Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10554580.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Weecest_Relationship/Wincest_Relationship
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Prostitution
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-06 Words: 2602
****** It's Not Cheating on Me if We Do It Together ******
by blackrabbit42
Summary
     When the guy is done counting out twenties onto the nightstand, Sam
     turns around and opens up his mouth to Dean.
“Did you steal this?” Sam eyes the graphing calculator that Dean bought him.
There’s no way he’ll turn it down, he needs it badly for class. But a lot of
stuff’s been turning up around the place lately that he knows they can’t afford
and he’s curious.
“No,” Dean says. He comes up behind Sam’s chair and slides his tongue down
Sam’s neck, reaches a hand down into his tee shirt and pinches his nipple
teasingly between his fingertips.
Dean’s an awesome liar when it comes to other people but it’s like he turns
into a giant tell-tale hard-on when it comes to Sam. Tries to distract him,
offer him things he can’t refuse. Sam lets it work more often than not—what’s
one more lie in their lives? Dean steals things all the time; they lie to John
about each other; they kill and pretend and that’s just how it is. So no, it’s
not exactly that Dean is lying about the calculator, or even that he stole it.
It’s that Dean is keeping something bigger from him, and that kills Sam.
The only thing that keeps him afloat through all of this is Dean. Him and Dean.
The two of them—together. So if there’s something going on with Dean, he can’t
keep it from Sam. Can’t. If Sam thought for one minute that Dean had a part of
his life that was separate from Sam, he’d walk out behind the motel and eat his
gun. Because, fuck. Without Dean, it all falls apart.
“Where’d you get the money then?” Sam presses. He’s not going to let it drop.
When Dean reaches down and cups Sam’s cock in his hand, Sam knows it’s serious.
He smacks Dean’s hand away. “Where’d you get the money, Dean?”
“Odd jobs.”
“Bullshit, Dean. This calculator costs over a hundred dollars. You didn’t earn
that raking leaves.”
“Maybe Dad sent me some money.”
Now Sam’s really mad, because he doesn’t need a goddamned calculator as much as
he needs all of Dean. He stands up, and his chair totters briefly before
deciding not to fall over. “So help me Dean, I’m going to throw this fucking
thing in the toilet if you don’t start leveling with me. Not about the money.
About why you’re lying about the money.”
Dean looks down at his hands, tries to look Sam in the eye, fails, looks at his
hands again. “I just want to make sure you have what you need, Sam.”
“Then you don’t know shit about what I need, Dean.”
++++++++
The next time Dean walks out of an alley, Sam is waiting for him.
“Teach me,” he says.
++++++++
Sam gets his way. He always gets his way with Dean because the threads of
Dean’s guilt are too easy to pull, and Dean always unravels.
“If it’s something we do because we need to do it to survive, then you’re not
cheating on me,” Sam says. He needs this to be true. When he watched Dean on
his knees in that alley, the jealousy that wormed into his heart was like
poison, it stung and spread blackly through his brain. The only way to wash it
out is to have this be something they do, together.
Dean answers him by taking him to a tattoo parlor. Dean blows the owner and two
of the artists while Sam watches in exchange for a set of matching tattoos;
sparrows, the symbol of loyalty and undying love for a single person.
++++++++
“I don’t pretend they’re you,” Dean confesses. “I just remember that I’m doing
it for you.” He cradles Sam’s head in his hands, pets him as Sam takes his cock
into his mouth.
++++++++
“Who’s the kid?”
It’s Sam’s first night out, and Dean thought they should stick pretty close to
home. There’s a guy in 6b who uses Dean whenever he gets paid. He’s young, a
handsome-ish blond man with a wedding ring and a silver Audi parked out front.
“He’s my brother,” Dean says, unashamed. The man’s lips quirk into a twisted
smile. “I’ll give you a ten dollar discount if you let him stay here and
watch.”
The man gets his wallet and puts forty dollars on the nightstand before sitting
on the bed and spreading his thighs. He doesn’t even take off his clothes, just
untucks his shirt and opens up his fly. Sam’s guts twist as he watches Dean get
down on his knees in front of the guy. But he can’t look away.
++++++++
That next Friday, Sam aces his calculus exam, and tells Dean that they need to
be charging more for him to be able to watch, not less. And damn, if he isn’t
right.
++++++++
For Sam, it’s no different from hunting. You just have to pay attention. Sam
stands too close to Dean in the pool halls, and notices whose eyes watch them.
Makes out with Dean in the corner and watches for who doesn’t look away.
He picks a frat boy, dark haired and only a little bit older than Dean, takes
him aside in the back hallway near the restrooms. “You want a show?” he asks
him. “No one needs to know, and it’s not illegal if you don’t touch us.” That
last part, Sam made that up, but he can tell guys like this need to think
something like that.
“Is he your brother?” the guy asks. His voice is choked with want. Sam nods.
This one is in the bag. Just the right mix of lust and shame. The guy gives
them a ride home to the motel and steals glances in the rear view mirror as
they grope each other in the back seat.
“How much do you want to see?” Dean asks when they’ve locked the door behind
them. He stands behind Sam, hips rocking impatiently up against him. He lifts
Sam’s shirt up, and rubs his palm across the flat of his stomach, letting one
finger trace just under the top of his jeans.
“Wh… what do you guys do?” the guy stutters. The front of his khaki’s are
tented obscenely, his eyes are pasted on Sam. “What does it cost?”
It’s obviously his first time, and Sam knows an opportunity when he sees one.
“Two hundred,” he says, “if you want to watch everything.” It’s a risk, but he
had seen what was in the guy’s wallet when he had paid his bar tab.
He nods. “What do I do?” he asks.
“Put the cash on the nightstand and then get on that bed,” Dean says, but Sam
can tell he’s not looking at the dude. He’s mouthing all down along Sam’s neck
and working at the button on Sam’s fly. When they guy is done counting out
twenties onto the nightstand, Sam turns around and opens up his mouth to Dean.
The last guy they took home came just from watching them make out, and Sam gets
that because Dean is a damn show-off kisser. He can push his tongue so far down
Sam’s throat that it makes him gag. And his lips, Jesus, those lips. Sometimes
Sam makes them do it in front of the bathroom sink, just so he can watch Dean’s
lips working over his jaw in the mirror, sucking hickeys into his neck. When
Sam tilts his head way back and Dean starts licking the hollow at the base of
Sam’s neck with just the tip of his tongue, Sam hears the guy whisper, “Shit,
that’s hot,” and sees him unbuttoning his pants.
Dean lets Sam be a lazy lover. Sam just lays back and Dean uses him. Pulls at
his clothes, pushes his body into pleasing figures. Sam mewls with pleasure as
Dean bites and marks his neck, drags his hands, callous-rough and trigger-
finger light over Sam’s ribs. He pulls Sam’s shirt off and falls to sucking on
his nipples while he holds Sam’s squirming body still, hands pressing down on
his pelvic bones. By the time Dean pushes Sam’s jeans down and closes his plush
lips over the head of Sam’s cock, all Sam can do is toss his head back onto the
bed and thrust his hips up into Dean’s face. Dean smiles around it, but doesn’t
pull off. He snakes his tongue lazily down the shaft, angling to make sure Frat
Boy gets a good view.
Fucking Dean’s mouth is Sam’s favorite, absolutely favorite thing in the world.
Dean is obscene about it. He makes wet sucking noises, he takes it down farther
than his body wants him to, gagging and tearing up, he lets Sam rub it on his
face, smack him with it a little bit. It’s like Dean doesn’t give a fuck how he
looks, just so long as it gets Sam off.
When Sam starts to get close, when he’s crying out and even Dean can’t keep up
with what he needs, when he really needs to get his dick straight down Dean’s
throat right the fuck now, that’s when Dean pulls off.
“Hey, Sammy,” he coos, “We promised Frat Boy here a show and there’s nothing
prettier than the way you come. Let him watch.”
Dean’s wrong. If you want to talk about something that’s really a fucking sight
to behold, it would have to be Dean opening his comeslut mouth and waiting for
Sam to come on his tongue. A damn close second would be afterwards, when the
smeary white mess drips thickly from Dean’s grinning lips. Sam goes after him,
mouth open like a baby bird for a taste, but Dean wags his finger, no, then
twirls it in the air, turn around.
Sam turns around and gets his ass in the air damn quick, because in his whole
life, nothing bad has ever happened to Sam when Dean asked him to turn around.
Dean positions his mouth right over Sam’s hole and lets the mouthful of come
slide over his lips. Sam can feel it drop, bit by bit onto him, slick and warm.
Frat Boy groans, and Dean says to him. “What’d I tell you? You like the look of
that?” Dean leans back a little, to give the guy an unobstructed view. “That’s
some mighty fine boy pussy right there, let me tell you.”
The guy nods dumbly and stands up. Steps closer, hand reaching toward Sam.
Finds himself gargling the end of Dean’s glock. “Fuck you, college boy,” Dean
growls at him. The guy’s eyes widen so the whites roll like a frightened
animal. Dean is naked and he’s all up in the guy’s face, pushing the barrel
towards the back of his throat until he gags. “Up, Sam,” Dean says over his
shoulder. “Show him.”
Sam gets up on his knees and Dean points to the tattoo over his hipbone. “See
that?” Dean says. He pushes closer, presses his erection aggressively against
the man’s thigh. “That fucking means you don’t. Get. To. Touch. Got it?”
The guy nods carefully, teeth rattling on the glock, and Dean backs down. “Ass
on that bed,” he says over his shoulder as he returns to Sam. Sam drops back
down on his elbows, flushed with a pride that twists around his heart.
Dean puts one knee up on the bed, but stays standing. He gets a palm on each of
Sam’s ass cheeks and spreads him open, humming appreciatively under his breath.
Two fingers enter Sam, a firm, insistent push, not waiting for him to relax and
loosen. “So fucking tight,” Dean whispers. He pushes in, then pulls out to
scoop up a little more come on his fingers, pushes it back in, twists his hand
around to lubricate Sam all the way around, no dry spots, no drag, just wet,
glistening slide.
Dean swears he’s never gotten his dick wet with another dude, and Sam believes
him. Between the two of them, it’s always been, just the tip, just to see what
it feels like. But that doesn’t stop Sam from begging. “Come on, Dean,” he
says. “There’s two hundred dollars on the table, I’ve fucking earned it.”
When Dean lines up, mixes the dripping clear fluid from the tip of his cock
with the slippery mess already painting Sam’s hole, there’s a low, wavering
moan from the other bed. A pathetic fapping noise. Sam grins like a cat, and
Dean presses in.
A wail escapes Sam’s lips. It hurts more than the exploratory sessions he’s had
with his own fingers, hurts more than he expected it would. It touches places
inside him that aren’t ready, that are steel trap tense and just wrong. But
Dean shushes him, smoothing his hands over Sam’s back, and when he starts to
pull back, those wrong-bad places inside Sam clutch at nothingness and feel
empty.
“Okay, Sam?” Dean asks, sliding lazily back in, without waiting for Sam to
answer. Sam’s seen Dean casually push a loop of his own intestines back into
his body and then stitch himself up with dental floss and a surgical needle.
He’s not going to stop because Sam’s virgin ass is suffering some growing
pains.
“Yeah, Dean…m’okay.” He’s glad he already came, because now he can concentrate
on making Dean come. He drops one shoulder to the bed so he can reach back and
slide his middle finger up behind Dean’s balls so that every time Dean thrusts
forward, the fingertip slides past his ass. He crooks his finger just slightly,
scraping his fingernail across the dry knot, but he’s unable to press in.
Doesn’t matter, at this point, it’s the thought that counts, and Frat Boy must
have been watching carefully, because the second Sam gets his hand back there,
he grunts and arches his back against the bed, hand stripping his cock
frantically, even as he comes.
Dean doesn’t stop to congratulate him or anything, just grabs onto Sam’s hips
and hauls him even closer, flush up against him. He’s not so much moving in and
out anymore as grinding, trying to somehow find a way to go deeper, mashing
Sam’s face into the pillow so that Sam can’t do anything but let himself be
used, pliant and boneless for Dean. He’s empty of everything that’s not Dean,
and that’s A-OK with him. Sweat drips onto Sam’s back, and he smells salt.
“You ready, Sam? You ready?” Dean chokes out, his voice strangulated and
breathless.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam answers “Shoot it in me.”
Dean’s fingers grip so tight it hurts, fingernails digging into Sam’s skin when
he locks up, balls deep and cock pumping into Sam. Hot, bitter-smelling come
leaks out around Dean and dribbles down the inside of Sam’s thigh. Sam is
instantly addicted. He holds obediently in place until Dean’s body relaxes,
slumps forward and rolls them onto their side. Still joined to him, Dean’s cock
continues to pump sporadically, deep into Sam.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Dean says quietly.
Frat Boy gathers his clothes and slinks out after throwing two extra twenties
on the table.
++++++++
There’s at least one in every town. Sam finds them like he finds cases, and
Dean keeps them in their place. Sometimes they get tied up, gagged. Sometimes
it’s their choice, and sometimes it’s because Sam likes to watch Dean do it.
There’s nothing like the gasp of a john when he sees how easily, how whorishly
Sam spreads his legs for Dean.
When it’s over, Sam always stills his breath, and waits for Dean to tell them
to leave. Maybe it doesn’t look like love. Maybe it looks like something dark
and needy instead, but that’s close enough for Sam.
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