Midnight Hunter
Originally posted here.
Title: Midnight Hunter
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Dean/OMCs
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Three times Dean got played and one time he didn't.
Warnings: This is a hooker!fic, so things aren't pretty. Until they are (seriously, this turned out to be the schmoopiest thing I've ever written.) There's a bit where Dean's around 16 and other where he's around 19.
A/N: Based on janie_tangerine's 5 Acts Meme. Since I'm not taking part on it, it gets posted somewhere else. Hope you like it!
Beta-ed by pyjamagurl
It was months before Truman High, before Sammy punched Dick McGregor, before he found out he could do that. The school, somewhere in the Midwest, was one of the smallest they'd ever went to, with half of the older students being football players.
The captain was a beast, hands like shovels gripping Dean's hair and holding his head in place. Dean could only breathe through his nose and relax his throat, trying not to gag while the moron fucked his mouth.
He finally let go and Dean turned his head quickly, coughing and spitting on the ground behind the bleachers, while the captain tucked himself back.
"So we have a deal, Winchester: you blow me after practice and I tell the guys in the team to leave your bitchy little brother alone."
Dean nodded.
~~~~~~~
Dean met the guy at the Roadhouse. He was sitting with John at a table - both men talking about multiple wendigo-sightings in the area - and gave Dean an appreciating look when he joined them, probably thinking John wasn't watching.
He had an impressive collection of guns and made a show of explaining to Dean how each of them worked. Dean was most taken by a third-generation glock with mounted laser sights. When John got up to get them more drinks, he told Dean that he could borrow the glock for a few days and if he liked it, maybe they could work something out. This time he didn't bother hiding it when he leered at Dean.
Two days later a wendigo grabbed Sammy and used him as a shield. Dean shot him clean with the glock and Sammy got out unscattered.
Later that night, in the back alley behind the Roadhouse, with his trousers around his ankles, Dean let the guy fuck him dry against the wall. The marks on his wrists, from where Dean bit himself, took a week to heal.
When they all fought the final wendigos (smart ones, this bunch, working together), John shot the guy in the chest. It was an accident, he said, these kinds of things happen, everyone agreed.
John shot him with Dean's new glock. The laser sight was mounted.
~~~~~~~~
In the first month, two female prostitutes and a male one appeared drained of all their blood and with traces of sexual activity in different dumpsters all over the city. In the second month there were eight. By the time Sam and Dean finally arrived in Seattle, the death tally among prostitutes had already reached thirty-four.
For Dean it was pretty much a no-brainer and that same night he walked the streets heading to Highway 99. It only took two nights for the vampire to finally pick him up.
Unfortunately the traffic in Seattle caught Sam and when he finally arrived at the hotel room and stabbed the vampire in the heart, Dean was already naked, lying facedown on the bed, shaking.
Sam turned away while Dean dressed himself and no one said a word during the ride back to the motel.
***
Dean groans, back arching against the chest behind him. He shifts on his lap, surprisingly strong thighs under his.
"Want to come on your cock alone."
Hands touch his chest and lips nip at his ear.
"Then do it."
"Takes time."
A huff of laughter stirs the small hairs on his nape.
"I think we can work that out."
He grabs Dean's hips, pushing him back, until he's deep inside Dean.
"Cas," Dean breathes, a buzz coursing through his blood when his cock rubs against his prostate.
"I'm here," Cas says, voice dropping lower than Dean ever thought possible.
They link their fingers, Cas' hands over Dean's, wrapping their arms together around Dean. They rock together for a long time, slowly at first, until Dean is pushing with his feet against the bed, his head lolling on Cas' shoulder.
Cas tells Dean stories of courage, of worth, stories of being saved from hell and saving the world. Of sacrifice. Of beauty. Dean fucks himself on Cas' cock to the sound of his words and knows what else Cas is saying underneath them.
It's the same Dean is telling him when he lets go. When he shudders, face pressed against Cas' neck, clenching around him, until Cas is gasping and filling him, holding Dean like he's the one that might fly away.
But he doesn't and neither does Cas. And when morning comes they're still kissing, with all the time in the world.
Title: Midnight Hunter
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Dean/OMCs
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Three times Dean got played and one time he didn't.
Warnings: This is a hooker!fic, so things aren't pretty. Until they are (seriously, this turned out to be the schmoopiest thing I've ever written.) There's a bit where Dean's around 16 and other where he's around 19.
A/N: Based on janie_tangerine's 5 Acts Meme. Since I'm not taking part on it, it gets posted somewhere else. Hope you like it!
Beta-ed by pyjamagurl
It was months before Truman High, before Sammy punched Dick McGregor, before he found out he could do that. The school, somewhere in the Midwest, was one of the smallest they'd ever went to, with half of the older students being football players.
The captain was a beast, hands like shovels gripping Dean's hair and holding his head in place. Dean could only breathe through his nose and relax his throat, trying not to gag while the moron fucked his mouth.
He finally let go and Dean turned his head quickly, coughing and spitting on the ground behind the bleachers, while the captain tucked himself back.
"So we have a deal, Winchester: you blow me after practice and I tell the guys in the team to leave your bitchy little brother alone."
Dean nodded.
~~~~~~~
Dean met the guy at the Roadhouse. He was sitting with John at a table - both men talking about multiple wendigo-sightings in the area - and gave Dean an appreciating look when he joined them, probably thinking John wasn't watching.
He had an impressive collection of guns and made a show of explaining to Dean how each of them worked. Dean was most taken by a third-generation glock with mounted laser sights. When John got up to get them more drinks, he told Dean that he could borrow the glock for a few days and if he liked it, maybe they could work something out. This time he didn't bother hiding it when he leered at Dean.
Two days later a wendigo grabbed Sammy and used him as a shield. Dean shot him clean with the glock and Sammy got out unscattered.
Later that night, in the back alley behind the Roadhouse, with his trousers around his ankles, Dean let the guy fuck him dry against the wall. The marks on his wrists, from where Dean bit himself, took a week to heal.
When they all fought the final wendigos (smart ones, this bunch, working together), John shot the guy in the chest. It was an accident, he said, these kinds of things happen, everyone agreed.
John shot him with Dean's new glock. The laser sight was mounted.
~~~~~~~~
In the first month, two female prostitutes and a male one appeared drained of all their blood and with traces of sexual activity in different dumpsters all over the city. In the second month there were eight. By the time Sam and Dean finally arrived in Seattle, the death tally among prostitutes had already reached thirty-four.
For Dean it was pretty much a no-brainer and that same night he walked the streets heading to Highway 99. It only took two nights for the vampire to finally pick him up.
Unfortunately the traffic in Seattle caught Sam and when he finally arrived at the hotel room and stabbed the vampire in the heart, Dean was already naked, lying facedown on the bed, shaking.
Sam turned away while Dean dressed himself and no one said a word during the ride back to the motel.
***
Dean groans, back arching against the chest behind him. He shifts on his lap, surprisingly strong thighs under his.
"Want to come on your cock alone."
Hands touch his chest and lips nip at his ear.
"Then do it."
"Takes time."
A huff of laughter stirs the small hairs on his nape.
"I think we can work that out."
He grabs Dean's hips, pushing him back, until he's deep inside Dean.
"Cas," Dean breathes, a buzz coursing through his blood when his cock rubs against his prostate.
"I'm here," Cas says, voice dropping lower than Dean ever thought possible.
They link their fingers, Cas' hands over Dean's, wrapping their arms together around Dean. They rock together for a long time, slowly at first, until Dean is pushing with his feet against the bed, his head lolling on Cas' shoulder.
Cas tells Dean stories of courage, of worth, stories of being saved from hell and saving the world. Of sacrifice. Of beauty. Dean fucks himself on Cas' cock to the sound of his words and knows what else Cas is saying underneath them.
It's the same Dean is telling him when he lets go. When he shudders, face pressed against Cas' neck, clenching around him, until Cas is gasping and filling him, holding Dean like he's the one that might fly away.
But he doesn't and neither does Cas. And when morning comes they're still kissing, with all the time in the world.