His Father's Warrior
Title: His Father's Warrior
Characters: Dean/managers, John, Sam
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW
Ratings: NC-17
Warnings: Underage, Prostitution, dub-con
Word Count: 1,589
Summary: Dean knows what he has to do for his family, and he's okay with that
His Warrioris Father's Warrior
Dean knew from the jump that he would do anything his father asked. Ever since Mary was burned in Sam’s nursery and his dad swept him into his arms on the front yard before the window glass blew out on them, Dean knew, even if he was only four years old.
He would watch over Sam, Dad wouldn’t even have to ask, Dean just knew. When Dean was ten and Dad started to leave more and more, they had their first run in with trouble.
Dad had been gone five days, and apparently, the motel they were staying in counted weeks like school weeks; five days. There came a loud rapping on the door while Dean was in the kitchenette. He placed the bowl of lucky charms in front of Sam.
“Eat, I’ll be right back.” Dean walked to the door and opened it, leaving the chain hooked.
Before him stood a man who stood just short of six feet tall. He was wearing a leather jacket that seemed half a size too big with a plain black shirt underneath and jeans that were worn at the knees. Dean could smell beer on him and a tinge of something else (was it food grease?) that hung in the air around him.
“Can I help you?” Dean asked, not impolitely, but in the tone of a kid who had just been pulled from a video game. The man crinkled his nose at Dean, looking down at the brown-haired boy with the freckles.
“Week’s up, kid. Pay up or pack up,” the man snapped. His breath definitely smelled of beer and he seemed to have an accent that Dean couldn’t place.
“Uh…” Dean’s eyes flashed back to Sammy, mindlessly consumed in floating red balloons in his milk. “My dad’s not here, but I’ll call him and let him know.” Dean looked up with pleading eyes.
The man rolled his eyes and nodded. “Fine.”
“Thank you!” Dean said before quickly slamming the door shut and running to the bedside tables where the motel phone rested.
His dad picked up on the fifth ring, right before Dean was going to put the phone down.
“Dad!” Dean exclaimed. Dean could hear his dad sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Dean, what is it?” Straight to the point, as usual.
“The guy that runs the motel says that our week’s up. We need more money or we’re gonna get kicked out,” Dean explained. He chanced a look over at Sam, who was fiddling with a transformer of Dean’s.
“Okay. I took care of what needed to be done here, so I’ll be back in a few minutes,” John said flatly.
“Alri-“ Dean started before there was a click on the other end.
“Sam, I’ll be right back, DON’T MOVE,” Dean commanded. Sam nodded without looking up, successfully pulling the leg out of Dean’s transformer. Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the front desk.
He walked up to the desk and placed his chin on the counter. The man that was at his door earlier was behind the desk now, and when he looked up, his eyes trailed over Dean’s features, his full lips and his bright green eyes, the way his freckles spread when his eyes gazed up.
“Wha-“ the man cleared his throat. “Whadda want, kid?” the man asked. Dean raised his head and blinked a few times before answering.
“Uh, my dad said he’ll be back in a few, so he can pay then.” Dean looked around and moved his jaw around and licked his lips. The man at the desk had to hold back a groan. This kid was just fucking asking for it. Maybe…
“Sorry kid, can’t play favorites. You gotta find a way to pay,” was his answer. Dean gnawed at his bottom lip.
“Please, sir, I’ll do anything. I have a brother, please,” Dean begged. His eyes were pleading and the man had to oblige.
“Anything?” Dean nodded furiously. The man sighed. “Come with me.” The man stepped from behind the desk and walked through a door and Dean followed. Once Dean was in the room, the man slammed the door shut, grabbed Dean, leaned down, and crushed his mouth to Dean’s. After getting some resistance from Dean, the man promised him another five days in the room and a week’s worth of soda from the machines for him and his brother. Dean agreed.
~*~
Two years after that, Dean was still working to help his dad with the bills. Whenever they went to a new motel, John would send the manager over to collect fees. Dean would go with him.
In the depths of Illinois, John had picked up a rougarou that was tearing people apart. He left Dean with clear instructions: at eight the manager would come by the room. Dean was to go with him, he knew what to do. Dean nodded to his dads back as he walked out the door.
Dean sat on the Lay-z- boy and waited for the knock on the door. Right on schedule, there was a knock. Dean looked over at Sam who fell asleep while doing his homework. Dean stood and went to the door, opening it for the manager. He looked at Dean and stretched out a hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the supple skin of Dean’s lips. The boy just stood and waited until the man made a move back to his office. Dean followed solemnly.
When they made it back to the manager’s room, Dean rested himself down on the couch. Without a word, the manager, a man that had to be in his early twenties, rested himself over Dean’s lap, grinding hips together while running fingers through hair and brushing lips.
Kiss back Dean remembers his dad telling him. You need to kiss them back and let them take what they want, they need to be pleased or we won’t have a place to stay. He lets the words loop in his head when the man trails his hand down Dean’s torso, slips it under his shirt and feels the soft skin of his abdomen. Dean snaps his eyes shut, breath hitching, not in arousal, but in small spikes of fear. Let him take what he wants. Okay dad, Dean thinks to himself.
He presses up into the older man’s touch and forces out a groan. The man returns it and slips his hand inside Deans worn denim jeans and begins to stroke Dean. He may not particularly like this, but the feel of the man’s hands on him feels nice. He feels his dick fill and cants his hips up into the man’s hand.
With a throaty noise, the man pulls his mouth away from Dean’s neck and works on undoing his jeans, rubbing one hand up and down Dean’s torso as he goes.
When there’s a pile of clothes on the ground, the man jams his fingers into Dean’s mouth and lets Dean’s lapping tongue wet his finger before he slowly enters Dean. Dean can feel his body attempt to reject the man before he forcibly relaxes.
Three fingers and the slight sting of pain later, Dean is bent over the arm of the couch, forcing out little airy breaths and drawn out moans to play his part for this man. The man snaps his hips back and forth, each time the head of his cock rubbing up on the bundle of nerves inside of Dean. He cant help it, and after twenty minutes of the onslaught, Dean reaches under himself and jacks himself off. The man behind him must find it a turn on because his pace quickens and within minutes he’s filling the condom he’s wearing.
Dean follows quickly, coming into his own hand, spilling some of his seed on the couch’s side.
Never come before the customer, and always let him see it, his dad had ordered. Dean blindly obeys, as usual.
~*~
When everything is done and over with, the man offers Dean a glass of soda and Dean accepts. While the man is working on the soft drinks, Dean redresses. When the man returns with the drink, Dean thanks him before downing as much as he can before the carbonation burns his throat. The man stands next to Dean and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean tenses.
“So how long you been doing this,” the man asks. Dean shrugs.
“’bout two years, two and a half.” He takes another drink of soda.
“You must’ve been pretty young. Doesn’t it seem kind of… messed up to you?” The man presses. He seems to care an awful lot for a man who just fucking a minor. Dean shrugs again.
“Not really, just taking care of things,” Dean replies. He’s already getting sore, so he politely excuses himself and limps back to the motel room.
When he walks in, he finds his dad sitting with Sam on the couch, Sam fast asleep in his dads arms.
“Dad, I didn’t know you’d already be home,” Dean says, stopping in the entry way. His dad looks him up and down before quietly asking a question.
“Business taken care of?”
Dean nods.
“Good.” With that, John walks away to put Sam back to bed. He can’t help but feel a little guilty for the twelve year old boy standing in the other room. He’s such a good kid, never asks questions, never doubts orders. Such a good warrior.
His father’s warrior.
Characters: Dean/managers, John, Sam
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW
Ratings: NC-17
Warnings: Underage, Prostitution, dub-con
Word Count: 1,589
Summary: Dean knows what he has to do for his family, and he's okay with that
His Warrioris Father's Warrior
Dean knew from the jump that he would do anything his father asked. Ever since Mary was burned in Sam’s nursery and his dad swept him into his arms on the front yard before the window glass blew out on them, Dean knew, even if he was only four years old.
He would watch over Sam, Dad wouldn’t even have to ask, Dean just knew. When Dean was ten and Dad started to leave more and more, they had their first run in with trouble.
Dad had been gone five days, and apparently, the motel they were staying in counted weeks like school weeks; five days. There came a loud rapping on the door while Dean was in the kitchenette. He placed the bowl of lucky charms in front of Sam.
“Eat, I’ll be right back.” Dean walked to the door and opened it, leaving the chain hooked.
Before him stood a man who stood just short of six feet tall. He was wearing a leather jacket that seemed half a size too big with a plain black shirt underneath and jeans that were worn at the knees. Dean could smell beer on him and a tinge of something else (was it food grease?) that hung in the air around him.
“Can I help you?” Dean asked, not impolitely, but in the tone of a kid who had just been pulled from a video game. The man crinkled his nose at Dean, looking down at the brown-haired boy with the freckles.
“Week’s up, kid. Pay up or pack up,” the man snapped. His breath definitely smelled of beer and he seemed to have an accent that Dean couldn’t place.
“Uh…” Dean’s eyes flashed back to Sammy, mindlessly consumed in floating red balloons in his milk. “My dad’s not here, but I’ll call him and let him know.” Dean looked up with pleading eyes.
The man rolled his eyes and nodded. “Fine.”
“Thank you!” Dean said before quickly slamming the door shut and running to the bedside tables where the motel phone rested.
His dad picked up on the fifth ring, right before Dean was going to put the phone down.
“Dad!” Dean exclaimed. Dean could hear his dad sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Dean, what is it?” Straight to the point, as usual.
“The guy that runs the motel says that our week’s up. We need more money or we’re gonna get kicked out,” Dean explained. He chanced a look over at Sam, who was fiddling with a transformer of Dean’s.
“Okay. I took care of what needed to be done here, so I’ll be back in a few minutes,” John said flatly.
“Alri-“ Dean started before there was a click on the other end.
“Sam, I’ll be right back, DON’T MOVE,” Dean commanded. Sam nodded without looking up, successfully pulling the leg out of Dean’s transformer. Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the front desk.
He walked up to the desk and placed his chin on the counter. The man that was at his door earlier was behind the desk now, and when he looked up, his eyes trailed over Dean’s features, his full lips and his bright green eyes, the way his freckles spread when his eyes gazed up.
“Wha-“ the man cleared his throat. “Whadda want, kid?” the man asked. Dean raised his head and blinked a few times before answering.
“Uh, my dad said he’ll be back in a few, so he can pay then.” Dean looked around and moved his jaw around and licked his lips. The man at the desk had to hold back a groan. This kid was just fucking asking for it. Maybe…
“Sorry kid, can’t play favorites. You gotta find a way to pay,” was his answer. Dean gnawed at his bottom lip.
“Please, sir, I’ll do anything. I have a brother, please,” Dean begged. His eyes were pleading and the man had to oblige.
“Anything?” Dean nodded furiously. The man sighed. “Come with me.” The man stepped from behind the desk and walked through a door and Dean followed. Once Dean was in the room, the man slammed the door shut, grabbed Dean, leaned down, and crushed his mouth to Dean’s. After getting some resistance from Dean, the man promised him another five days in the room and a week’s worth of soda from the machines for him and his brother. Dean agreed.
~*~
Two years after that, Dean was still working to help his dad with the bills. Whenever they went to a new motel, John would send the manager over to collect fees. Dean would go with him.
In the depths of Illinois, John had picked up a rougarou that was tearing people apart. He left Dean with clear instructions: at eight the manager would come by the room. Dean was to go with him, he knew what to do. Dean nodded to his dads back as he walked out the door.
Dean sat on the Lay-z- boy and waited for the knock on the door. Right on schedule, there was a knock. Dean looked over at Sam who fell asleep while doing his homework. Dean stood and went to the door, opening it for the manager. He looked at Dean and stretched out a hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the supple skin of Dean’s lips. The boy just stood and waited until the man made a move back to his office. Dean followed solemnly.
When they made it back to the manager’s room, Dean rested himself down on the couch. Without a word, the manager, a man that had to be in his early twenties, rested himself over Dean’s lap, grinding hips together while running fingers through hair and brushing lips.
Kiss back Dean remembers his dad telling him. You need to kiss them back and let them take what they want, they need to be pleased or we won’t have a place to stay. He lets the words loop in his head when the man trails his hand down Dean’s torso, slips it under his shirt and feels the soft skin of his abdomen. Dean snaps his eyes shut, breath hitching, not in arousal, but in small spikes of fear. Let him take what he wants. Okay dad, Dean thinks to himself.
He presses up into the older man’s touch and forces out a groan. The man returns it and slips his hand inside Deans worn denim jeans and begins to stroke Dean. He may not particularly like this, but the feel of the man’s hands on him feels nice. He feels his dick fill and cants his hips up into the man’s hand.
With a throaty noise, the man pulls his mouth away from Dean’s neck and works on undoing his jeans, rubbing one hand up and down Dean’s torso as he goes.
When there’s a pile of clothes on the ground, the man jams his fingers into Dean’s mouth and lets Dean’s lapping tongue wet his finger before he slowly enters Dean. Dean can feel his body attempt to reject the man before he forcibly relaxes.
Three fingers and the slight sting of pain later, Dean is bent over the arm of the couch, forcing out little airy breaths and drawn out moans to play his part for this man. The man snaps his hips back and forth, each time the head of his cock rubbing up on the bundle of nerves inside of Dean. He cant help it, and after twenty minutes of the onslaught, Dean reaches under himself and jacks himself off. The man behind him must find it a turn on because his pace quickens and within minutes he’s filling the condom he’s wearing.
Dean follows quickly, coming into his own hand, spilling some of his seed on the couch’s side.
Never come before the customer, and always let him see it, his dad had ordered. Dean blindly obeys, as usual.
~*~
When everything is done and over with, the man offers Dean a glass of soda and Dean accepts. While the man is working on the soft drinks, Dean redresses. When the man returns with the drink, Dean thanks him before downing as much as he can before the carbonation burns his throat. The man stands next to Dean and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean tenses.
“So how long you been doing this,” the man asks. Dean shrugs.
“’bout two years, two and a half.” He takes another drink of soda.
“You must’ve been pretty young. Doesn’t it seem kind of… messed up to you?” The man presses. He seems to care an awful lot for a man who just fucking a minor. Dean shrugs again.
“Not really, just taking care of things,” Dean replies. He’s already getting sore, so he politely excuses himself and limps back to the motel room.
When he walks in, he finds his dad sitting with Sam on the couch, Sam fast asleep in his dads arms.
“Dad, I didn’t know you’d already be home,” Dean says, stopping in the entry way. His dad looks him up and down before quietly asking a question.
“Business taken care of?”
Dean nods.
“Good.” With that, John walks away to put Sam back to bed. He can’t help but feel a little guilty for the twelve year old boy standing in the other room. He’s such a good kid, never asks questions, never doubts orders. Such a good warrior.
His father’s warrior.