Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/7615945. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Supernatural Relationship: Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester Additional Tags: Dubious_Consent, Sex_Work, Manipulation, Voyeurism, Public_Sex, Incest Kink, Bathroom_Sex, Kissing, Nipple_Play, Cockwarming, Anal_Fingering, Stripping Series: Part 5 of Playing_Bingo Collections: SPN_Kink_Bingo Stats: Published: 2016-07-29 Words: 1732 ****** The Dark Alone ****** by octopussy_(deannawincester) Summary Money’s been tight for months, John taking hunt after hunt, leaving less and less behind each time. Sam knows they won’t survive much longer without some income and Dean knows exactly how to get it. Written for Laurie's birthday (have a wonderful day, sweetheart!) as well as for SPN Kink Bingo 2016. Notes The title comes from the Jolene Perry quote "Because brothers don’t let each other wander in the dark alone." Based on this prompt: "Wincest with young Sam (maybe 15?) and Dean making out or even fucking while others watch for money. Sam doesn’t want to but Dean talks him into it, tells him he’ll take care of him, etc. . . . I guess I see it as Sam being really scared, Maybe it's at some kind of sex club. Their desperate for money. Someone has told Dean about it. Maybe he tells the owner that they're brothers. A group of people want to watch them because they're beautiful and they're brothers They like Sam's innocence. It can be as filthy as you can imagine.:)" Jimmy Dim’s is more than a truck stop. It has a reputation with every long-haul driver who travels east of the Mississippi. You can shower there, pick up a Big Gulp, flip through some skin mags just like at every Flying J and Love’s across the lower forty-eight. But Jimmy Dim’s caters to a different clientele than your average well-lit, over-priced gas station. Jimmy Dim’s welcomes career drivers who’ve been hard up for too long, looking for something new to dream about at rest stops and when they’re back in their wives’ beds for a night. The stop’s located off of a particularly dark curve on the 40 somewhere between Nashville and Knoxville, where you almost have to already know where it is to find it. Sam doesn’t know how Dean knows of Jimmy Dim’s, only that he does. Money’s been tight during this stop in rural Tennessee. John leaves for weeks at a time, leaving less cash behind each time. They’ve passed the wish-I-could- afford-new-socks milemarker and become stranded in how-little-food-can-I-live- on territory. Dean swears it’ll only be a coupla nights, though a coupla nights of what, he doesn’t specify. Sam knows better than to ask. They hitchhike out to Jimmy Dim’s with a suburban-looking middle-aged man who could have “oblivious” written on his forehead for all he seems to intuit about the place. When he drives off, he gives a brief but cheery little wave like Sam and Dean are just stopping for slushies. Sam eyes a rack of beef jerky while Dean haggles with the manager in hushed tones. He catches some of the conversation, probably more than he’s meant to. “Brothers, huh? Good, that’s good. How old?” “Fourteen, seventeen.” Dean lies confidently, even though he’s been grown for ages and Sam’s been fifteen for a full two weeks. Sam’s still thin and not as tall as Dean and can probably pass for even younger than fourteen, maybe the hazard of living in the limbo between meals too often. “Should pack ‘em in tonight,” the manager laughs. Dean gives a blithe, vague sound in response. “Head on back, you’ll work room four.” He passes Dean a key attached to a piece of wood shaped like a guitar. The man leers at Sam, gaze as wet as the man’s brow, when they finally walk past him. “Dean, what’re we doing here?” Sam hisses under his breath. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.” They pass one of the pay-by-the-minute shower stalls, only the door opens into a small room. Sam’s mouth goes dry and his body goes heavy when he catches a glimpse of a woman on her back in there, four or five men shining flashlights up into a traffic cone eased up between her legs. “Dean?” “They won’t touch you, okay? Just me. We can make a couple hundred bucks in a few days easy, okay?” “But what’re we doing?” “What we have to, Sammy.” Dean unlocks door four, holds it open for Sam to go ahead of him. It’s rigged up as a shower with a spigot on the wall and a drain in the floor just like at any full service truck stop, but the space is bigger than any shower Sam’s seen. Dean lets the door swing closed behind them with a dull, heavy thud. “Dean, what-” “They’re gonna start coming in pretty soon, okay? You don’t have to touch ‘em or even look at ‘em. Just look at me, just follow my lead. It won’t last long, then we can go on back to the motel.” “C-can we get something to eat? Ya know, after?” Dean ruffles Sam’s hair and smiles like he really thinks everything will be okay. “Yeah, I’ll find you some fast food or a vending machine or something, Sammy.” They lean against the walls, shoulders touching, Dean between Sam and the door. Sam’s braced hard so he doesn’t shake. It’s cold pressed against the tile and, damn, he hates wating. Sam’s knees tell him it’s been hours, but his mental sense of time instilled in him through years of training says it’s been more like twenty minutes. The men start coming in before Sam can get anxious enough to start small talking. He tries not to look at them, not to count them, but he can’t help but hear them. “If he’s fourteen, I’m the queen of Sheba.” ‘What a pair, quite the find.” “Almost makes that last stretch worth it.” “Definitely worth it. I’d’ve taken a bear bite not to miss this.” They don’t stop coming in until the room’s nearly full, Sam and Dean backed into a corner away from the door. Sam wants to ask questions, wants to know when they’re gonna start, what they’re gonna do, but he doesn’t want these men to hear his voice tremble. The men don’t let them linger for long once the room is full. One of them shouts, “Give us a fucking show!” and the others laugh in eerie echoes that bounce and bounce in the confined space. Sam’s almost forgotten to expect it when Dean grabs him, spins him a little, and plants one on him to whooping from their audience. “I got you, Sammy,” Dean whispers into his mouth. Dean kisses him slow, but big. For an audience, Sam realizes. With extra tongue and lip biting and sucking so the men around them can see it. Sam’s heartbeat thunders behind his closed eyelids, his hands flutter against Dean’s shirtfront. He’s not sure if he should touch Dean like they do at night sometimes, with intimacy and knowledge, or pretend like this is new. Dean makes the decision for him, pulling Sam close and swaying their bodies together. It almost feels good, almost feels normal, until one of the men demands, “Get on with it!” Dean pulls back, smiles down at Sam a little, but it’s a tighter, shorter smile than before. Dean takes hold of Sam’s flannel, draws it down his arms, lets it fall to the floor. Sam tries not to shudder when he sees a member of their audience snag the shirt out of the corner of his eye. “Just look at me, right?” Sam nods. Dean taps Sam’s upper arm. “Lift up.” Dean hasn’t helped Sam undress this emotionlessly since he was a kid, but the motion of raising his hands above his head so Dean can pull his shirt off is immediately familiar. Gooseflesh spreads over Sam’s chest, cold in spite of the bodies packed into the room. Dean doesn’t give him time to adjust, just starts unbuttoning Sam’s jeans. Sam’s immediately embarrassed about the way his jeans stick around his sneakers, about his threadbare blue boxers. Dean crouches down and lifts each of Sam’s legs into his lap one at a time, slipping off his shoes and socks and, finally, his jeans. One of the men whistles. Dean stands back up, maneuvers Sam so Sam’s back is to his front. Dean fingercombs through his hair, kisses down the side of Sam’s neck. Dean’s hands run over and over him, sliding down Sam’s skinny arms, making a circle around his tiny waist. Sam squinches his eyes shut, trying to block out the realization that Dean’s showing these men how small Sam is, showing him off. Sam’s concentrating so hard on not thinking that his gasp is genuine when Dean touches gentle fingertips to his nipples. It’s an intimate motion, something they’ve only done in the dark, and Sam has to lean back against Dean’s chest to ground himself. It feels like a falling dream as Dean twists and pinches at the cold-stiff nubs of Sam’s nipples. Sam wonders when he’ll hit the ground, when he’ll wake up. “Take it all off,” someone calls and Dean stops, hands cupped over Sam’s nothing boy-chest. He takes Sam’s boxers down in one smooth motion, kneels right down on the tile floor between Sam’s cold feet. He sucks Sam’s little, soft cock into his mouth before Sam can register that he’s naked. Sam doesn’t get hard, doesn’t think he can, but you’d never know from the dirty slurping noises Dean makes on him. Dean’s mouth noises can’t quite cover up the sound of a couple men jacking off around them, but Sam pretends that they’re alone, that Dean’s sucking him in a room that they have to themselves. Sam wonders how he’s supposed to know it’s over since he can’t come, not like this. Dean laps the spit off Sam’s dick, then kisses it into his mouth. Maybe that’s it, Sam thinks. But then Dean turns him again until Sam’s back is to their audience. “Eyes on me, okay?” “What-” “Look at me, Sammy,” Dean whispers. Dean reaches down and grabs at Sam’s ass cheeks, pulls them apart so the whole room can see his bare pink parts. “Hold yourself open like that, okay?” Dean breathes against his ear. “Dean-” Sam knows he’s crying a little, knows he shouldn’t, but can’t help his panicky-fast tears. “Almost done, baby, I promise.” Sam takes over where Dean’s hands are, letting all the men see him. Dean’s got something slick on his fingers now. He plays the tips of them over Sam’s asshole, over and over. “Put ‘em in!” “Fuck him!” Dean kisses Sam’s cheek tenderly and says, “Breathe.” He slides a finger right into Sam’s body. He’s never had anything in him like this, not ever, and Sam feels full and exposed. Dean draws his finger in and out slow so it only hurts in Sam’s mind. It goes on and on like a cramped, uncomfortable car ride. Dean lays little kisses all over Sam’s face, picking up salt and tears with each press of his lips. He buries his face in Dean’s shoulder like they’re laying in bed together after a long makeout, not fucking in a grimy truck stop. Are we there yet, Sam repeats in this head. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? The men reach their destinations all around them. Only when the crescendo begins to die down does Dean pull out. He lingers like he’s showing off the little space he made in Sam’s body. The men leave spatters of spunk on the shower floor like gratuity, but Sam and Dean leave Jimmy Dim’s with a generous stack of sweaty bills in their pockets. ===============================================================================   original_tumblr_post | 2016_kink_bingo_card | challenge_progress_tag Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!