Title: Walking After Midnight
Series: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel
Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff
Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things...
Dean made his way to his place in the line. There was a potential client coming to examine the merchandise today, and he was dressed in his best along with his fellows, filing into the familiar white walled room for the presentation. They kept quiet, pleasant expressions on their faces as they padded to their places and stood, staring forward and waiting until the last of them was in the room, the door shutting with a soft click.
His heart pounded. Today was important. The client was said to be a new comer, one who had never been part of the business. Making a sale was top priority, so everything had to go perfect. It also meant that he was a competitor against the rest of his partners. Must present well, must bring them back, must sell sell sell.
The wall opposite him was a full length, ceiling to floor wall to wall one-way mirror. He knew behind that deceptive, reflective surface was another room with his boss and the client, along with advisers and a secretary or two. In the room he was in now he could see one of the handlers walking down the line in the mirror, showing them off to their hidden buyer. His turn was coming up, so he stood at attention to wait.
When the muscled, tan skinned handler came to stand just off to his side, he smirked. Giving a wink toward the sharply dressed version of himself in the mirror, he stepped forward into the space in front of the man. He was about to have himself showed off when the loud speaker crackled into life.
"That one. Number 11. The client wants 11." Dean quirked an eyebrow. This was definitely a first. Usually there was a longer deliberation than just "that one." Mossy green eyes shifted around the room, waiting to see if there was any more instruction. The handler was pointing to his head, and when an affirmative bristled through the speakers, he was escorted out.
Now he was curious. Who see's almost all the options and goes with the fifth one from the end, without him being displayed, or looking at any of the others?
As soon as the door was closed, his handler began taking his suit off, as was the way things worked. Modest, sharp tux on the outside, the real outfit underneath. The door left of them hurriedly opened, the boss rushing out.
"Clothes on! The costumer is now the owner! Number 11 was bought and sold completely from us. So HANDS OFF, MARCO!" the handler quickly began redressing the now thoroughly confused male. The dark haired man's fingers twitched with regret as he hid the well toned body beneath the concealing fabric; another, more unspoken and taboo way of process was the alone time Marco was awarded with each purchase, a secret, forced groping of the goods before handing them over to the customer. Dean had never liked those, had flinched at hearing about Marco's co-position as the trainer for the fresh meat. Those poor, way too young boys were in a position he didn't envy, under the tutelage of such a man.
Soon another, much taller individual excited the viewing room, and Dean lost his breath.
The man was young, somewhere in his twenties, with slightly long hair and shining hazel eyes that did funny things to Dean's knees. He was tall, taller than all the men around him, and had broad shoulders to fit with the lean body he tried to cover up with the two piece suit he was sporting. For some reason his face reminded Dean of a puppy, the soft yet angular shape to his jaw and nose not with standing. Right now his face resembled that of an angry doberman, glaring viciously at the dark haired man still trying to redress him, lingering by adjusting his tie. In only two steps the client had crossed to them and had one of his giant paws gripping Marco's forearm.
"I believe you were told not. to. touch." soft smooth and deep, there was a threatening undertone in it that voice that left Dean to stand there like an idiot and salivate at having those massive hands touching him, that voice in his ear. And for once, he didn't hate this life. Not the way his body had been sold to men for pleasure and pain alike, not the way he'd had to comfort the smaller boys after they'd had their night sold to some kinky son of a bitch, not even the fact that he was treated as a possession. All that had lead up to this strange, sasquatch of a man now being the one who solely owned him.
Tonight was looking to be enjoyable.