. Dean wanted to step away, realizing he was much taller than him, but he held his ground, looking up at him to meet his brown-eyed gaze. The man had short, light brown hair and a beard which he kept trimmed. His features weren't strikingly handsome, and he looked more rugged than anything; there was even a scar on his bottom lip. Dean thought he saw the tail of some sort of scaled creature tattooed on his neck, and it disappeared under his shirt.
"What are you doing out here on your own?" he asked in a voice that was unnervingly kind, eyeing him up and down, his gaze more than interested. "You look a little young."
Dean shrugged, trying to play it cool. He wasn't too sure what to say, so he just decided to spit out words and see what happened. "Hoping to have some fun," he answered nonchalantly. "Maybe make some cash."
"How old are you?" he asked, now staring at his lips.
Dean was really surprised he hadn't said any disgusting comments about him yet, but maybe the man was getting to that.
"Twenty," Dean lied.
The man laughed softly, and for some reason it made Dean want to run away. But he couldn't. This was a prospective customer.
Sammy. Gotta do it for Sammy.
"Okay, sure. And I'm twenty, too. How old are you really?"
"Twenty," he answered again, more quietly this time. He didn't want to let go of his lie, was worried what would happen if this man found out his real age.
"Look, kid," he began, taking Dean by the shoulder, and then wrapping his arm around him, "if we're gonna spend some time together, I want you to be honest with me." The man sauntered over to the club entrance as he spoke, dragging Dean with him.
"I'm sixteen," he told him, too nervous to argue with him.
"Thought so," he murmured into his ear. He'd had to lean down to say it into his ear like that, and it made Dean want to shy away from him, but he forced himself to move a little closer, their sides brushing together. "I'm gonna get you into the club, we can spend some quality time together, and then how about I take you back to my place?"
"S-sounds great," he got out, not sure how he was even making himself agree to this.
The man paid off the bouncer when Dean was asked to show his ID, and they were both let in without any fuss. It was loud inside, the music pounding against his chest, the vibrations seeming so powerful he was worried he was going to explode. The sour mix of sweaty bodies and alcohol filled his nostrils, turning Dean's stomach. Or maybe it was the anxiety doing that.
Dean didn't really pay attention to what was going on in the club. The man who he still didn't know the name of had bought him a drink, said that Dean could pay him back later, and after that he just wanted more and more. Maybe if he was drunk it would be easier. But no, he had to make sure he knew where he was getting taken and that he wouldn't get killed. He even had a knife in his boot just in case this went sideways. He wasn't sure it would. From what he could tell the man wasn't a monster. Well, not the monsters that his dad killed. This man was interested in an underage boy and that was really all there was to it. Dean was disgusted by it, but in a strange way, he was thankful. Without this man, he was sure that Sam was going to go hungry. So he had to make the most of it.
They had danced for a little bit, no one paying them much mind. They were all too busy grinding against each other and fondling each other and jumping around to notice that there were two men - well, a man and a boy - touching each other. In fact, no one seemed to notice how grabby he was. It went from touching his shoulders or his sides, to his ass, and he really seemed to like him there.
It was a little before 1:00 when they left the bar, and Dean wished he could bail with the excuse that he was tired; he was getting scared again. Really scared. He hoped that the man wouldn't notice how much his hands were starting to shake, his palms sweating. He rubbed his hands on his jeans once he got into the passenger seat of his beat up, red Ford Escort.
"What's your name?" Dean asked, the words barely coming out. He wasn't sure he was allowed to talk, or how this worked really.
His answer made Dean stop breathing for a few seconds, and his skin crawled, rage burning away in his stomach.
"John. My name's John. Yours?"
Dean's first thoughts were of disgust, that he'd be with a man who shared a name with his dad. But then he realized what else he'd said, and starting thinking that he probably should've come up with a fake name, something cool and interesting. But he didn't have any, so he just told the truth. Besides, that was what John had said he'd wanted from him. The truth.
After that the car ride was uncomfortably silent. Dean was okay with that for the most part since he was paying attention to where they were going. He needed to know how to get back to Sammy. There was something far more uncomfortable than the silence. John had his hand on Dean's thigh, and he was stroking it. He tried to ignore that hand, wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do about it, or if there was anything he was supposed to do. He just let him rest it there. Besides, he was going to pay him to touch more than his thigh.
"How much?" John eventually asked.
"Excuse me?" Dean asked. He hadn't expected him to say anything, and really, he didn't want to admit that he didn't know the answer to his question. It wasn't like Dean had been able to ask around for how much hookers usually charged.
"How much? Or is this your first time?"
"F-first time," Dean answered, hating how he was stuttering, how he was shaking slightly. He hated all of it. He hated this car, hated this man, and for the moment, he hated his dad. But he wanted to be thankful. He truly did. This was how he was going to get money. This was how he was going to take care of Sammy.
John chuckled, and Dean was pretty sure it made his temperature rise.
"Ooh, you sound nervous," he commented, squeezing Dean's thigh, making him tense. He started pulling away from his touch before he could stop himself.
He let out a laugh, hoping it didn't sound like it was filled with anxiety.
"A little," he responded. "Never gotten paid for this before."
"The way you're acting I'd almost guess you're a virgin. But that'd be ridiculous, wouldn't it?" At that he turned to look at him, and Dean swallowed roughly. He knew. He hoped that would make him more willing to sleep with him rather than less willing. "It's okay. I'll show you the ropes. So, let's say… sixty dollars for a blowjob?"
Dean opened his mouth to make a surprised exclamation about the price, but he forced the words down before they came out. He nodded, letting out a long breath, trying to relax his muscles as he did so.
"Yeah. Yeah, sixty works."
There was a lot he could buy with sixty dollars. He knew he wouldn't be able to buy enough to make it last, would have to do this again, but he was at least going to get food.
"You want anything else from me?" Dean then questioned, remembering the way he'd been grabbing at his ass in the club.
They pulled up to a rundown house that might've been a deep brown. Instead of a lawn in the front there was just a massive patch of weeds. Dean looked around without moving his head, eyes frantically searching, looking for anything that might be out there. John lived a little farther away from town, and Dean knew if something happened to him, no one would be around to hear him scream.
He chuckled again, the sound quieter as if it was meant only for him, which added to how alone Dean felt. There was nothing and no one around. Just the chirping sounds of the night.
"Like that sweet looking ass of yours?" he questioned, hand suddenly against Dean's face to make him look at him. Dean licked his lips, nodded. "Let's wait and see if you're good enough, huh?"
Even though Dean found some boys attractive, the thought of actually having something up his ass terrified him. Maybe it was just because he didn't find this man attractive. Dean was only using him, and he was going to use him in turn. He was going to have to pretend. Really, really pretend, especially if he wanted more than those sixty dollars. He realized he was going to have to learn fast too. He had to be good at this.
John ran his thumb over Dean's lower lip, and then got out of the car. Dean did the same, and he waited till John had his arm around him, before he started towards the house. He brought him inside, and before Dean could even really take in his surroundings, John was holding him against the door, his lips to his. Dean tried to desperately not think of Robin, and how she had kissed him gently. He wanted to be kissed gently. He was pretty sure he did. But that wasn't happening here, and Dean was going to have to work with what he got.
It was difficult to match John's movement and abrasiveness, but Dean tried; he'd just never really moved his lips like this before. Just when he thought he was getting used to it, John pulled away. They were both breathing heavily.
"Still need some work," he commented, "but don't worry, your lips are gorgeous enough for anyone to want them. You're pretty for a boy."
"Thank you," Dean responded, breathlessly, knowing that he couldn't argue with him, couldn't get upset.
"Come on," John told him, grabbing Dean, and walking him over to what looked like the living room.
He turned on a lamp, the light displaying the walls which were the same color as the outside of the house, the paint cracked. There were magazines and newspaper and unopened mail strewn about, on the coffee table that looked like it was falling apart, on the worn down chair by the fireplace, on the couch that was a hideous green color and had a stain on it that might've been from coffee, on the side table next to it. He saw a few empty beer bottles as well, and he accidently kicked one, making it fall and roll under the couch. John settled himself down it, taking Dean with him, and he awkwardly climbed into his lap.
"Now work for me, boy. I want you to really earn those sixty bucks. Let's see if you can get me nice and hard before I'm in that perfect little mouth of yours."
It was then that Dean decided he wanted to stab his eardrums. But he couldn't. Besides, even if he couldn't hear, it wouldn't make this any less real. This was happening. John's hands were on his hips, making them move slightly, and Dean was spread over him. This was happening. He ignored his nausea and started grinding down against him.
"There we go," John commented. "Just like that. You're doing good, son."
Knife. Eardrums. Now.
It made it worse that this pathetic man's name was John. Dean shuddered just thinking of it, but John seemed to think it was from arousal because he said, "Feels good, don't it? Maybe if you get hard for me I'll give you an extra buck or two. What do you say? I'll even let you jerk off."
Dean nodded and then started trying to think of anything sexy. He wanted more money. He did. Maybe if he could somehow get himself to stop thinking about that, then he could get turned on. He tried thinking of some of the girls he'd seen in school, of actresses he'd seen on TV, and he imagined them taking their clothes off for him, imagined them pushing him down onto a bed and climbing on top of him. The face, the body kept changing, and it didn't take away the feeling of this man's legs being underneath him. He might've imagined it, but he thought John's cock was hardening. If only Dean could get hard like that. Maybe the girls weren't working 'cause he wasn't with a girl. So Dean started trying to picture a boy, the one who sat beside him in English. His name was Jacob. He was a little taller than Dean, skin just a tad lighter. Dark hair, bright eyes, just the kind of guy that Dean really enjoyed looking at. He was on the football team too, so his shoulders and chest were nice and big. Jacob could make Dean laugh, usually did. Sometimes they'd talk about girls together, sometimes they'd complain about Mr. Morales, the history teacher who would just drone on and on about his cat rather than teach them anything. Sometimes they would ditch class together, hang out near the track under the bleachers. Dean wanted to kiss him under there.
So he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and pretended he was kissing him. Sure, Jacob didn't have the scar that he could feel as a more rougher part of John's lips against his, but he could pretend. Now would be a really good time for his cock to get hard for no reason as it seemed to sometimes do. There were times where it would easily fill, times that were really inopportune. Why wouldn't it just cooperate with him for once?
John was gripping the back of his head now as Dean continued to work his hips against him, and he felt the man's tongue lick at his lips. He figured he knew what that meant, had seen the occasional hot makeout scene in a movie, so he opened his mouth, giving the man entry. He now gripped his ass, pushing Dean against him and he was pressing his hips up into him.
It's Jacob, he told himself. It's Jacob, it's Jacob, it's Jacob…
The man licked his tongue into his mouth, curious at first, but in a few seconds he seemed like he was trying to shove it down Dean's throat. Dean made himself moan when really he wanted to whimper in discomfort and pull away. It disgusted him.
No. No. Not disgusting. Think of Jacob.
He wondered how good Jacob was at making out. He was probably good, right? He had to be. Jacob was basically the hot guy that everyone wanted, or he seemed that way to Dean. How could someone not want him? So he pretended it was his tongue that was in him. Dean figured he wouldn't mind that, would love being in this sort of situation with Jacob. Though, since he wasn't turned on, he was getting a little bored just moving his hips, and he wasn't sure it was doing enough for the man he was with. So Dean moved down so he could get at his belt. He tried finding it and undoing it without looking, but that proved unsuccessful seeing as the only other person he'd ever undressed before was Sam, and that had been the times he was too sick or tired to do so himself, and that was when they'd been younger.
The man didn't seem to mind that Dean had pulled away from him. He was running his hands over Dean's body, one on his arm and then over his chest, the other his thigh and his ass.
He tried to not think about what he was doing as he undid his belt, and then the button and zipper on his jeans, and he definitely didn't want to think about it as he pulled his semi-erect cock free. Dean tried to do what he knew felt good from the times he'd gotten himself off, and he pumped him. He already seemed big, and knew he'd probably just get bigger the more turned on he got. Surely that would be too big, but maybe that was just because he was now thinking about having that in his mouth. How was he going to be able to do that? Was he expecting him to fit all of him in his mouth?
He felt hot in his hand, seemed to get hotter as Dean worked at him, and he didn't like it. It was uncomfortable. Maybe he could pretend it was Jacob's cock. But he thought Jacob's cock would be nicer. Then again, it wasn't like Dean would know. This stuff was all new to him. All he had to go off of were his fantasies.
"See, look, you already know what you're doing," the man praised. That man definitely wasn't Jacob. Jacob's voice was smoother, and he figured when he was turned on it'd be wonderfully rough, not scratchy like this man's voice was now.
He arched into his hand, leaning his head back, and Dean really wanted that money, so he took the initiative, bringing his mouth forward to kiss the man's neck. A soft laugh left him, but he didn't push Dean away, so he kept at it, hoping that his cock tasted just like his neck did - plain and boring, like skin.
"There you go, boy. Just like that."
He took his hand off his ass, but only so he could grab his wrist, and bring his hand to his balls.
"Don't forget these."
Dean wasn't too sure what to do with them. He'd figured he'd like every part of a man, but now that he was holding his balls in his hand, he wasn't too sure. Maybe he'd like Jacob's. Yeah. Yeah, he'd like Jacob's. So he pretended they were Jacob's, pretended he wanted to make Jacob feel good. He felt bad thinking about his friend like this, almost predatory, but he didn't know what else to do. Besides, it was kind of fun pretending that he was making Jacob feel good.
But Dean ended up opening his eyes as he worked, and he saw the man's tattoo very close to his mouth. Pretending he was into this, he licked over the tattoo, starting from where it began to disappear under his shirt and up to where the tail ended a few inches below his jawline.
"Mm… Put that tongue somewhere useful."
Before Dean could get too frightened, he slid off of his lap, onto his knees, and then the man was standing, a hand caressing Dean's head.
His cock was right in his face now, and Dean decided he didn't want it that close. The slit was well defined, and he could see the big vein along the underside of it. Too terrified to try putting it in his mouth right away, not liking the way it twitched in his hand, Dean licked along the underside, up to just beneath the head, which was reddening with blood.
"Don't be shy."
Dean looked up at him, his eyes wide. It was hard to pretend it was Jacob when he was hearing this man's voice. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to pretend it was Jacob anymore. He felt guilty bringing him into his thoughts like this when he was doing this. Now he wasn't sure if he'd even be able to look his friend in the eye again. And now he was looking this man in the eye, John, and the hunger he saw in it scared him. He wanted to get excited about it. Surely he should be. If he was good, he'd be allowed to feel good. He was going to get money from this. Good money. Money that he could use to feed his little brother. Somehow, Dean just had to get really into this.
So he was going to have to decide that he found this man attractive. Sure, he could be attractive. John was a decent size, and he was aroused because of Dean. He should feel good about that, should feel good that he was pretty, and that he was attractive enough for someone to give him money. Surely that was very high praise. And yeah, John was attractive. Had that whole rugged look going on that most hunters did. And Dean liked hanging out with hunters, thought those kinds of guys were cool. Why couldn't they be sexy too?
Then it hit Dean. If he was good enough he was going to have sex. Actual sex. Dean wanted sex, and he was going to get it.
That was all Dean needed to open his mouth and put John's cock into it as if he was starving. He didn't mind the taste, though the precum was a bit salty. He already knew he liked having things in his mouth, found it comforting for some reason, and a cock was quite a large thing to have in his mouth. And it was nice. Extremely nice. Dean decided he liked it since he had to like it. So he sucked and he licked, and he listened to all of John's requests and instructions, and before long, Dean was able to take half of him into his mouth. He didn't realize just how much there was to focus on while doing this. He had to make sure his mouth was open wide enough so he wouldn't bite him, had to make sure he was gently sucking, that his tongue was pressed against him with a good amount of force, that his hands were pumping the base of him, or playing with his balls, or exploring his body. It was a lot to keep track of, especially when it felt like he was inhaling him, and his scent was all there was. But John was now beginning to thrust into him, seeming to really be enjoying this based on the way his voice was leaving him in throaty moans, so Dean figured he was doing okay.
Wanting those sixty dollars, hoping he could get even more, Dean attempted to open his mouth wider, his jaw aching, and he held back, looking up at John as he allowed him to thrust even more deeply. Dean had a bit of a gag reflex, but maybe he could somehow relax so that it wouldn't be much of a problem.
A choking sound left him and he had the urge to pull back, but John kept thrusting, now having a death grip on Dean's head.
"Hum through it, boy," he growled at him. "It'll make it easier."
His eyes watering, Dean listened to him, even as his throat fought against this invasion. A groan left John, and a shiver ran through Dean. It startled him since he'd had no control of it. He felt hot, and started thinking maybe he should put a hand down his pants. He started moving his hand to do so, but John snatched his wrist in a bruising grip, and Dean instinctively tried to fight him for it. John pulled himself from Dean's mouth, and then before he realized what was happening he was getting slapped in the face.
Instinct told him to pull away, but before he could, John was kneeling by him, holding his face in his hands, thumbs caressing his cheek bones. Dean realized he was whimpering.
"Sh… Sh, it's okay. It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt ya. You just gotta stick to what I told you, alright? Look, you've been a good boy, so you're done sucking me off. I'm gonna make you feel good now, son, I promise."
Dean just looked at him, his mouth open, unsure of how to respond, unsure of what to do. His cheek was stinging, and now this man, the one who had hurt him, was caressing it like he hadn't done such a thing. And he was promising to make him feel good. Dean didn't trust him, but he hadn't from the start, so nothing had really changed.
He leaned forward, taking Dean's bottom lip into his mouth, biting it till it hurt. Then he was licking over his lips, his breath hot and overwhelming. He took Dean under the arms, picking him up, and he felt his cock pressing against his right hip for a second, nearly seeming hard enough to bruise him, and he was placing him on the couch. Dean was mostly just shocked that he could still be picked up at this age.
A surprisingly gentle pat on his shoulder and then, "Alright, let's get those pants off of you. Bet you got a nice cock, huh, boy?"
John grabbed for his boots, and before Dean could pull his leg away he was pulling his knife from his boot. It was a small knife, definitely not as big as one of his dad's bowie knives.
"What's this for?" he asked. "You plannin' on murdering me?"
"No," Dean answered, hating how his mouth instantly curved into a smile when he was nervous like this. "Course not. Gotta keep safe, is all. Not sure who would've picked me up. Just lucky it was a good looking man like yourself."
"Yeah, you sure are," he told him, one hand running up his leg. "You mind if I use this?" John asked, holding up the knife.
Dean gave a small laugh, and forced himself to answer, "Not at all."
"Good. Now undress for me. And you don't have to bother giving me a show. I'm already loving what I see."
John placed the knife aside for now, and Dean glanced at it, part of him wanting to use it. John then stood and shuffled back, his heavy cock bobbing between his legs, and Dean glanced at it nervously before taking off his boots and his socks, followed by his jeans. As he did that John was putting on a condom, and Dean was thankful for that. He wished he'd had one on when he was in his throat, but it had all happened so fast. Besides, asking him might not have been enough to make him put one on. Now Dean sat there, really unsure about taking off his boxers. He didn't want to show more skin in front of this man who unfortunately shared a name with his father. He must've paused too long because now John was grabbing at his boxers, pulling them down more, and Dean wanted to punch him in the face and scream. But instead he forced himself to smile, even when he saw the way John was leering at him, his dark eyes filled with hunger. Dean hadn't seen hunger like this before. It was hunger for him, for his body, something completely foreign to him. It almost reminded him of the faces he saw at night when dreaming of the monsters his dad hunted. Almost. There was something else there though. Something he thought might be sexy were Jacob looking at him like that. But this man who was in his thirties must've been some sort of monster to be looking at a teenager that way.
His sickening thoughts of monsters left him once he was completely bared below the waist, and John's fingers were curled around his cock, pumping him. The other one was feeling over his thigh and hip, pushing his shirt up. Dean's stomach seemed to flip over on itself from John's ministrations, and a low moan left him. He could feel himself hardening, heat and pressure pooling in his pelvis, his cock steadily thickening.
"That's it, boy," he told him. "What a lovely cock you have."
Dean immediately felt gross for enjoying this, didn't like that his body was getting all excited. He was being touched by an older man and obviously liking it. But he was going to have to make himself okay with that. It'd get him more money.
"You like it?" Dean asked, his voice gravelly now.
"Oh yeah. Bet your ass is nice, too. Ever have something in your ass?"
Dean didn't know why, but he immediately responded, almost in a panic, "No, sir."
"Oh, sir, is it? I like that. You're gonna call me sir. Understood?"
"Yes."
He gripped him too tightly at that, and Dean bit his fist to hold in a yelp.
"Yes sir," he grunted out, understanding that he was being punished for not addressing him as such.
The pain didn't make his hard-on go away because he was still getting touched, his nerves still searing from it, and he loved it. Oh god, he loved it, and he wanted more of it. He whimpered, unable to hold it back, and John must've liked the sounds he was making because he kept pumping him with too much force. Dean let out a growl, canting his hips forward, up into his hand.
"You like that, boy?"
He hated it, but he didn't, but it didn't matter what he liked or didn't like; Dean knew how he had to respond.
"Yes, sir," he got out, his voice guttural. "I… I like it. Oh fuck, I like it."
Dean found himself feeling over John's arms as he touched him. He didn't know what else to do, felt like had to hold onto someone because of the burning inside of him. Jerking off had always felt good, but with someone else's hand, it felt even better. It made his heart race, his chest heaving as his breaths quickened.
"Good. That's good." He took his hand off of him, and Dean's cock twitched in the absence of being touched, making John give a chuckle that froze his blood. "Now, turn around, on your knees. Gotta see that ass of yours."
Dean did as he said, not pausing this time for fear of further punishment. He wasn't totally sure what was going to happen next, had only really heard rumors as to how men had sex, but he had a few ideas. He wasn't sure he liked them or not. At least, not with John. His hands were on his ass now, running over both his cheeks, squeezing and then slapping, making Dean jump and arch away. He grabbed his hip, pulling him back so that his ass jutted out, and he rested his elbows on the back of the couch.
"There we go, stay just like that."
John left him, and Dean tilted his head to look, confused. He was going through a drawer in one of the end tables, and then he pulled something out that Dean figured might be a bottle of lube. He put some on his fingers, and then it was dripping on Dean. He jumped at first, but forced himself to remain still. And he remained still even as he started playing with his rim. It didn't necessarily feel good, but it was a sensation he'd never experienced before, and it was enough to make him moan.
"What a cute ass you have," John commented as he continued running his finger in circles over him.
Dean felt like he was having a hard time breathing now, fear getting to him, and it worsened as John's finger started to penetrate him. It didn't hurt, it just felt odd. Incredibly odd. He didn't want his finger in him, and then it was leaving him. But not all the way. John was pushing it into him again. He kept that up, stretching him out, and then he did it with a second finger. Dean was leaning forward and moaning by the time he added a third finger. His erection was going away, but he didn't think he was allowed to take care of that. John noticed, his other hand snaking around him to tug at him.
"I like your cock all nice and hard," he murmured. "Don't worry, I'll make you feel good, boy. I'll make you feel so good."
Dean didn't know what to say to that, just groaned, wanted to pull away because he felt like he was getting stretched far too much. It was just on the edge of discomfort, nearly becoming painful. Then John was pressing against something inside him and his stomach muscles quivered, his legs trembling, and he thought he might collapse. Pleasure went in an arc from inside of him to his cock, up into his stomach, and up his spine.
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, the words leaving him of their own volition.
He thought his eyes might roll back into his head. Maybe doing this wasn't all bad. John kept up with rubbing Dean there, and jolts were running through his cock, which was now spitting precum. The pleasure just wouldn't end, and he began to feel feverish, almost as if he was about to reach his end.
"Fuck," Dean exclaimed. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."
"No you're not. Hold it in. I'm not done playing with you yet."
Dean didn't know how to do that, but still he said obediently, "Yes, sir."
As this went on he thought maybe he'd been wrong, maybe he wasn't going to cum, but he still nearly felt like it.
Then he withdrew his fingers from him, making Dean panic because he was sure he knew what was coming next. He closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths. Then the knife was against his neck, and he had to stop himself from immediately grabbing John's wrist and twisting it before taking the knife from him and turning to slash out at him. He was shaking from his effort to not fight. Everything in him was screaming that he had to. But he wouldn't fight. He couldn't. John would never pay him if Dean hurt him.
"Don't worry, I won't hurt your pretty neck. Just thought I'd make things feel a little dangerous."
Things already are, Dean thought bitterly.
"But," he began, leaning forward and breathing into his ear, "if you move, I will make you bleed. Is that clear?"
"Crystal clear, sir."
He nipped at Dean's earlobe, his body pressing against his, his hot and hardened cock digging into his thigh. His hand left him, running over his hip, then his ass, and then he was pretty sure John was positioning his cock to enter him. Dean shivered as he felt him against his rim.
"Take it easy, boy. If you liked my fingers in you I'm sure you'll enjoy this."
Dean had a death grip on the edge of the couch, his knuckles turning white, as John started pushing into him. Too much, too much! It was too much. Dean couldn't fit him. He couldn't do it. Oh god, he couldn't do it. One hand was on his hip now, gripping tightly, holding him steady, and that damn knife was still against his neck. He couldn't tell him to stop. He couldn't. And he tried to remember how good he'd felt earlier. Maybe he could feel that good again. He could do this. He had to do this. For Sam.
I'll do it for Sammy.
Dean just let out a growl as he attempted to force himself to remain calm. He was getting stretched and filled and it felt so strange and new and uncomfortable. Then John was moving his hips, just shallow thrusts for now, getting him used to it, and it didn't necessarily feel good, but Dean pretended, moaning loudly. More and more of his cock was in him with each thrust, going deeper and deeper and deeper. Just when Dean really started wanting him to stop his cock brushed against that pleasurable spot inside of him, and the cry he let out was real.
"Yeah, boy," John murmured. "There you go. Nice, tight virgin ass..."
Dean really wished he'd stop calling him boy, would stop making comments about his body that made him want to rip his skin off. At least he wasn't calling him by his name. Dean figured that would've creeped him out even more, and he was glad that he didn't have to hear his name on this monster's lips.
Just the fear and the pleasure and the exertion of holding himself still when he wanted to attack him was beginning to make him sweat, and he felt much too hot. A part of him wanted his shirt to come off, but he also didn't want more of his skin showing. The thrusts felt more like pressure pounding into him, but every brush against that part inside of him had him wanting more, had his cock staying hard even without John touching him there. And then he was in him all the way, his heavy balls against him, and Dean felt like he'd been impaled. It was nearly enough to make him panic. But he told himself he wanted this. He'd consented to this, and he was going to continue consenting to this. He had to.
Now John was taking him, not even starting out slow, and Dean was whimpering, hating how undignified he sounded. It hurt, but in a way he was really beginning to like. And god, he felt like he was going to cum, but that feeling didn't grow for now. It just stayed in him, heat smoldering inside of him, in his cock, his stomach, his spine. He felt unbelievably good, couldn't even rationalize how good he felt. It was like white hot energy was searing through his nerves, each thrust hammering it into him.
He lost track of all of John's comments and him calling him boy. There was just that fire in him, building and building and building. And then it burst through him as there was pressure just beneath his balls, and a jolt ran up from his toes. His throbbing cock started spurting cum in thick, white streaks, his body shuddering as he actually found himself screaming. John's hand on his hip was hurting him now, his cock in him was hurting now, and he made it worse as he leaned over him and started gnawing on his ear. Sensation was shuddering and shrieking through his body and he couldn't take it, and he just wanted it all to stop, and then John was pressing the blade of the knife against his neck, and Dean's throat began to ache, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
"Not done with you yet, boy," he growled into his ear before resuming his gnawing. Dean wanted to pull his head away, he wanted the knife away from him, he wanted him to get out of him.
He didn't know what to do in this situation. He didn't know whether to protect himself, didn't know if John wanted him to act as if he liked it, didn't know if his customer liked the way his body was shuddering and inadvertently pulling away from him. Even with the fire in his body and mind, and the confusing erotic images that filled his thoughts, Dean was able to come to a decision, and he growled as he forced himself back against John, making each thrust hurt even more, making him really pound him.
Then John's hand was around his spasming cock, as if he was trying to milk more cum from him, and he was riding him with a fury.
"Don't worry," he breathed. "Almost done. Almost done, boy."
A sort of high-pitched keening sound was leaving Dean, and then John gave one last hard thrust, the force of it shoving Dean forward, but he'd luckily dropped the knife now, and his hand was around Dean's throat instead, pulling him flush against him. He could feel his cock throbbing within his sore ass, and he stayed there for a few seconds, both of them breathing heavily, sweat dripping down the sides of their faces, and then he finally pulled out of him.
Dean gasped as he let go of him and pulled back, and he leaned his head down, trying to catch his breath. He didn't even care that he'd made a mess of John's couch. The sucker deserved it. It took maybe a minute for Dean to come back to himself, for his body to realize it wasn't being stimulated anymore. He was grateful for it, and he wasn't sure if he felt good or not. Part of him really, really did, but he also just felt… tainted, somehow. Dean didn't believe in God, but he now knew one thing for sure. He was a sinner. And he'd most likely have to keep committing this sinful act if he was going to take care of his little brother.
John left the room, probably to throw away the condom, and Dean righted himself, getting off the couch and pulling his clothes back on. He was just putting his knife back into his boot, covering it with his jeans, when John came back in, his pants thankfully up around his hips once more.
He was holding out a wad of cash.
Dean went over and grabbed it to take it from him. As he did so, John pulled him in for a kiss, his awful tongue going into his mouth. John still had ahold of the money, so he did what he had to and he opened his mouth, moaning as he kissed him back.
A few long seconds passed before he pulled away from him, and Dean forced a smile onto his face. The money was his now, and before John could take it from him, Dean put it in his pocket. He decided he'd count it later, to see if he really had paid him well. He was too frightened to do it here, figured now he should just get out of there.
"Hope I see you around, Dean."
"You too, sir."
He turned to go, and John spanked him, making Dean jump, but he didn't look back. He left the rundown house that now must've smelled of sex, stepping out into the cold night, which now seemed refreshing after the heat that had taken over his body, after the heat of John's body. He made his way back to the motel, back to Sam.
It had been a bit of a walk, and Dean was sore, but he'd made it. Sam was asleep in his bed, the covers not up around his chin, and he shivered slightly. However, Dean didn't want to take care of that just yet. He didn't want to go near his brother before he'd cleaned himself. He didn't feel like he deserved to be near him, didn't deserve to touch him. He'd ruin him that way.
So Dean showered. And he cried. There were red marks on his body, and once he got out of the shower after rubbing his skin raw, he saw that his left earlobe was completely black. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to Sam about that, but it wasn't as if he could hide it. He'd just have to let it be.
After drying up and putting on a different outfit and brushing his teeth three times, he went and tucked in his brother. Sam murmured something in his sleep, a small smile on his face, and he rolled over, his back to him now.
"I'll be back soon," he murmured softly. He gave his brother a kiss on the head, grabbed the money, and left.
Luckily he knew a place that was open 24/7. He knew because he'd robbed it a time or two. But he was counting the money he made and he had plenty: one hundred fifty dollars. Sam might've gone to bed hungry, but he was going to have food waiting for him when he woke up.
The rich, greasy aroma of bacon roused Sam, interrupting his dream. It hadn't been a good dream anyway. A dark, shadowy figure had tied him to a chair and was eating, not giving Sam a single piece no matter how much he asked for it. He sat up and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dean was across the room, at the little kitchenette, a pan sizzling on the stove.
"Good, you're up," Dean said, smiling at him. "I was just gonna ask you how you want your eggs. You like 'em scrambled, right?"
Sam nodded and then stood, going over to the table, almost falling. He felt light-headed, and then started feeling too hot and sick to his stomach. He slumped down in the chair, his head in his hands. Before he realized it there was a glass of orange juice beside him, and Dean was patting him on the shoulder.
"Drink up. It'll help. Take it slow, though."
Sam did as his older brother said, sipping at the orange juice. It was a bit difficult when all he really wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes, but in a few minutes he was feeling better, and he could smell the eggs Dean was cooking.
"How was work?" Sam asked him.
"Good. It was good. Got paid early, did some shopping after. We should be set for a week."
Sam was opened his mouth to tell him he was glad, to say he hoped Dad would be back around that time, but then Dean turned and he noticed his ear; the bottom part of it was black. He frowned, getting up and going over to Dean to poke gently at him.
"Hey, you okay?"
Dean shied away, covering his ear with one hand.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."
"Is that a bruise?"
"Yeah."
"From?"
Dean turned away from him, focused back on the stove. "Nothing. I'm okay."
Sam bit his bottom lip, looking at Dean's ear which he had now uncovered. He wanted to press him, but realized he wouldn't get a straight answer no matter what he did. Dean could be stubborn sometimes. So he sat back down and waited for his breakfast to be ready, continuing to sip on his orange juice. In a few minutes Dean was setting down two plates at the table, and then grabbing forks for both of them.
Once his brother was sitting he waited till he'd had a bite of the food on his plate, making sure he was eating too, before he dug into his own food. Once he'd sated his hunger a bit, he smiled at his big brother, feeling safe and comfortable because of him.
Warm affection flooded him as he told him, "Thank you."
After he swallowed his orange juice Dean also gave him a smile, and unlike many of his smiles, it reached his eyes. "No problem, Sammy. I'd do anything for you."