FIC - expanded from Slut, by popular demand
Title: Slut
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/OMC (implied), San/Dean
A/N: for iceliiy01’s prompt at the hooker!fic meme. Now expanded from 1100 to about 4200 words, as requested. Hope it's what y'all wanted :)
Four months. Sam could hardly wrap his brain around the concept. They were going to be here four freaking months, he’d seen his dad lay out the rent money in cash with his own eyes. If he was lucky, at least half his junior year would be spent at the same high school. The timing couldn’t be better. He’d been secretly checking out requirements for SATs, looking at college brochures and researching scholarship opportunities during the last school year. He knew junior year was when the wheels needed to start turning if he was going to make this happen.
Sam was going to college. He knew it, knew he was cut out for it, knew that it was right for him. He also knew that his dad and probably his brother would be less than supportive of the idea. Hell, their father hadn’t batted an eyelash when Dean quit high school. Sam had been the one who’d pressured Dean into taking (and easily passing) the exam for his GED. John didn’t give a shit about any of it.
Not that he didn’t want his sons to learn. Far from it. John Winchester wanted his sons to learn how to shoot and fight, how to dig up graves, how to read Latin so they could exorcise demons. He knew they were both bright and could easily think on their feet in a tricky situation, he didn’t raise fools, and was glad his boys were smart kids. It was just that grades and diplomas weren’t a necessity in their business. The family business.
And there lie the great divide. Sam didn’t give a rat’s ass about the family business. He knew, logically, that it was important work, saving people from things that went bump in the night, finding the thing that had killed their mother. He just didn’t want to spend his whole damn life consumed with it the way his father had, the way his brother seemed perfectly happy doing.
Within days of moving them into the two-bedroom apartment and enrolling Sam in school, John was gone. There was no telling when he’d be back. Dean would get a job, probably, some low-paying work to keep him busy until he could get into the bars at night and hustle pool, or darts, or cards, or whatever. Their bills would get paid by fraudulent credit cards that John had procured before he left.
Within the first week of school starting, Sam had all the paperwork he needed to sign himself up for the SAT. There were ads for test preparation classes, he discarded those immediately as he knew he didn’t need them and also was fairly certain he wasn’t going to find a thousand bucks under his pillow to pay for one. Just signing up for the test, though, that was going to be a hurdle. Fifty dollars. How fucking pathetic that he was sitting up at night trying to figure out where that fifty bucks would come from. He could ask Dean, sure, but then Dean would ask what he needed it for, and Sam wasn’t anywhere near ready to travel down that particular line of questioning. It was all right, though, he had a couple of weeks to pay the fee so that he would be registered for the October test date.
With the few spare hours he could manage outside of his brother’s watch, he tutored a few freshmen, filled out the forms and got himself set up. Telling Dean he was going to spend the morning at the library, Sam left the house with a pocketful of number two pencils and walked to the school. The test was monotonous, but not difficult, not really. The difficult part was waiting for the results to come back.
Sam beat Dean to the mailbox every day, since Dean was gone until at least five or so working at the grocery store in town. A few weeks after the test date, Sam sat on the threadbare sofa in the living room turning the envelope over and over in his hands, terrified to open it. He’d thought the test was easy. Did that mean he did well? Or did it mean he had no idea how difficult it had actually been, and he’d bombed it? It took a good half an hour before he finally bit the bullet and read the official form inside.
Critical Reading: 780, Math: 770.
Jesus Christ. Those scores were almost perfect. Almost fucking perfect. Sam wished with all his heart he could call Dean and tell him. Or at least that he had made a friend at school he could share the news with. But he couldn’t do either of those things, so he just sat alone and allowed himself to feel some pride at the accomplishment.
He couldn’t dwell on it for long, though. Now that he had the results back, he could start filling out actual college applications. He’d already gone about the difficult process of obtaining transcripts from the schools he’d attended over the past two years. He’d only gotten one B, and it was in some stupid required art class he took as a freshman in…what did that say? Oh, that was Vermont. So his GPA was no issue, and his SAT scores were outstanding.
The school counselor was, once again, quite helpful, and at the beginning of November, almost three months into their stay in this little town, he holed himself up in the bedroom while Dean was still at work and pored over the piles of applications he’d been given. Based on his grades and SAT scores, the counselor had given him only applications to very prestigious universities. Sam figured that was appropriate, as he clearly belonged at a superior educational institution. He’d been assured that scholarships would be offered to him, both need-based and merit-based. As his family had no traceable income whatsoever, he’d qualify for grants and loans as well, if he needed them.
Perusing the brochures, Sam weighed his options. Several of these schools were in cold, northern climates. The best ones, like Harvard and Yale and Princeton. He figured he’d apply at Princeton but God, he hated winter, hated snow, hated cold weather. He checked out Duke University, it was in the south and had a law school. Stanford had a law school as well, and it was in California. He daydreamed for just a minute about living that close to the ocean. Vanderbilt and Emory were good options as well.
As he read further, though, his heart sank. He couldn’t just send in his information and a well-written essay to any of these schools. There were application fees. Stanford and Princeton were almost $100 each, Duke was $75, Emory was $50. Plus, he had to pay for the college board a separate fee to send his SAT results to every school he applied to.
Sam was fucked. He might be able to scrounge up enough cash to apply to one school, but he had to apply to at least five or six. Competition was tough these days. His math 770 score didn’t take long to kick in before he figured out he’d need a shitload of cash just for this little piece of the puzzle. Not to mention the fact that he’d have to find a way to stash money for the next two years just to make his escape. It’s not like his father or brother were going to drive him to school and help him settle into his dorm room like all the other kids. He’d have to do this on his own.
He was decent at playing darts, but shit at playing pool, so he couldn’t hustle like Dean did. Plus, there was too much risk of the two of them running into each other. He wasn’t going to outright steal, like, rob banks or pick pockets or whatever. No fucking way. Turning over the obstacles in his mind, he tossed and turned that night, lying sleepless in bed for hours.
The idea came to him in the middle of the night, and by the time he’d left school the next day, he’d already made his decision. He’d seen the boys up and down the blocks between his school and their apartment on the nights when he’d been in the library late. They didn’t look much different than he did. It was terrifying, at first, but Sam hadn’t been easily frightened since elementary school. He wasn’t experienced, but he was young, and he knew he was good-looking, so it shouldn’t be all that difficult. God knew he had enough psychological trauma behind him that selling his body for money would pale in comparison. He knew about sex. Hell, he’d even had sex once, a quick and completely unsatisfying encounter with a girl from his history class a few months back. He was sure he could figure it out.
Research, though, that was what he did and he wasn’t going to deviate from his habit now. He spent an hour or so for the next few evenings while Dean was out studying what was soon to be his competition. Inside his head, Sam made a checklist of what he needed, what was expected, what was normal for this kind of encounter.
The first night was the most difficult. Staring at himself in the mirror, he was almost unrecognizable. He’d dug out a t-shirt that he hadn’t worn since before his most recent growth spurt and tugged it on. He eyed the strip of skin visible between the hem of the shirt and the top of his jeans with satisfaction. The thing that was hardest was seeing his eyes lined in black, a stick of kohl shoplifted from the CVS by his school. It was how he should look, though, for what he was going to do.
Before leaving the apartment, Sam took a few deep breaths, steeling himself for what lie ahead. Pushing his shoulders back in defiance of his own doubts, he made his way to the few blocks where the other boys seemed to work on a regular basis. Of course, they probably didn’t have a curfew. Sam knew he’d have to be back home before Dean made his way back from the bar or he’d have to answer questions.
He hadn’t even been lounging against the brick wall of the abandoned building behind him before a car pulled up at the curb. The passenger side window slid down, and Sam gathered every inch of his courage while he walked the few steps toward it.
All he could manage was a weak, “Hi”, considering that his mouth was dry and his head was spinning with panic.
“Just need half an hour, kid, all right?”, said the man driving the late-model Camry.
“Sure”, Sam replied, then added, with only the thought of the application fees in mind, “Seventy five.”
“Get in.”
And Sam did. He got into the car, just long enough for the man to find a secluded spot between buildings. His hands were sweating but he did his best to look casual while the man undid his pants and revealed his cock, half-hard and getting harder. “Suck me off, boy.”
“Money first”, Sam replied, knowing somehow that was the right thing to say.
The man pressed a wad of bills into Sam’s hand, and Sam stuffed it into his jeans pocket before leaning forward and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do to earn the money. He opened his mouth and took the man’s dick into his mouth, tonguing and licking at the head before getting up the courage to slide down farther. From the sounds he was hearing, he thought maybe he was doing all right for his first time. He bobbed up and down, taking the guy farther into his mouth after a minute or so.
“God damn, you’re good, kid. Fuck.”
Sam tuned out the words and just continued what he was doing until ten minutes later, when he valiantly attempted to swallow the stranger’s cum.
After a minute, the guy asked him if he needed a ride anywhere. Sam thanked him but said he was fine and got out of the car, walking back to where he’d been before.
Shit, that had been easy. Like, way easier than he thought it would be. He sucked two more cocks before he figured he needed to head back to the apartment.
Dean wasn’t home yet, thankfully. Sam brushed his teeth a hundred times and took a shower for good measure, but then just sat on his bed in awe. More than two hundred dollars, just for one night. It was astounding. He’d already had his applications for Duke and Emory filled out before he fell into a deep sleep.
Over the next few weeks, Sam got more comfortable with his nighttime temp job. Only a couple nights a week, as he wasn’t able to pull himself away from Dean’s watchful gaze unless Dean decided to leave him alone in the apartment. The first time he had to let some dude fuck him was not so easy, because it hurt like a motherfucker. He was glad, at that moment, that his dad had taught him to mask and ignore pain. But it got him twice as much money as blowjobs, so he wasn’t going to say no. He still went to school every day, acing his tests, pulling straight As in his classes. He was tired, yeah, but he ignored it. All of his applications were sent off and he was still making enough money to hide away for his far-off trip to whichever school accepted him.
From what he’d learned, test scores like his would result in offers of scholarships, offers to pay his tuition, his dorm fees, even.
On the rare occasions when John was there, Sam took a couple of nights off, not wanting to alert his father that there was anything suspicious going on. His college brochures were hidden under his mattress like porn mags. When John was gone, Sam kept up his nighttime employment whenever he could get away with it, shoving the money into a sock in the bottom of his duffel. He knew it was going to be a while before he heard back from any of the schools he’d applied to, since his applications had been for early admission.
He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do - earn enough money to apply to as many colleges as he wanted to. But that didn’t stop him from going out into the night seeking more encounters, more funds. There was no telling how much money he’d need. Even after the weather had turned cool, he kept it up. Maybe he didn’t have to, but he’d grown accustomed to it. Hell, no matter he was a teenager who looked even younger than he was, he could knock the shit out of anyone who tried anything funny, thanks to the sparring and running and training he had under his belt. He wasn’t afraid, and he wasn’t nervous about it anymore, either.
xxxxx
It couldn’t be what he thought. No way.
Dean had emerged from the bar, his pockets filled with tonight’s pool-hustling money, and almost completely sober. He’d barely made it three blocks down the street, in the direction of their temporary apartment, when he saw what must have been a hallucination.
Not uncommon in this neighborhood, there was a young kid, a teenage boy, leaned over the curb, having a conversation with a man in a car through an open window. But this wasn’t just any kid. Just from his body language, Dean knew what he didn’t want to know in less than a minute.
That was Sam.
Sam, in nothing but a tight t-shirt on a cold night, jeans slung low on his hips, a sly grin on his face. Before the conversation had a chance to conclude, Dean was right there, grabbing his baby brother by the back of his hair and saying something (he wasn’t sure what, but probably something scary) that had the guy in the car pulling away quickly.
“The fuck, Sam? What the goddamn fuck are you doing?”
Stupid question. He knew exactly what Sam was doing.
Squaring his shoulders and refusing to back down to his brother’s anger, Sam replied, “Just trying to help, Dean. You’re hustling pool, Dad’s scamming credit cards. That’s what you’re good at. This is what I’m good at. You know we need the money. So we’ve all got some illegal source of income. Don’t flip your lid, damn it.” And shit, that sounded like a stupid kid thing to say.
“Flip my lid? Seriously? Flip my lid? You’re fucking sixteen, Sam! Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”
“Yeah, Dean, I do. I’m ready for it. Just fucking back off, please, let me work and I’ll be fine for school in the morning, I promise.”
Dean was incredulous at this point. Sam was acting like what he was doing was the same thing as what Dean and his dad did for money. And it wasn’t. It most certainly was not.
He took a deep breath, and let go of Sam’s shirt. “How much?”
“How much what?”
“You know what I’m asking you, bitch. How much? In a night?”
Sam finally seemed to deflate a bit, flushing just a little. “Four hundred, maybe five, depending on how many... I’m safe, Dean! I use condoms and there’s no stupid trick who could hurt me with my training”, he sneered, getting across his little dig at being forced into ‘the life’.
Dean ignored it, and dug a wad of cash from his pocket. He tore off six hundred-dollar bills from the stack and threw them at Sam’s chest. Before he could compose himself, Sam was on the ground, picking up the cash.
Glancing up at his brother’s face as he knelt on the sidewalk collecting the money, finally, Sam recognized how angry Dean was about this. “This is not the same. Not like hustling pool, not like filling out fake credit card applications. Justify it all you want. But it’s done now. I just outbid every trick who comes by here tonight. So you come home now, with me.”
“I’m not taking your money, Dean.”
“No. No, you’re not. You’re earning it. Move. Now.”
Sam knew, at that point, there was no point in arguing further. He followed Dean back to their place, up the steps, and into the bedroom they shared.
“Get your clothes off, whore. Let’s see what I just bought.”
“Dean, you can’t be-”
“Shut your whore mouth, Sam. I just fucking paid you, do what I say.”
And that was it. Sam was used to it by now; he stripped and stood by the bed. For some reason, waiting for instructions from his brother was less threatening than waiting for instructions from a stranger.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“You tell me, Sam. I don’t know what whores do for their money.”
“Uh, well, for that much, pretty much anything. I could suck you, then you could fuck me The whole night, really, whatever you want..”
“Fuck you? Tell me this, Sam, before you started doing this, how many girls had you fucked?”
No sense in lying. “One.”
“And how many guys did you let fuck you? For free? How many blow jobs did you give before you decided to become a hooker? How many?”
“None. No one. Not ever.”
“And since then?”
Sam was crumbling under the weight of the interrogation. “I don’t know. Twenty, maybe. It’s only been a couple months.”
Dean’s breath caught then, and he almost lost his composure. Sammy’d been doing this for months and he didn’t know. Big brother protecting little brother, failed project right there. He couldn’t concentrate on that now, though.
“Fine”, Dean replied, taking his cock out of his pants. “On your knees, whore. I just bought you for the whole night. Suck me.”
In one fluid and clearly practiced movement, Sam fell to his knees, taking Dean’s dick into his mouth, sucking like a - fuck, no. He’d have to come up with a different comparison from now on, he knew it. Dean held Sam’s head completely still and fucked into his mouth until he heard him gag and choke.
At that point, he pushed Sam off and started taking off his clothes. “Get on the bed. On your back, I want to see you.”
Sam hurried to follow Dean’s instruction, but he was still confused. Was Dean angry and taking it out on him like this? Was he trying to humiliate Sam? Or did he…oh my God, did he want this? With him?
“How much prep do you need, Sam? Already been fucked tonight?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I have. I’m all right.”
After pulling on a condom, Dean didn’t hesitate before pushing into his brother, fast and rough, coaxing a rough moan from Sam. Maybe it still hurt, maybe not. He couldn’t bring himself to care, he was still so taken over with anger. Thrusting hard, it wasn’t more than a few minutes before he spilled inside the latex.
For a few minutes, they were both quiet.
“If I need to keep paying for it, that’s fine. But you’re not doing that again. You understand me?”
Chastened, Sam just responded, “Okay, Dean. Okay.”
“You’re gonna be a slut, that’s fine, you’ll be my slut. Got it?” he asked, and without asking for an answer, he continued. “Go to sleep, Sammy. Don’t forget about that exam you have in the morning.” Pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek, their first kiss, he kept speaking. “Mine now. Mine, Sam. No one else.”
“Yours, Dean. Of course, yours, always yours.”
The next morning was a Saturday, so they got to sleep in, waking in each other’s arms.
Dean was the first to speak, surprisingly enough. “I meant what I said, Sam. No more. Not ever again, swear to me.”
“Of course, yes, Dean, I swear, I’m sorry, never again. You have to understand, though-”
“What can I possibly understand about this, Sam? You’re whoring yourself out to strangers - Jesus, if you needed money for something, you could have just told me!”
“No, Dean. Not this. I couldn’t have - I don’t want to - I can’t tell you.”
Dean looked at his brother suspiciously. He didn’t want to admit to yet another failure, missing something else, but he forced himself to ask the question. “Is it drugs, Sammy? Are you-”
“Jesus, no, not drugs. I think you might actually be more pissed off about the real reason.”
“No assumptions, kid. Tell me.”
It all came out in a tumble of words that Sam couldn’t manage to hold back. “I took the SAT. My scores were really high so I wanted to apply to colleges, but they all had application fees, everything costs something. I needed to make the money, so I could apply to the schools, but I knew you wouldn’t want me to, Dad wouldn’t want me to, so I couldn’t…I couldn’t ask you, I had to do it on my own.”
Dean was reeling, processing all of the information but first and foremost the idea that Sam would leave, that he would take off and settle in at some university and leave their life behind. Leave him behind.
“You want to go away. Leave us. Leave me.”
“Don’t sound like it’s so fucking personal, Dean! I don’t want to leave you, I love you, I really hope that when the time comes, maybe you’ll come with me. But you know this life isn’t for me. It’s not what I want. I want to go to school, I want to get a college degree, a normal life, no monsters, no running, no fake names. Please, tell me you understand”, he finished, unable to find more words, only able to look at his brother pleadingly, begging with his eyes for acceptance.
Pushing down his heartbreak, Dean replied, “Sam, whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll help you get it. I can’t make any promises to you about leaving the life we have now, but I’ll do what I can to make sure you get what you want. It’s my job, you know, taking care of you. Whatever it takes, I promise.”
Summoning up all his courage, Sam asked the question that had been on his mind. “Last night…were you trying to punish me? Or is this…do you want this? You and me? If I do go, it won’t be for a long while. And I need to know.”
“Yeah, Sam. I’m sorry if it’s wrong or twisted or whatever, but yeah, I do. I want you, like this. And if that’s gonna happen, you going away to school somewhere…I’d like to make the best of the time we still have.”
Sam had never been so torn between happiness and heartbreak in his life. “Good. I mean, that’s what I want, too...just to be yours.”
Their mouths met in a messy kiss as they both accepted that this wouldn’t be perfect, and it most likely wouldn’t be forever. But it was now, and it was good enough.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/OMC (implied), San/Dean
A/N: for iceliiy01’s prompt at the hooker!fic meme. Now expanded from 1100 to about 4200 words, as requested. Hope it's what y'all wanted :)
Four months. Sam could hardly wrap his brain around the concept. They were going to be here four freaking months, he’d seen his dad lay out the rent money in cash with his own eyes. If he was lucky, at least half his junior year would be spent at the same high school. The timing couldn’t be better. He’d been secretly checking out requirements for SATs, looking at college brochures and researching scholarship opportunities during the last school year. He knew junior year was when the wheels needed to start turning if he was going to make this happen.
Sam was going to college. He knew it, knew he was cut out for it, knew that it was right for him. He also knew that his dad and probably his brother would be less than supportive of the idea. Hell, their father hadn’t batted an eyelash when Dean quit high school. Sam had been the one who’d pressured Dean into taking (and easily passing) the exam for his GED. John didn’t give a shit about any of it.
Not that he didn’t want his sons to learn. Far from it. John Winchester wanted his sons to learn how to shoot and fight, how to dig up graves, how to read Latin so they could exorcise demons. He knew they were both bright and could easily think on their feet in a tricky situation, he didn’t raise fools, and was glad his boys were smart kids. It was just that grades and diplomas weren’t a necessity in their business. The family business.
And there lie the great divide. Sam didn’t give a rat’s ass about the family business. He knew, logically, that it was important work, saving people from things that went bump in the night, finding the thing that had killed their mother. He just didn’t want to spend his whole damn life consumed with it the way his father had, the way his brother seemed perfectly happy doing.
Within days of moving them into the two-bedroom apartment and enrolling Sam in school, John was gone. There was no telling when he’d be back. Dean would get a job, probably, some low-paying work to keep him busy until he could get into the bars at night and hustle pool, or darts, or cards, or whatever. Their bills would get paid by fraudulent credit cards that John had procured before he left.
Within the first week of school starting, Sam had all the paperwork he needed to sign himself up for the SAT. There were ads for test preparation classes, he discarded those immediately as he knew he didn’t need them and also was fairly certain he wasn’t going to find a thousand bucks under his pillow to pay for one. Just signing up for the test, though, that was going to be a hurdle. Fifty dollars. How fucking pathetic that he was sitting up at night trying to figure out where that fifty bucks would come from. He could ask Dean, sure, but then Dean would ask what he needed it for, and Sam wasn’t anywhere near ready to travel down that particular line of questioning. It was all right, though, he had a couple of weeks to pay the fee so that he would be registered for the October test date.
With the few spare hours he could manage outside of his brother’s watch, he tutored a few freshmen, filled out the forms and got himself set up. Telling Dean he was going to spend the morning at the library, Sam left the house with a pocketful of number two pencils and walked to the school. The test was monotonous, but not difficult, not really. The difficult part was waiting for the results to come back.
Sam beat Dean to the mailbox every day, since Dean was gone until at least five or so working at the grocery store in town. A few weeks after the test date, Sam sat on the threadbare sofa in the living room turning the envelope over and over in his hands, terrified to open it. He’d thought the test was easy. Did that mean he did well? Or did it mean he had no idea how difficult it had actually been, and he’d bombed it? It took a good half an hour before he finally bit the bullet and read the official form inside.
Critical Reading: 780, Math: 770.
Jesus Christ. Those scores were almost perfect. Almost fucking perfect. Sam wished with all his heart he could call Dean and tell him. Or at least that he had made a friend at school he could share the news with. But he couldn’t do either of those things, so he just sat alone and allowed himself to feel some pride at the accomplishment.
He couldn’t dwell on it for long, though. Now that he had the results back, he could start filling out actual college applications. He’d already gone about the difficult process of obtaining transcripts from the schools he’d attended over the past two years. He’d only gotten one B, and it was in some stupid required art class he took as a freshman in…what did that say? Oh, that was Vermont. So his GPA was no issue, and his SAT scores were outstanding.
The school counselor was, once again, quite helpful, and at the beginning of November, almost three months into their stay in this little town, he holed himself up in the bedroom while Dean was still at work and pored over the piles of applications he’d been given. Based on his grades and SAT scores, the counselor had given him only applications to very prestigious universities. Sam figured that was appropriate, as he clearly belonged at a superior educational institution. He’d been assured that scholarships would be offered to him, both need-based and merit-based. As his family had no traceable income whatsoever, he’d qualify for grants and loans as well, if he needed them.
Perusing the brochures, Sam weighed his options. Several of these schools were in cold, northern climates. The best ones, like Harvard and Yale and Princeton. He figured he’d apply at Princeton but God, he hated winter, hated snow, hated cold weather. He checked out Duke University, it was in the south and had a law school. Stanford had a law school as well, and it was in California. He daydreamed for just a minute about living that close to the ocean. Vanderbilt and Emory were good options as well.
As he read further, though, his heart sank. He couldn’t just send in his information and a well-written essay to any of these schools. There were application fees. Stanford and Princeton were almost $100 each, Duke was $75, Emory was $50. Plus, he had to pay for the college board a separate fee to send his SAT results to every school he applied to.
Sam was fucked. He might be able to scrounge up enough cash to apply to one school, but he had to apply to at least five or six. Competition was tough these days. His math 770 score didn’t take long to kick in before he figured out he’d need a shitload of cash just for this little piece of the puzzle. Not to mention the fact that he’d have to find a way to stash money for the next two years just to make his escape. It’s not like his father or brother were going to drive him to school and help him settle into his dorm room like all the other kids. He’d have to do this on his own.
He was decent at playing darts, but shit at playing pool, so he couldn’t hustle like Dean did. Plus, there was too much risk of the two of them running into each other. He wasn’t going to outright steal, like, rob banks or pick pockets or whatever. No fucking way. Turning over the obstacles in his mind, he tossed and turned that night, lying sleepless in bed for hours.
The idea came to him in the middle of the night, and by the time he’d left school the next day, he’d already made his decision. He’d seen the boys up and down the blocks between his school and their apartment on the nights when he’d been in the library late. They didn’t look much different than he did. It was terrifying, at first, but Sam hadn’t been easily frightened since elementary school. He wasn’t experienced, but he was young, and he knew he was good-looking, so it shouldn’t be all that difficult. God knew he had enough psychological trauma behind him that selling his body for money would pale in comparison. He knew about sex. Hell, he’d even had sex once, a quick and completely unsatisfying encounter with a girl from his history class a few months back. He was sure he could figure it out.
Research, though, that was what he did and he wasn’t going to deviate from his habit now. He spent an hour or so for the next few evenings while Dean was out studying what was soon to be his competition. Inside his head, Sam made a checklist of what he needed, what was expected, what was normal for this kind of encounter.
The first night was the most difficult. Staring at himself in the mirror, he was almost unrecognizable. He’d dug out a t-shirt that he hadn’t worn since before his most recent growth spurt and tugged it on. He eyed the strip of skin visible between the hem of the shirt and the top of his jeans with satisfaction. The thing that was hardest was seeing his eyes lined in black, a stick of kohl shoplifted from the CVS by his school. It was how he should look, though, for what he was going to do.
Before leaving the apartment, Sam took a few deep breaths, steeling himself for what lie ahead. Pushing his shoulders back in defiance of his own doubts, he made his way to the few blocks where the other boys seemed to work on a regular basis. Of course, they probably didn’t have a curfew. Sam knew he’d have to be back home before Dean made his way back from the bar or he’d have to answer questions.
He hadn’t even been lounging against the brick wall of the abandoned building behind him before a car pulled up at the curb. The passenger side window slid down, and Sam gathered every inch of his courage while he walked the few steps toward it.
All he could manage was a weak, “Hi”, considering that his mouth was dry and his head was spinning with panic.
“Just need half an hour, kid, all right?”, said the man driving the late-model Camry.
“Sure”, Sam replied, then added, with only the thought of the application fees in mind, “Seventy five.”
“Get in.”
And Sam did. He got into the car, just long enough for the man to find a secluded spot between buildings. His hands were sweating but he did his best to look casual while the man undid his pants and revealed his cock, half-hard and getting harder. “Suck me off, boy.”
“Money first”, Sam replied, knowing somehow that was the right thing to say.
The man pressed a wad of bills into Sam’s hand, and Sam stuffed it into his jeans pocket before leaning forward and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do to earn the money. He opened his mouth and took the man’s dick into his mouth, tonguing and licking at the head before getting up the courage to slide down farther. From the sounds he was hearing, he thought maybe he was doing all right for his first time. He bobbed up and down, taking the guy farther into his mouth after a minute or so.
“God damn, you’re good, kid. Fuck.”
Sam tuned out the words and just continued what he was doing until ten minutes later, when he valiantly attempted to swallow the stranger’s cum.
After a minute, the guy asked him if he needed a ride anywhere. Sam thanked him but said he was fine and got out of the car, walking back to where he’d been before.
Shit, that had been easy. Like, way easier than he thought it would be. He sucked two more cocks before he figured he needed to head back to the apartment.
Dean wasn’t home yet, thankfully. Sam brushed his teeth a hundred times and took a shower for good measure, but then just sat on his bed in awe. More than two hundred dollars, just for one night. It was astounding. He’d already had his applications for Duke and Emory filled out before he fell into a deep sleep.
Over the next few weeks, Sam got more comfortable with his nighttime temp job. Only a couple nights a week, as he wasn’t able to pull himself away from Dean’s watchful gaze unless Dean decided to leave him alone in the apartment. The first time he had to let some dude fuck him was not so easy, because it hurt like a motherfucker. He was glad, at that moment, that his dad had taught him to mask and ignore pain. But it got him twice as much money as blowjobs, so he wasn’t going to say no. He still went to school every day, acing his tests, pulling straight As in his classes. He was tired, yeah, but he ignored it. All of his applications were sent off and he was still making enough money to hide away for his far-off trip to whichever school accepted him.
From what he’d learned, test scores like his would result in offers of scholarships, offers to pay his tuition, his dorm fees, even.
On the rare occasions when John was there, Sam took a couple of nights off, not wanting to alert his father that there was anything suspicious going on. His college brochures were hidden under his mattress like porn mags. When John was gone, Sam kept up his nighttime employment whenever he could get away with it, shoving the money into a sock in the bottom of his duffel. He knew it was going to be a while before he heard back from any of the schools he’d applied to, since his applications had been for early admission.
He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do - earn enough money to apply to as many colleges as he wanted to. But that didn’t stop him from going out into the night seeking more encounters, more funds. There was no telling how much money he’d need. Even after the weather had turned cool, he kept it up. Maybe he didn’t have to, but he’d grown accustomed to it. Hell, no matter he was a teenager who looked even younger than he was, he could knock the shit out of anyone who tried anything funny, thanks to the sparring and running and training he had under his belt. He wasn’t afraid, and he wasn’t nervous about it anymore, either.
xxxxx
It couldn’t be what he thought. No way.
Dean had emerged from the bar, his pockets filled with tonight’s pool-hustling money, and almost completely sober. He’d barely made it three blocks down the street, in the direction of their temporary apartment, when he saw what must have been a hallucination.
Not uncommon in this neighborhood, there was a young kid, a teenage boy, leaned over the curb, having a conversation with a man in a car through an open window. But this wasn’t just any kid. Just from his body language, Dean knew what he didn’t want to know in less than a minute.
That was Sam.
Sam, in nothing but a tight t-shirt on a cold night, jeans slung low on his hips, a sly grin on his face. Before the conversation had a chance to conclude, Dean was right there, grabbing his baby brother by the back of his hair and saying something (he wasn’t sure what, but probably something scary) that had the guy in the car pulling away quickly.
“The fuck, Sam? What the goddamn fuck are you doing?”
Stupid question. He knew exactly what Sam was doing.
Squaring his shoulders and refusing to back down to his brother’s anger, Sam replied, “Just trying to help, Dean. You’re hustling pool, Dad’s scamming credit cards. That’s what you’re good at. This is what I’m good at. You know we need the money. So we’ve all got some illegal source of income. Don’t flip your lid, damn it.” And shit, that sounded like a stupid kid thing to say.
“Flip my lid? Seriously? Flip my lid? You’re fucking sixteen, Sam! Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”
“Yeah, Dean, I do. I’m ready for it. Just fucking back off, please, let me work and I’ll be fine for school in the morning, I promise.”
Dean was incredulous at this point. Sam was acting like what he was doing was the same thing as what Dean and his dad did for money. And it wasn’t. It most certainly was not.
He took a deep breath, and let go of Sam’s shirt. “How much?”
“How much what?”
“You know what I’m asking you, bitch. How much? In a night?”
Sam finally seemed to deflate a bit, flushing just a little. “Four hundred, maybe five, depending on how many... I’m safe, Dean! I use condoms and there’s no stupid trick who could hurt me with my training”, he sneered, getting across his little dig at being forced into ‘the life’.
Dean ignored it, and dug a wad of cash from his pocket. He tore off six hundred-dollar bills from the stack and threw them at Sam’s chest. Before he could compose himself, Sam was on the ground, picking up the cash.
Glancing up at his brother’s face as he knelt on the sidewalk collecting the money, finally, Sam recognized how angry Dean was about this. “This is not the same. Not like hustling pool, not like filling out fake credit card applications. Justify it all you want. But it’s done now. I just outbid every trick who comes by here tonight. So you come home now, with me.”
“I’m not taking your money, Dean.”
“No. No, you’re not. You’re earning it. Move. Now.”
Sam knew, at that point, there was no point in arguing further. He followed Dean back to their place, up the steps, and into the bedroom they shared.
“Get your clothes off, whore. Let’s see what I just bought.”
“Dean, you can’t be-”
“Shut your whore mouth, Sam. I just fucking paid you, do what I say.”
And that was it. Sam was used to it by now; he stripped and stood by the bed. For some reason, waiting for instructions from his brother was less threatening than waiting for instructions from a stranger.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“You tell me, Sam. I don’t know what whores do for their money.”
“Uh, well, for that much, pretty much anything. I could suck you, then you could fuck me The whole night, really, whatever you want..”
“Fuck you? Tell me this, Sam, before you started doing this, how many girls had you fucked?”
No sense in lying. “One.”
“And how many guys did you let fuck you? For free? How many blow jobs did you give before you decided to become a hooker? How many?”
“None. No one. Not ever.”
“And since then?”
Sam was crumbling under the weight of the interrogation. “I don’t know. Twenty, maybe. It’s only been a couple months.”
Dean’s breath caught then, and he almost lost his composure. Sammy’d been doing this for months and he didn’t know. Big brother protecting little brother, failed project right there. He couldn’t concentrate on that now, though.
“Fine”, Dean replied, taking his cock out of his pants. “On your knees, whore. I just bought you for the whole night. Suck me.”
In one fluid and clearly practiced movement, Sam fell to his knees, taking Dean’s dick into his mouth, sucking like a - fuck, no. He’d have to come up with a different comparison from now on, he knew it. Dean held Sam’s head completely still and fucked into his mouth until he heard him gag and choke.
At that point, he pushed Sam off and started taking off his clothes. “Get on the bed. On your back, I want to see you.”
Sam hurried to follow Dean’s instruction, but he was still confused. Was Dean angry and taking it out on him like this? Was he trying to humiliate Sam? Or did he…oh my God, did he want this? With him?
“How much prep do you need, Sam? Already been fucked tonight?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I have. I’m all right.”
After pulling on a condom, Dean didn’t hesitate before pushing into his brother, fast and rough, coaxing a rough moan from Sam. Maybe it still hurt, maybe not. He couldn’t bring himself to care, he was still so taken over with anger. Thrusting hard, it wasn’t more than a few minutes before he spilled inside the latex.
For a few minutes, they were both quiet.
“If I need to keep paying for it, that’s fine. But you’re not doing that again. You understand me?”
Chastened, Sam just responded, “Okay, Dean. Okay.”
“You’re gonna be a slut, that’s fine, you’ll be my slut. Got it?” he asked, and without asking for an answer, he continued. “Go to sleep, Sammy. Don’t forget about that exam you have in the morning.” Pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek, their first kiss, he kept speaking. “Mine now. Mine, Sam. No one else.”
“Yours, Dean. Of course, yours, always yours.”
The next morning was a Saturday, so they got to sleep in, waking in each other’s arms.
Dean was the first to speak, surprisingly enough. “I meant what I said, Sam. No more. Not ever again, swear to me.”
“Of course, yes, Dean, I swear, I’m sorry, never again. You have to understand, though-”
“What can I possibly understand about this, Sam? You’re whoring yourself out to strangers - Jesus, if you needed money for something, you could have just told me!”
“No, Dean. Not this. I couldn’t have - I don’t want to - I can’t tell you.”
Dean looked at his brother suspiciously. He didn’t want to admit to yet another failure, missing something else, but he forced himself to ask the question. “Is it drugs, Sammy? Are you-”
“Jesus, no, not drugs. I think you might actually be more pissed off about the real reason.”
“No assumptions, kid. Tell me.”
It all came out in a tumble of words that Sam couldn’t manage to hold back. “I took the SAT. My scores were really high so I wanted to apply to colleges, but they all had application fees, everything costs something. I needed to make the money, so I could apply to the schools, but I knew you wouldn’t want me to, Dad wouldn’t want me to, so I couldn’t…I couldn’t ask you, I had to do it on my own.”
Dean was reeling, processing all of the information but first and foremost the idea that Sam would leave, that he would take off and settle in at some university and leave their life behind. Leave him behind.
“You want to go away. Leave us. Leave me.”
“Don’t sound like it’s so fucking personal, Dean! I don’t want to leave you, I love you, I really hope that when the time comes, maybe you’ll come with me. But you know this life isn’t for me. It’s not what I want. I want to go to school, I want to get a college degree, a normal life, no monsters, no running, no fake names. Please, tell me you understand”, he finished, unable to find more words, only able to look at his brother pleadingly, begging with his eyes for acceptance.
Pushing down his heartbreak, Dean replied, “Sam, whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll help you get it. I can’t make any promises to you about leaving the life we have now, but I’ll do what I can to make sure you get what you want. It’s my job, you know, taking care of you. Whatever it takes, I promise.”
Summoning up all his courage, Sam asked the question that had been on his mind. “Last night…were you trying to punish me? Or is this…do you want this? You and me? If I do go, it won’t be for a long while. And I need to know.”
“Yeah, Sam. I’m sorry if it’s wrong or twisted or whatever, but yeah, I do. I want you, like this. And if that’s gonna happen, you going away to school somewhere…I’d like to make the best of the time we still have.”
Sam had never been so torn between happiness and heartbreak in his life. “Good. I mean, that’s what I want, too...just to be yours.”
Their mouths met in a messy kiss as they both accepted that this wouldn’t be perfect, and it most likely wouldn’t be forever. But it was now, and it was good enough.