Big Bang 2012: The Iron Tongue of Midnight
Part Six
April 17th 2002
Sam had grown up surrounded by hookers, drug dealers and petty criminals. He’d been spotting for Jenny by the age of twelve, watching her back while she worked the streets, and he’d been exposed to casual, indiscriminate sex for as long as he could remember. By the time Jenny died there weren’t many sex acts that Sam hadn’t seen and he’d even been laid himself-it hadn’t been an earth-shattering experience; just a meaningless fuck with a girl as anxious to get rid of her virginity as he had been. If Sam had known then what he knew now he wouldn’t have been so quick to lose it; you only got a first time once and an older, wiser Sam regretted that his first time hadn’t been something special. While Sam’s first time ever had been unremarkable, his first time with a guy had been the stuff of nightmares and even now, Sam shuddered when he thought about it.
Aazim Qasim had run a lot of the street trade in Sam’s neighborhood, including The Egg Donor. Jenny though, had been independent, and Sam often wondered if she’d still be dead if she’d swallowed her pride and kicked up to one of the pimps. After Jenny had died and The Egg Donor had fucked off, Aazim Qasim had come to see Sam.
“You know I’m paying off a city inspector so that demolition of these condemned apartments gets delayed, don’t you?”
Sam nodded.
“All the tenants have to contribute to the fund. It’s fifty bucks a week.”
Sam stared at him. “My sister just died. My mom just fucked off outta town. I don’t have shit, Az.”
Aazim licked his lips. “Your mom and me had an arrangement,” he said. “If she couldn’t pay, I’d just take it out in trade.”
“Like I said,” Sam replied tiredly, “My mom ain’t here anymore.”
“No,” Aazim’s voice was oily, “but you are.”
Even at fourteen, Sam hadn’t had much innocence left and he’d known immediately that Aazim wanted to fuck him. His mom had been on the game his whole life, so the idea of sex as trade wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to Sam-and Jenny had done it too. Surely, if his big sister could do it to provide for the two of them, then he could do it to provide for himself?
Sam really thought he’d been prepared. He hadn’t been. The reality of giving his body in exchange for a roof over his head had been more frightening and humiliating than Sam had expected. Even worse, once he’d given Aazim his consent, he hadn’t been able to withdraw it; the pimp just wouldn’t listen. Sam could still feel Aazim’s blunt fingers poking roughly at his hole.
No. Stop. I’m not ready for that.
Too bad.
No! Please, Az. I’ll go…I’ll find somewhere else, I’ll...
Shut up, Sammy. You’re mine now, boy, and I’ll do what I want with you.
It could’ve been worse. At least Aazim had used lube and a condom and he’d stretched him first. But Sam had panicked; he’d changed his mind and he’d said no and it hadn’t made a difference. He understood now that he’d been raped, but at the time, Aazim had acted as if Sam were the bad guy, offering to pay his portion of the bribe money and then trying to withdraw his payment at the last minute. Sam had believed him too; had just accepted Aazim’s assertion that once he’d agreed to sex he had no right to change his mind. When Aazim had started pimping him out, Sam had just accepted that as well. Given his vulnerable position as an abandoned fourteen-year-old, it was inevitable that someone would take advantage of him; and if the pimp considered it his right to bend Sammy over and fuck him whenever and wherever he wanted to, well, that was just another thing that was inevitable.
Sam had cried for hours after Aazim had finished with him that first time and one thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t want Dean to feel like that; ever. If Dean wanted to stop, then Sam would stop. Every time. He wasn’t going to lie; Sam had enjoyed manhandling Dean, had got off on the thrill of Dean handing him control and giving Sam the opportunity to dominate him. But he would never abuse that privilege; never take something from Dean that wasn’t freely given. Sam could only hope that Dean’s experiences with him would be enough to help him through his ordeal with the Faerie king. Dean’s consent to the ritual was already dubious; the last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to panic and end up being aggressively raped.
Sam squeezed his hands together behind the back of his chair, leaned backwards and cracked his spine. God that felt good. Sam slumped forwards over his Psychology notes and massaged at his temples. He’d slept badly, troubled by dreams of the past and unsettled by nightmares filled with blood, fire and screaming. It had been a long day too. What sadistic prick had thought that 8.00am would be a good time to start a three hour long Civil Procedures lecture? Sam got his phone out and checked the time. It was a little early to head over to meet Jess and the others for dinner, but what the hell. He was done. Sam packed up his books, changed and wandered slowly over to the dining hall. He loaded his plate up with ribs, potato bake, and roasted vegetables and poured himself a glass of juice. He took a seat at the table where he normally sat with his friends from Psychology class and started to eat. He had a lot of eating to catch up on and Sam figured he could easily go for seconds once all the others turned up. A hand fell heavily on his shoulder and Sam looked up to find Brady standing over him.
“Hey, dude,” he said, raising a hand to shake Brady’s. “How you doin’?”
“I’m awesome, Sammy. You?”
Sam stiffened. “It’s Sam.”
Brady sat down next to him and helped himself to Sam’s glass of juice.
“Sure,” he said, “whatever. So. How are things going with Jess?”
Sam didn’t know what it was about Brady, but lately, the guy really creeped him out. So he laughed shortly and gave Brady a puzzled look.
“Why are you so interested in my sex life?” he asked.
Brady pounced. “So you admit that you and Jess have one?”
“Hey,” Sam held his hands up, palms out, “I don’t admit anything. I don’t kiss and tell.”
Brady looked at him thoughtfully. “No,” he mused, leaning in uncomfortably close. “You don’t do you.”
Before Sam could spend too much time sweating over what Brady could’ve meant by that, Jess, Becky and several of the others turned up. Jess sat down on Sam’s other side with a huge, happy smile on her face.
“Hi Sam,” she said, and leaned in for a kiss. Which okay, he should totally have expected because they’d spent most of Friday evening making out and Jess had been telegraphing her interest loud and clear, but his weekend with Dean had just, sort of swept those memories into a deep, dark corner of his mind. He kissed her; of course he did. Sam was too damned professional to do anything less, but that wasn’t how he wanted to kiss Jess; he wanted their kisses to be from the heart. More importantly, he didn’t want Dean’s kisses to still be so fresh in his mind when he kissed Jess, because he couldn’t help comparing, and he didn’t want to admit that he liked Dean’s kisses better. Sam pulled away, blushing slightly, and the group all awwwed and ooohhhed. Somehow or other they’d all come to the conclusion that Sam was a shy virgin, which he should’ve found hysterically funny, but instead it just made him sad. The predatory look on Brady’s face, though, that made Sam scared, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that Brady knew about his extracurricular activities.
After they’d eaten, Sam and Jess went for a long walk through the campus grounds. They held hands and Jess talked about her family and her dreams for the future and Sam listened and found himself a little bit in love with Jess and a lot confused. He adored Jess, he was attracted to her and he thought she was a wonderful, perfect human being. But she didn’t excite him the way Dean did. Sam knew that he could be very happy with Jess, but with Dean, he just felt complete. And didn’t that just suck? Because Dean was a client and he was leaving and Sam should really nip these feelings that were developing in the bud before they fucked him up completely.
“Sam?”
Sam turned his attention back to Jess.
“I really like you,” she said shyly.
“I really like you too,” he said. “You’re a good friend.”
Jess sucked in air. “I would kind of like to be…more than a friend,” she admitted softly.
If Sam hadn’t spent the last week hustling and opening up all his old wounds, if he hadn’t met Dean, he would’ve been ecstatic. As it was, he didn’t know what to say and his silence must’ve stretched on too long because suddenly, Jess was babbling again.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same way,” she rushed, “because I still like you and I still want us to be friends.”
“Jess,” Sam turned to face her and held up a hand to stem the flow of her words, “It’s not that I don’t…I’m just surprised is all. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I want to know,” Jess said, “I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
Sam stared into her earnest, hopeful eyes and tried to think how to buy himself some time without completely alienating her-and maybe that made him an asshole, but he did really like Jess; he just couldn’t commit to her while he was still fooling around with Dean.
“I’m bi,” he said abruptly.
“Oh,” said Jess. “Okay. As in…Do you just suspect that you are, or have you actually been with another guy?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ve actually been with…another guy,” somehow, Sam managed to keep a straight face.
Jess chewed on her bottom lip.
“All the way or just…?”
“All the way,” Sam confirmed.
Jess grinned. “Wow. That’s…hot.” She frowned. “Have you ever been with a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“All the-”
“Yes, Jess. All the way. I’m not a virgin in any way shape or form. It’s just…things are complicated right now.”
Jess frowned again. “Why?”
“Because…” Damn, he was going to have to lie to her again, “Remember I told you that a guy from my old neighborhood was visiting?” Jess nodded. “Well…we were…together and then I left to come to Stanford.”
“Ah,” Jess’s face morphed into pained understanding, “and it’s maybe not as over as you thought?”
“I don’t know. I think it is over. It’s just. He didn’t want me to come here. And there was a fight and I left and…things were said. Him turning up out of the blue like this, it’s kind of thrown me for a loop. I think…I think I owe him some closure. And then I think we’ll be done.”
Jess frowned. “So…what? Where does that leave us?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If we were having this conversation a week ago…” he exhaled in frustration, “but I have to deal with this…I can’t…you deserve a guy who can give you 100% and I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Jess folded her arms across her chest. “Thank you for being honest with me. I’m gonna give you some space.” She backed away. “But I’d still like us to be friends. Okay?”
Sam nodded. He watched her walk away and breathed a sigh of relief.
The sound of slow hand-clapping had Sam whirling fast. Brady was emerging from the shadows, his eyes glinting darkly in the dim street light.
“Bravo, Sammy, Bravo,” he said, “Brilliant cover story for your recent whoring activities.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said flatly.
“Sure you do,” Brady’s smile was both arrogant and cruel, “I know all about you Sammy. We’ve got friends in common. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten your buddy Aazim Qasim?”
Fuck. Sam narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked resignedly.
“Oh relax, I don’t swing that way. All I want,” Brady put a hand on his heart, “is for you to be blissfully happy.”
He grinned again, all perfect white teeth and insincerity, and ambled away.
Sam slept badly again that night, his dreams plagued by visions of a bleeding Jess pinned to the ceiling of his dorm room, begging for his help as the room burst into flames. For some reason, Sam woke up screaming Dean’s name.
-X-
Dean had a morning routine: shit, shower and shave; dress; and then head out to find the nearest cheap diner for his caffeine fix and breakfast. Technically, it was his dad’s routine, but it made sense to Dean and he followed it even when he was hunting alone.
Daisy’s-The all-night diner that Sam had taken him to on Saturday night-was only a five minute walk from Dean’s somewhat-less-than-salubrious motel and it had proved to do very reasonably priced bacon and egg muffins. Dean had been impressed by the pie he’d had there Saturday night, so he’d gone back for breakfast Sunday morning-and had been back every morning since.
This morning, Daisy herself came across with her pad and her coffee pot to take his order.
“The usual, Hun?”
Dean gave her his sunniest smile. He was always nice to the people who made his food and Daisy and her staff were easy to like. They were Dean’s kind of people-straight-forward, unpretentious and a little flirty, without being aggressive about it.
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
Daisy returned his smile and filled his cup to the brim with hot, black coffee.
“So you workin’ the day shift this week?” she asked.
Okay, what? Dean nodded vaguely because he wasn’t really sure how to answer the question. He was on a job at the moment…it just had a lot of down time while he, uh, trained to complete it.
“Where do you work, Sugar?”
“Uh. Here and there. You know, wherever the job takes me.”
Daisy nodded. “By appointment. That’s a lot better than working the streets. Do you work for Heidi? You’re good looking enough for her agency.”
Dean felt his cheeks heat up. Ah hell, no. Daisy thought he was a….what? An escort? It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out that he wasn’t a hooker, but he had a sneaking suspicion that all of Daisy’s staff had been at some stage and that most of her customers still were. He didn’t want to sound like he was insulting them.
Daisy patted his cheek. “No need to be embarrassed, Sugar, we’ve all been there.”
Dean grimaced. Yeah right. Embarrassed didn’t even begin to cover it. This was right up there with the time his dad caught him in the back seat of the Impala with Michelle Lydecker, right after Junior Prom.
“Could you do me a favor, Hun?”
“What’s that?” Dean asked carefully.
“Your friend Sammy? Get him a job where you work. He’s too nice and too smart to be workin’ the streets.”
At least Dean had a good answer for her this time.
“He’s out,” he told her. “Went back to school.”
Daisy positively beamed at him.
“That’s wonderful,” she fixed him with a stern expression. “Maybe you should do the same, young man?”
Okay, could this conversation get any more mortifying? He wasn’t a hooker for Christ’s sake! He didn’t need some diner waitress to rescue him from a life of prostitution. He was a hunter! And a damn good one! And anyway, he hadn’t liked school when he’d had to go; had skipped out before graduation in fact, and he sure as hell wasn’t volunteering to go and get his GED or some shit, no matter how many times his dad told him he should, so Daisy should just back off.
Dean glanced up and noted Daisy’s raised eyebrow and knowing expression.
“Think about it,” she said, “You won’t be young and pretty forever, you know.”
That made Dean laugh out loud.
“You know, I’ve never really expected to get old,” he admitted.
Daisy patted his hand. “Happens sooner than you think,” she waved her order pad at him, “I’ll go and put this in. You think about what I said, okay?”
“Okay.”
Later, as Dean stared down at the row of black butt plugs laid out on the bed, he replayed the conversation in his head and laughed softly. Who was he kidding? He’d been the con-artist type of hustler since the age of eight and he was wanted (under various aliases) for larceny, vandalism, arson and credit card fraud in more states than he cared to mention. Normal people didn’t have aliases. Normal people weren’t wanted criminals. Normal people didn’t have jobs that required butt plugs; the only people who did were hookers and porn stars: And hunters, apparently.
Fuck.
He should probably go and triple check that the curtains were properly shut. And make absolutely sure that the Do Not Disturb sign was hung out. And that the door was locked. And that the security chain was in place. And that the curtains were shut properly. And…
Dean picked up the four smallest butt plugs and the lube and went into the bathroom for added privacy. Plug number one was about the size of his middle finger and, lubed up, it actually slid in pretty easily. It felt weird and intrusive but it didn’t hurt or anything. He wiggled it around experimentally and okay, that wasn’t particularly exciting but he couldn’t really say it was painful in any-holy fuck! Oh yeah. Right there. That was the spot. And, hello…Dean Junior was starting to take an interest in proceedings. Dean dumped Plug number one into the sink and lubed up Plug number two. It too slid in easily and he found The Spot again quickly. Damn that felt good. Number three went in without too much trouble. Number four he had to work at. Again, he couldn’t really say that it hurt, but it took him a little effort to get his sphincter muscle to relax enough to accept the intrusion. Once he’d worked it all the way in, his cock was rock hard and leaking so Dean gave in to the inevitable and began to slowly jerk himself off. Without really meaning to, he somehow started fantasizing about Sam, imagining one of his big hands gripping Dean’s cock and stroking firmly, the other holding his hip tightly as he slowly pushed into him from behind. Dean bit his bottom lip and thrust harder into his hand, simultaneously pulling at the plug and then plunging it deeper into his ass. He groaned with pleasure as the increased movement increased the plug’s pressure on his prostate. Oh fuck, that felt good. Maybe gay guys weren’t as insane as he’d always assumed. Dean was pretty sure that he was never going to give up tits and pussy completely, but maybe it was time to seriously consider expanding his repertoire because this…this was-Dean gasped and came all over his hand, Sam’s name on his lips.
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April 17th 2002
Sam had grown up surrounded by hookers, drug dealers and petty criminals. He’d been spotting for Jenny by the age of twelve, watching her back while she worked the streets, and he’d been exposed to casual, indiscriminate sex for as long as he could remember. By the time Jenny died there weren’t many sex acts that Sam hadn’t seen and he’d even been laid himself-it hadn’t been an earth-shattering experience; just a meaningless fuck with a girl as anxious to get rid of her virginity as he had been. If Sam had known then what he knew now he wouldn’t have been so quick to lose it; you only got a first time once and an older, wiser Sam regretted that his first time hadn’t been something special. While Sam’s first time ever had been unremarkable, his first time with a guy had been the stuff of nightmares and even now, Sam shuddered when he thought about it.
Aazim Qasim had run a lot of the street trade in Sam’s neighborhood, including The Egg Donor. Jenny though, had been independent, and Sam often wondered if she’d still be dead if she’d swallowed her pride and kicked up to one of the pimps. After Jenny had died and The Egg Donor had fucked off, Aazim Qasim had come to see Sam.
“You know I’m paying off a city inspector so that demolition of these condemned apartments gets delayed, don’t you?”
Sam nodded.
“All the tenants have to contribute to the fund. It’s fifty bucks a week.”
Sam stared at him. “My sister just died. My mom just fucked off outta town. I don’t have shit, Az.”
Aazim licked his lips. “Your mom and me had an arrangement,” he said. “If she couldn’t pay, I’d just take it out in trade.”
“Like I said,” Sam replied tiredly, “My mom ain’t here anymore.”
“No,” Aazim’s voice was oily, “but you are.”
Even at fourteen, Sam hadn’t had much innocence left and he’d known immediately that Aazim wanted to fuck him. His mom had been on the game his whole life, so the idea of sex as trade wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to Sam-and Jenny had done it too. Surely, if his big sister could do it to provide for the two of them, then he could do it to provide for himself?
Sam really thought he’d been prepared. He hadn’t been. The reality of giving his body in exchange for a roof over his head had been more frightening and humiliating than Sam had expected. Even worse, once he’d given Aazim his consent, he hadn’t been able to withdraw it; the pimp just wouldn’t listen. Sam could still feel Aazim’s blunt fingers poking roughly at his hole.
No. Stop. I’m not ready for that.
Too bad.
No! Please, Az. I’ll go…I’ll find somewhere else, I’ll...
Shut up, Sammy. You’re mine now, boy, and I’ll do what I want with you.
It could’ve been worse. At least Aazim had used lube and a condom and he’d stretched him first. But Sam had panicked; he’d changed his mind and he’d said no and it hadn’t made a difference. He understood now that he’d been raped, but at the time, Aazim had acted as if Sam were the bad guy, offering to pay his portion of the bribe money and then trying to withdraw his payment at the last minute. Sam had believed him too; had just accepted Aazim’s assertion that once he’d agreed to sex he had no right to change his mind. When Aazim had started pimping him out, Sam had just accepted that as well. Given his vulnerable position as an abandoned fourteen-year-old, it was inevitable that someone would take advantage of him; and if the pimp considered it his right to bend Sammy over and fuck him whenever and wherever he wanted to, well, that was just another thing that was inevitable.
Sam had cried for hours after Aazim had finished with him that first time and one thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t want Dean to feel like that; ever. If Dean wanted to stop, then Sam would stop. Every time. He wasn’t going to lie; Sam had enjoyed manhandling Dean, had got off on the thrill of Dean handing him control and giving Sam the opportunity to dominate him. But he would never abuse that privilege; never take something from Dean that wasn’t freely given. Sam could only hope that Dean’s experiences with him would be enough to help him through his ordeal with the Faerie king. Dean’s consent to the ritual was already dubious; the last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to panic and end up being aggressively raped.
Sam squeezed his hands together behind the back of his chair, leaned backwards and cracked his spine. God that felt good. Sam slumped forwards over his Psychology notes and massaged at his temples. He’d slept badly, troubled by dreams of the past and unsettled by nightmares filled with blood, fire and screaming. It had been a long day too. What sadistic prick had thought that 8.00am would be a good time to start a three hour long Civil Procedures lecture? Sam got his phone out and checked the time. It was a little early to head over to meet Jess and the others for dinner, but what the hell. He was done. Sam packed up his books, changed and wandered slowly over to the dining hall. He loaded his plate up with ribs, potato bake, and roasted vegetables and poured himself a glass of juice. He took a seat at the table where he normally sat with his friends from Psychology class and started to eat. He had a lot of eating to catch up on and Sam figured he could easily go for seconds once all the others turned up. A hand fell heavily on his shoulder and Sam looked up to find Brady standing over him.
“Hey, dude,” he said, raising a hand to shake Brady’s. “How you doin’?”
“I’m awesome, Sammy. You?”
Sam stiffened. “It’s Sam.”
Brady sat down next to him and helped himself to Sam’s glass of juice.
“Sure,” he said, “whatever. So. How are things going with Jess?”
Sam didn’t know what it was about Brady, but lately, the guy really creeped him out. So he laughed shortly and gave Brady a puzzled look.
“Why are you so interested in my sex life?” he asked.
Brady pounced. “So you admit that you and Jess have one?”
“Hey,” Sam held his hands up, palms out, “I don’t admit anything. I don’t kiss and tell.”
Brady looked at him thoughtfully. “No,” he mused, leaning in uncomfortably close. “You don’t do you.”
Before Sam could spend too much time sweating over what Brady could’ve meant by that, Jess, Becky and several of the others turned up. Jess sat down on Sam’s other side with a huge, happy smile on her face.
“Hi Sam,” she said, and leaned in for a kiss. Which okay, he should totally have expected because they’d spent most of Friday evening making out and Jess had been telegraphing her interest loud and clear, but his weekend with Dean had just, sort of swept those memories into a deep, dark corner of his mind. He kissed her; of course he did. Sam was too damned professional to do anything less, but that wasn’t how he wanted to kiss Jess; he wanted their kisses to be from the heart. More importantly, he didn’t want Dean’s kisses to still be so fresh in his mind when he kissed Jess, because he couldn’t help comparing, and he didn’t want to admit that he liked Dean’s kisses better. Sam pulled away, blushing slightly, and the group all awwwed and ooohhhed. Somehow or other they’d all come to the conclusion that Sam was a shy virgin, which he should’ve found hysterically funny, but instead it just made him sad. The predatory look on Brady’s face, though, that made Sam scared, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that Brady knew about his extracurricular activities.
After they’d eaten, Sam and Jess went for a long walk through the campus grounds. They held hands and Jess talked about her family and her dreams for the future and Sam listened and found himself a little bit in love with Jess and a lot confused. He adored Jess, he was attracted to her and he thought she was a wonderful, perfect human being. But she didn’t excite him the way Dean did. Sam knew that he could be very happy with Jess, but with Dean, he just felt complete. And didn’t that just suck? Because Dean was a client and he was leaving and Sam should really nip these feelings that were developing in the bud before they fucked him up completely.
“Sam?”
Sam turned his attention back to Jess.
“I really like you,” she said shyly.
“I really like you too,” he said. “You’re a good friend.”
Jess sucked in air. “I would kind of like to be…more than a friend,” she admitted softly.
If Sam hadn’t spent the last week hustling and opening up all his old wounds, if he hadn’t met Dean, he would’ve been ecstatic. As it was, he didn’t know what to say and his silence must’ve stretched on too long because suddenly, Jess was babbling again.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same way,” she rushed, “because I still like you and I still want us to be friends.”
“Jess,” Sam turned to face her and held up a hand to stem the flow of her words, “It’s not that I don’t…I’m just surprised is all. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I want to know,” Jess said, “I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
Sam stared into her earnest, hopeful eyes and tried to think how to buy himself some time without completely alienating her-and maybe that made him an asshole, but he did really like Jess; he just couldn’t commit to her while he was still fooling around with Dean.
“I’m bi,” he said abruptly.
“Oh,” said Jess. “Okay. As in…Do you just suspect that you are, or have you actually been with another guy?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ve actually been with…another guy,” somehow, Sam managed to keep a straight face.
Jess chewed on her bottom lip.
“All the way or just…?”
“All the way,” Sam confirmed.
Jess grinned. “Wow. That’s…hot.” She frowned. “Have you ever been with a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“All the-”
“Yes, Jess. All the way. I’m not a virgin in any way shape or form. It’s just…things are complicated right now.”
Jess frowned again. “Why?”
“Because…” Damn, he was going to have to lie to her again, “Remember I told you that a guy from my old neighborhood was visiting?” Jess nodded. “Well…we were…together and then I left to come to Stanford.”
“Ah,” Jess’s face morphed into pained understanding, “and it’s maybe not as over as you thought?”
“I don’t know. I think it is over. It’s just. He didn’t want me to come here. And there was a fight and I left and…things were said. Him turning up out of the blue like this, it’s kind of thrown me for a loop. I think…I think I owe him some closure. And then I think we’ll be done.”
Jess frowned. “So…what? Where does that leave us?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If we were having this conversation a week ago…” he exhaled in frustration, “but I have to deal with this…I can’t…you deserve a guy who can give you 100% and I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Jess folded her arms across her chest. “Thank you for being honest with me. I’m gonna give you some space.” She backed away. “But I’d still like us to be friends. Okay?”
Sam nodded. He watched her walk away and breathed a sigh of relief.
The sound of slow hand-clapping had Sam whirling fast. Brady was emerging from the shadows, his eyes glinting darkly in the dim street light.
“Bravo, Sammy, Bravo,” he said, “Brilliant cover story for your recent whoring activities.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said flatly.
“Sure you do,” Brady’s smile was both arrogant and cruel, “I know all about you Sammy. We’ve got friends in common. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten your buddy Aazim Qasim?”
Fuck. Sam narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked resignedly.
“Oh relax, I don’t swing that way. All I want,” Brady put a hand on his heart, “is for you to be blissfully happy.”
He grinned again, all perfect white teeth and insincerity, and ambled away.
Sam slept badly again that night, his dreams plagued by visions of a bleeding Jess pinned to the ceiling of his dorm room, begging for his help as the room burst into flames. For some reason, Sam woke up screaming Dean’s name.
-X-
Dean had a morning routine: shit, shower and shave; dress; and then head out to find the nearest cheap diner for his caffeine fix and breakfast. Technically, it was his dad’s routine, but it made sense to Dean and he followed it even when he was hunting alone.
Daisy’s-The all-night diner that Sam had taken him to on Saturday night-was only a five minute walk from Dean’s somewhat-less-than-salubrious motel and it had proved to do very reasonably priced bacon and egg muffins. Dean had been impressed by the pie he’d had there Saturday night, so he’d gone back for breakfast Sunday morning-and had been back every morning since.
This morning, Daisy herself came across with her pad and her coffee pot to take his order.
“The usual, Hun?”
Dean gave her his sunniest smile. He was always nice to the people who made his food and Daisy and her staff were easy to like. They were Dean’s kind of people-straight-forward, unpretentious and a little flirty, without being aggressive about it.
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
Daisy returned his smile and filled his cup to the brim with hot, black coffee.
“So you workin’ the day shift this week?” she asked.
Okay, what? Dean nodded vaguely because he wasn’t really sure how to answer the question. He was on a job at the moment…it just had a lot of down time while he, uh, trained to complete it.
“Where do you work, Sugar?”
“Uh. Here and there. You know, wherever the job takes me.”
Daisy nodded. “By appointment. That’s a lot better than working the streets. Do you work for Heidi? You’re good looking enough for her agency.”
Dean felt his cheeks heat up. Ah hell, no. Daisy thought he was a….what? An escort? It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out that he wasn’t a hooker, but he had a sneaking suspicion that all of Daisy’s staff had been at some stage and that most of her customers still were. He didn’t want to sound like he was insulting them.
Daisy patted his cheek. “No need to be embarrassed, Sugar, we’ve all been there.”
Dean grimaced. Yeah right. Embarrassed didn’t even begin to cover it. This was right up there with the time his dad caught him in the back seat of the Impala with Michelle Lydecker, right after Junior Prom.
“Could you do me a favor, Hun?”
“What’s that?” Dean asked carefully.
“Your friend Sammy? Get him a job where you work. He’s too nice and too smart to be workin’ the streets.”
At least Dean had a good answer for her this time.
“He’s out,” he told her. “Went back to school.”
Daisy positively beamed at him.
“That’s wonderful,” she fixed him with a stern expression. “Maybe you should do the same, young man?”
Okay, could this conversation get any more mortifying? He wasn’t a hooker for Christ’s sake! He didn’t need some diner waitress to rescue him from a life of prostitution. He was a hunter! And a damn good one! And anyway, he hadn’t liked school when he’d had to go; had skipped out before graduation in fact, and he sure as hell wasn’t volunteering to go and get his GED or some shit, no matter how many times his dad told him he should, so Daisy should just back off.
Dean glanced up and noted Daisy’s raised eyebrow and knowing expression.
“Think about it,” she said, “You won’t be young and pretty forever, you know.”
That made Dean laugh out loud.
“You know, I’ve never really expected to get old,” he admitted.
Daisy patted his hand. “Happens sooner than you think,” she waved her order pad at him, “I’ll go and put this in. You think about what I said, okay?”
“Okay.”
Later, as Dean stared down at the row of black butt plugs laid out on the bed, he replayed the conversation in his head and laughed softly. Who was he kidding? He’d been the con-artist type of hustler since the age of eight and he was wanted (under various aliases) for larceny, vandalism, arson and credit card fraud in more states than he cared to mention. Normal people didn’t have aliases. Normal people weren’t wanted criminals. Normal people didn’t have jobs that required butt plugs; the only people who did were hookers and porn stars: And hunters, apparently.
Fuck.
He should probably go and triple check that the curtains were properly shut. And make absolutely sure that the Do Not Disturb sign was hung out. And that the door was locked. And that the security chain was in place. And that the curtains were shut properly. And…
Dean picked up the four smallest butt plugs and the lube and went into the bathroom for added privacy. Plug number one was about the size of his middle finger and, lubed up, it actually slid in pretty easily. It felt weird and intrusive but it didn’t hurt or anything. He wiggled it around experimentally and okay, that wasn’t particularly exciting but he couldn’t really say it was painful in any-holy fuck! Oh yeah. Right there. That was the spot. And, hello…Dean Junior was starting to take an interest in proceedings. Dean dumped Plug number one into the sink and lubed up Plug number two. It too slid in easily and he found The Spot again quickly. Damn that felt good. Number three went in without too much trouble. Number four he had to work at. Again, he couldn’t really say that it hurt, but it took him a little effort to get his sphincter muscle to relax enough to accept the intrusion. Once he’d worked it all the way in, his cock was rock hard and leaking so Dean gave in to the inevitable and began to slowly jerk himself off. Without really meaning to, he somehow started fantasizing about Sam, imagining one of his big hands gripping Dean’s cock and stroking firmly, the other holding his hip tightly as he slowly pushed into him from behind. Dean bit his bottom lip and thrust harder into his hand, simultaneously pulling at the plug and then plunging it deeper into his ass. He groaned with pleasure as the increased movement increased the plug’s pressure on his prostate. Oh fuck, that felt good. Maybe gay guys weren’t as insane as he’d always assumed. Dean was pretty sure that he was never going to give up tits and pussy completely, but maybe it was time to seriously consider expanding his repertoire because this…this was-Dean gasped and came all over his hand, Sam’s name on his lips.
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