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[personal profile] erda
Title: What He Doesn't Know
Author: erda
Fandom: Superatural
Pairing: Dean/OMC, sort of John/Dean and Sam/Dean,
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2327
Warnings: Daddycest & Wincest (unconsumated), underage in the flashback (Dean is 17, Sam 13) prompt is prostitution so dub-con.

Written for [community profile] kink_bingo

Prompt: Prostitution

Summary: Dead Man's Blood wasn't the first time John had the Colt, and Dean had been willing to use something other than money to get it for him.


John didn't like to remember the damn Colt, but it was too important to give in to squeamishness. He hadn't done anything wrong. Dean and Sam didn't know anything about it, had no idea he'd had the gun in his hand once before, and lost it. He'd thought that Elkins had taken it, had accused him of it, but now he knew for sure that the bastard had stolen it, and lied to his face about it, played at bein' hurt that John didn't trust him, just as he'd always suspected.

It was hell seeing the boys again, seeing Dean, prettier than ever, everything the gun represented pressed between them and reminding John of why he'd left in the first place.

Dean at seventeen was no longer a boy. He'd hit a growth spurt over the previous year, and he stood tall, almost six feet tall, though still slight of build. Girls, as well as boys, fell all over themselves to get to him, and John knew for a fact that Dean was not averse to a little experimentation when it came to sex.

Thing was, the gun, if it was the one Elkins was looking for, and would do what Walters claimed, could mean the end of the demon John had dedicated all of their lives to exterminating. He motioned to the bartender, downed another drink, and thought about Walters' offer some more.

Walters sat opposite him, staring off to the side, where Sam and Dean were sitting together, whispering something they apparently found hilarious while drinking the cokes Walters had bought them.

John had promised himself he wouldn't think about it again, wouldn't put his hands on himself and remember. It was all in the past. Over an done and too late for regrets. Best forgotten. But here he was, bent over his hard, red cock in the shower, the memories flooding over him again. Dean's beautiful ass spread open, Walters' cock stretching out his hole obscenely. At least Dean and Sam didn't know anything about the deal he'd made with Walters, would never know about it. The memories made him stroke himself faster, made his breath huff quick and short as he relived it.

Walters leaned back in his chair, legs sprawled out, hard cock pressing visibly against his fly and stared at Dean some more. "He's not a kid any more, Winchester," he'd said. "Old enough to decide for himself what he wants. Just want to make sure you get that."

There was truth in that. He had no business interfering with something Dean might freely want to do. He put his drink down carefully, idly slid it around in the small puddle of condensation it sat on. “Jus' wanna be clear,” he finally said. “it's no straight up deal. You wanna spend some time with my boy, I don't consider that my business. You wanna pass the gun on to me first, I'd appreciate it. I got a need for that gun.”

Walters pulled the gun out, laid it on the table. “Sure,” he said. “I understand. I don't mind helpin' out a fellow hunter. But this here gun is pretty special. You let me think about it, okay?”

At John's nod, Walters stood up, leaving the gun lying on the table, and headed over to the boys. He leaned into Dean's space and said something, and Dean tilted his chair back and smiled, got up and followed Walters out of the bar.

“Where are they going?” John sat up, surprised to see Sam sliding into the chair Walters had vacated, face sullen, as usual lately.

“You're twelve years old, Sam. You don't need your brother takin' care of you every second. Let him be.”

Sam's scowl deepened. “Fine,” he said, though it was clearly anything but. “I'm going back to the room then.”

John had finished his drink, had another, trying not to think about what was going on in that back room. Dean was a big guy, able to handle himself, and old enough to know what he wanted. He tried to concentrate on thoughts of the Colt, on having a weapon that could put the demon down for good, rather than on the price he'd just paid for it.

John's hand stroked harder now, as the memory got closer. He really had just wanted to make sure Dean was okay, wasn't being forced into anything, but he'd had no idea what the sight of his oldest son, bent over a rickety old wooden table in the back room of the bar, with old man Walters going at it, and Dean taking it, would do to him. Thing was, Dean always had taken after his mother, time was John struggled to look his son in the face because of the resemblance. Now he had a different reason for not looking Dean in the face.

When Walters came back to the bar, it was near closing time, and he gestured toward the gun magnanimously. “All yours,” he said. John had scooped up the gun and took a walk, in no hurry to head back to the hotel.

John focused on what he'd seen happening between Walters and Dean again, on what it must have felt like to Walters, pumping into Dean, and Dean's body squeezed down on his cock as he rocked in and out. What would Dean have done if he'd known his father was watching? Maybe Dean would have given him a turn if he'd known, welcomed his father's cock like he'd welcomed Walters'. John's hand flew over his cock at this thought, rough and angry, and he felt himself losing control completely, splattering his come onto the shower wall and leaning back weakly as the regret washed over him. He had to get away from the boys as quickly as possible, get them to move on while he retrieved the gun and went his way again. He wasn't fit to be around them, not if he couldn't control these thoughts. He had to make sure they never knew, never suspected, never saw anything other than paternal love in his eyes.


Sam didn't like to remember the damn Colt, the thing raising memories he didn't want to have. That was the last summer his relationship with Dean had been easy, innocent, and sane. The summer he'd lost respect for his Dad for good. The summer he'd known he would have to leave his family as soon as he could, and that they could never know why.

He twisted both knobs in the shower, turning up the spray so that it pounded loud against the stall, drowning out any little sounds he might make jerking off. He couldn't risk Dean hearing him.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't think about it while jerking off ever again, but it was another promise he was resigned to breaking. He couldn't very well walk around Dad and Dean with a huge hard on all day, and jerking off was the only way to get the damn thing to stay down for a while.

It hurt when Dean ditched him for Walters. He'd walked only a few steps away outside before circling around and into the back door of the bar. It was deserted and he slipped into the room Dean and Walters had gone into, just wanting to hear what grown up hunting talk Dean and Walters were having that they thought he was too young to hear.

“Your Daddy wants this here gun real bad, Dean, and he ain't never gonna have enough money in the world to buy it off me.”

Dean's eyes went from the gun to Walters' face. He shifted his feet, looked back at the gun. Sam knew that expression. It was the look Dean got when Sam was in trouble with Dad, and Dean was trying to put himself between them, trying to make excuses to get Sam out of punishment.

Walters stepped closer to Dean, but Dean didn't step back, didn't scowl or push Walters away, or make a sarcastic remark. He just stood there, eyes big and round and scared looking, biting his bottom lip and nodding. Walters put his hand on Dean's arm, stroked it, and Sam didn't bust in or yell, though he wanted to. He felt frozen with the need to see what it all meant. His stomach felt like a huge ball of ice.

Walters turned Dean around almost gently, and Dean let him,he didn't protest at all, just let the old man turn him and stick his hand on his belt, open it up and slide Dean's jeans and underwear down. Sam took a shaky breath, put his hand on his cock without thinking about it.

Walters put his rough, scarred hand between Dean's legs, pushed against him spread your legs, boy and Dean did. Sam knew he should do something, make them stop, but he couldn't make himself move. The thought of Dean knowing that Sam had seen him like this filled him with shame for both of them. Walters opened his pants. His cock was big and hard, and he was spreading something wet and shiny over it, then pushing it against Dean, and Dean made a sobbing sound that filled Sam with horror, made him back up quickly, but careful and quiet because he couldn't stand for Dean to know he'd seen. Outside in the cool night air he took off running, banishing the memory of what he'd seen and heard, and swearing he would never think about it again.

But he had thought about it, over and over again for almost a year before he was able to put it to rest. Now, with John and the Colt back in his life, it seemed the memory hadn't faded with time at all. It was still fresh and exciting, and, as disgusted as he was with himself, it still got him off faster than any other fantasy, imagining himself in Walters' place, Dean bent over submissively for him, maybe even crying a little, so that he could lean forward and suck the wet tears from that beautiful face, oh god.

He cleaned himself up, scrubbing the sweat and come from his body roughly and headed out to get dressed, promising himself he wouldn't think about it ever again.


Dean didn't like to remember the damn Colt, and how naive and foolish he'd been the last time he'd seen it. Dean had believed Walters, had let the old man do anything he wanted in exchange for handing the gun over to Dad, but he'd tricked Dean.

Dean had been angry at Dad at first, thinking Dad had the gun and wasn't telling him, treating him like a little kid and keeping secrets, but he'd realized eventually that Walters must have played him, gotten him to cooperate and then taken off without giving the gun to Dad like he'd promised.

Walters was dead now eight years, killed by a werewolf and taking to his grave what they'd done together. He didn't have to worry about Sam or Dad finding out how stupid he'd been.

Sam looked tired when he came out of the shower, and he wouldn't meet Dean's eye. Dean grabbed his towel and took his turn in the shower. Sam had been in a long time, leaving the water tepid, but Dean didn't care. The memories the Colt was stirring up were making him tense, and he needed some private time to clear his head.

Standing under the weak spray of water, he stroked his hand down his cock, tight but slow, the way he liked to start, and felt himself firming up nice and reliable. He watched his cock moving in and out of his fist slowly, getting harder and bigger with each carefully controlled stroke.

His mind drifted into one of his favorite fantasies. He'd tell Sam he was going to hustle up some spending money playing pool and head off to hustle something else instead. Come home with a pocket full of cash that Sam wouldn't question. He'd take on three guys, truckers who would zero in on him as soon as he walked into the bar. They'd do it in the back of one of the guy's trucks, taking turns with him. He imagined letting them use his mouth and ass however they wanted, imagined their rough hands touching, stroking, taking and using him like a whore. He could do it for real too, anytime he wanted. He could picture being turned and positioned, one cock after another, the sensation of being filled up and used for their pleasure. Even the contemptuous way they'd throw their money at him when they were finished was such a turn on, making him stroke himself faster.

He was getting close, but it wasn't quite enough, not quite dirty enough. He let himself go further, reveling in the kind of thoughts that would normally be repulsive. Maybe someday, somehow, Sam and Dad would find out about Walters, but instead of being upset, they would like the idea of Dean whoring for them. Maybe they'd set him up with guys, maybe they'd even want to watch him. Yeah, that would be fucking hot, Dad and Sam right in the room while a bunch of guys took turns with him, Dad and Sam getting off on it, pulling out their cocks and jerking off. Maybe they'd want to come up close to get a good look, god, both of them jerking off right onto him, Dean could almost feel it, feel what it was like to have them come on him while he was getting fucked, all over his face, oh jesus. He came hard, leaning against the shower stall, drawing in quick gasping breaths until his heartbeat slowed and he could stand up again.

He could thank Walters for giving him so many enticing ideas.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-08-12 05:34 pm (UTC)
ellia: vintage poster of a showgirl, arching back with one leg raised (Default)
From: [personal profile] ellia
Wow, incredibly well done - all three of them so screwed up and hurting. Great use of that prompt, wonderful story


erda: (Default)

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