Love for Money/ wincest/ nc17/ spn_reversebang
Title: Love for Money
Author: Dolavine
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8,944
Artist: Selecasharp
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fantasy that wincest is canon.
Warnings: Voyeurism and prostitution, first-time wincest
Summary: When Sam and Dean are down on their luck, Sam gets a surprising proposal that changes the dynamic of his and Dean’s relationship. Money’s made, feelings are stirred up, and a denied love is recognized.
A/N: Written for the spn_reversebang for the art prompt by selecasharp who is an absolute pleasure to work with. She's talented and smart, also a great 2nd beta, she helped me immensely, and was kind along with patient. Also we had lots of kitty cat talks. ♥ Thanks for being so Awesome. Make sure to check out her art.. she delve into peen just for me. ;) First beta by memoonster thanks sweetie, your the best.
Art Link: ART
PDF: AO3
Sam’s lining up his shot; he glances up at Dean, who’s leaning against his pool cue at the opposite end of the table, and gives him a half-smirk. It’s a shot he’s made thousands of times, set up by Dean as the kill, to hustle their way into some much-needed funds. Dean gives him the gentle nod and Sam strikes the cue ball, sending it gliding across the field of green felt as it careens into the black eight ball leaning against the bumper next to the right corner pocket; it bounces gently off of the corner before sinking into the pocket with a slow spiral.
Dean’s already folding the thick wad of cash that he’d snatched up from the corner of the table and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks, guys,” he winks at the two burly men with displeased looks on their faces. Sam only nods at them as he puts his pool cue back on the wall before following Dean out the door.
They don’t count the money until they’re back at the hotel, it’s a rule. Rule number one of hustling pool: never count your money while you’re sitting at the table; there’ll be time enough for counting when the dealin’s done. John had lots of rules, but this one came straight from The Gambler. Hustling is as big a part of the hunting lifestyle as credit card fraud. Sam used to try to earn an honest living, but it’s hard when you’re a transient, drifting from one town to the next, so he finally gave up and gave in to the lifestyle that Dean was so accustomed to, to the lifestyle he was raised on: being a con artist. It makes ends meet and lets them live without roots.
They’ve hustled everything - well, almost everything - and Dean’s a total pro at getting what he wants without any trouble. They rarely lose at pool or cards. Sam’s great at poker and he’s ace at pool if he’s paired up with Dean. Between the two of them and a few fraudulent credit cards, they get by comfortably.
“Nice take tonight, Sammy.” Dean hands him half of the money.
“Could have been better if we’d been able to sweeten the pot a little more.” He stuffs the money into his duffle bag without counting it.
“Yeah, well, things have been lean the last few times. A sign of the times, I guess. We’ll do better next time.” Dean puts his beer on the nightstand and strips down. “We made enough for awhile, we’re good.” He climbs into bed. “Best get some rest, we’re outta here tomorrow.”
Sam’s watching his brother strip down, barely listening. He’s not going to lie; he’s a little bit drunk and apparently a lot horny, and watching his well-muscled brother get naked isn’t helping the situation at all. He swallows hard, tries to pretend he’s hearing everything Dean’s saying without staring directly at him or letting his eyes wander to how the light catches those well-defined thigh muscles as his brother swings his legs into bed.
“Yeah, okay, Dean,” is all he says as he turns out the light.
He just lies there, on top of the covers, still completely dressed, staring at the ceiling as the pink neon light flashes across it, his brain focusing on Dean’s half-naked body as his erection taunts him.
Dean slaps Sam’s foot. “Wake up, Sammy!” He squeezes his big toe. “Time’s a’wastin’.”
Sam rubs his eyes and sits up. “What time is it?” He’s groggy, and he squints as the sun burns his eyes.
“Ten am, and I’m ready for some bacon and potatoes.” Dean’s already packing his duffle.
“Yeah, all right,” Sam groans as he stretches his tired, stiff muscles out. He didn’t sleep much; he tossed and turned all night trying hard to fight off his erection without touching it, but he finally had to give in around four just so he could get some sleep. “Just let me clean up and brush my teeth,” he says as he heads to the bathroom.
“All right, but don’t be all girly and take too long.”
Dean’s standing by the door when Sam comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and hanging in thick waves. It’s pushed off of his face, slicked back, and Dean can see every inch of Sam’s strong jaw and expressive hazel eyes.
“Come on,” he groans. “I’m starving to death.”
But Sam’s throwing his toiletries into his duffle bag. “The bacon will still be there in a few minutes, Dean.” He gives him a glance from under his annoyed knit brow.
“Just hurry it up, all right?” He sighs loudly. He secretly loves when Sam’s annoyed with him, loves how his jaw sets and he makes that bitch face. It always makes Dean swallow hard and his breath hitch in his throat a little bit.
But when Dean goes to check out of the motel, their last working credit card is declined.
The clerk looks apologetic. “Sorry, Mr. Wilde, I’ve tried it three times. Do you have an alternate form of payment?”
Dean takes the card back and searches for another, but it’s the last one in his wallet. “Damn,” he mutters as he looks at the bill for $245 lying in front of him. Shouldn’t have watched all that pay-per-view, he thinks ruefully, and begrudgingly counts out the cash.
“What’s the matter?” Sam asks when Dean gets in the car. “You have disgruntled Dean face.”
“What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” He throws the credit card on the seat next to Sam. “Credit card was declined and it’s our last one. I had to pay with cash, and because you couldn’t keep out of the mini-fridge we are down two hundred and forty-five freaking dollars, leaving me with about four hundred from our take last night.”
“Dude, you’re the one who kept getting into the liquor,” Sam protests. “At least I still have my six hundred, plus a little over two hundred that I had left from last time.” He pulls the money out of his wallet and fans it out to show Dean. “I’ll get breakfast and pay for the next hotel. Just, no watching porn this time, okay? And both of us have to stay the hell out of the mini-fridge. We'll pick up some whiskey before we check in.”
Dean makes a face. “We need to find another score in the next town so we can squat for a bit and get a few more credit cards built up. We got soft off of the five we had stored up. Now we’re broke, Sam, and things don’t seem to be getting any easier in the way of making fast cash.” He starts the car and sees the gas gauge is almost on E. “Great, baby needs gas too.”
In the next town, they visit a lot of the bars looking, but there aren’t any pool games, card games, or dart games happening. Dean bellies up to the bar at the last place they stop. “Beer with a whiskey shooter.” He looks around. “Any action going on tonight?” He swallows his shot and chases it with the beer.
“Nothing happening in this town,” the bartender says.
Sam walks up behind Dean. “No pool table.” He points to Dean’s beer and motions to the bartender for one.
“This town is as dry as a bone.” Dean’s nursing his beer.
The bartender hands Sam a beer. “If you two are looking for a game, there’s one next town over. They have a strip joint there, Sally’s. They’ve always got high rollers in the back.”
“Sally’s, you say?” Dean quickly drinks over half his beer in one swallow, then looks at Sam.
“Yep, but you need a thousand to even get in the back door.” The bartender’s wiping out a glass now and watching the boys.
“We have a thousand easy,” Dean whispers to Sam.
“Yeah, but if we lose,” Sam whispers back, concerned, “We won’t have anything.” He rubs his palms over his thighs nervously. “I just don’t know.”
“Come on, Sammy, you’re ace at poker. I’ve watched you play down champions.” Dean’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah,” Sam scoffs. “Old has-been champions.” He takes a swallow of beer, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I have complete confidence in your skills.” Dean slaps Sam on the thigh. “Now stop being such a pussy.”
“We shouldn’t go borrowing trouble, Dean.” Sam makes his patented bitch face.
Dean smirks and looks Sam directly in the eye as he asks the bartender, “So, which way is this Sally’s?”
Sally’s is exactly where the bartender said it would be, about twenty miles south, over the railroad tracks and along a dirt road. It’s kind of a dump, but the parking lot is filled up with contrastingly nice cars and trucks. There are letters burned out on the giant pink neon sign that reads ‘Live Nude Dancers’ with an arrow pointing towards the entrance.
“This is the place,” Dean says, pulling out his wallet. “Ante up, Sammy, we need to pull a thousand.”
Sam pulls money out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got eight hundred here.” He fans out the mix of bills, mostly twenties. He hands it to Dean.
“Two hundred, here.” Dean mixes his cash in with Sam’s. “One thousand dollars,” he says, slipping the money clip on it and handing it to Sam. “Don’t lose this, ‘cause all we have left is about fifty bucks, and after the admission fee, two drinks, and these ten ones for the strippers,” he waggles his eyebrows at Sam, “that leaves me with exactly fifteen dollars.” He holds it up for Sam to see.
“Maybe we shouldn’t, I don’t have a good feeling-”
Dean cuts him off. “You can do this, Sammy.” He puts his hand over Sam’s money-filled fist and squeezes. “I have complete confidence in you.”
Sam sighs deeply. “All right.”
Once inside the smoke-filled establishment, they take a seat against the stage. Dean’s ogling the strippers while Sam orders two whiskeys from the topless brunette waitress.
“Oh, Sam,” Dean gushes as he takes his whiskey from the waitress and tips her a five. “Now we’re down to ten.” He smiles up at the naked girl pushing her rear end in his direction.
Sam just shakes his head. “Um, miss,” he yells over the loud music and whooping men. “I was told there was a poker game here tonight?”
She looks him up and down, then snaps her gum. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” She starts to walk away.
Sam clears his throat and cautiously pulls the money out of his pocket to show her. “A thousand,” he whispers in her ear.
“Ohh, that game. Follow me.” She heads off through the crowd. Sam taps Dean’s shoulder, then follows after her to the bar. “Fellow’s got the buy in,” she tells the bartender, then leaves.
“Buy in?” the bartender asks.
Sam leans over the bar to talk. “One K, cold hard cash.”
“Follow me.” The bartender leads him through a doorway and down some stairs. Sam’s cautious, keeping far enough behind, but not so far as to seem like he’s nervous that he’s being scammed. “In here,” the man grunts and opens a door. On the other side is a room with several tables set up under a heavy cigar smoke cloud.
Sam wanders inside and a man approaches him and leads him over to a makeshift cage. “Cash in, sir,” he says, standing behind him. Sam hands the money to another man behind the crude bars, who counts the money and then shoves a small rectangular box filled with poker chips out at him.
“What’s your poker pleasure?” the first man asks as he leads Sam toward the tables.
“If it’s all poker, I don’t have a preference,” he answers, checking out the tables. “If it has an empty seat, I’ll fill it.”
The man sets him up at a Five Card Stud table with three other players after the current hand has finished playing.
Sam relaxes and makes himself comfortable, sipping at his neat double shot of whiskey as he antes in. The cards are dealt; he examines his hand and throws down three cards to be replaced. He has two sets of pairs, aces and jacks. When the cards are called, Sam takes the pot. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he smiles as he’s pulling the chips to himself.
Over an hour later, Sam’s taken six of eight hands, the ones with the biggest pots. He knows that he should cash out now that he’s tripled his money, but when two of the men leave the table and it’s just him and the man with the losing streak, he decides to play on a few more hands.
He wins the next hand too, but then the man’s luck changes, and Sam loses half his money on the hand after that. But he can’t quit now; he’s only five hundred up and Dean won’t be happy with such a small increase.
He changes tables and moves to Texas Hold’em, where he takes a few small pots. Then it’s a faceoff between him and a very sweaty bald man with a serpent tattoo on his forearm. The stake goes high; Sam’s got a full house and is pretty sure he can take whatever his opponent has, so he ups the stakes, wanting to make this his last hand. The man throws in, then adds another two hundred and calls. Sam throws in his full house and the man has four of a kind, aces high.
Sam watches as the man takes all but one hundred and twelve dollars of his money. He knows he doesn’t have enough to bet on another hand. His bank roll is gone. Dean isn’t going to like this.
Dean’s slipping his last dollar bill into the stripper’s g-string when Sam comes up behind him. “When you’re done,” he says nervously.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off of the nubile woman on stage.
“Yeah, I’m going to the bathroom. Then we’ll go.” Sam heads off for the restroom.
He washes his face in the sink, splashing himself with cold water, then stares at himself in the mirror. “What are we going to do?” he whispers to his reflection.
A man comes into the restroom and stops, looking over at Sam. “Hey, sorry about your luck,” he says, walking up behind Sam. “You played a hell of a game.” He pats him on the back.
“Thanks.” Sam dries his face and hands, then turns to leave.
“Yeah, you seem like you lost your last dime,” the man says from the urinal.
“Not really,” Sam acknowledges without looking.
The man zips up and rinses his hands. “Have a proposition for you,” he drawls, drying his hands as Sam opens the door to leave.
Sam knits his brow and looks down at the man, whose silvery hair is shining in the low light of the bathroom. He looks to be in his fifties, not bad-looking, and dressed in a business suit. “I’m not interested,” he says shortly. He figures it’s a sex for money thing.
“You haven’t even heard what it is,” the man says, stepping up toe to toe with Sam.
“I doubt I’ll be interested.” He backs up a step.
“Look, I watched you in there. You’re down on your luck and, well, I’m not. It’s a job. I’ll pay you well, in cash, and then we’re done.” He smiles with friendly eyes at Sam.
“What kind of work?” Sam’s cautious.
“You’re a fine-looking specimen of a man, and I’d love to watch you fuck someone.” His friendly eyes turn almost sinister as he looks Sam up and down.
“Like I said, not interested.” Sam turns to leave again.
“Just think about it.” The man pulls a business card from his pocket and pushes it into Sam’s jacket pocket. “You wouldn’t be fucking me, I just want to watch,” he says hurriedly as Sam’s leaving. “Think about it. You’ve got my card.” Sam slams the door in his face before he can step out into the club behind him.
“Got to go now, Dean.” Sam grabs his brother’s arm and pulls him away from the stage.
“All right, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Dean demands as he follows Sam out the door.
Back in the Impala, Sam’s visibly distressed, and not just from the man’s proposition in the bathroom, but from the loss of their money too.
“How much?” Dean asks, still distracted from the bar.
“Not now.” Sam’s voice is agitated and impatient.
Dean gives him a confused expression that turns into a stern look. “How much?” he repeats with a darker tone.
“You really want to do this here, Dean? Now?” Sam yells at him.
“Yes, Sam. Yes I do.” Dean turns completely to face Sam.
“Nothing, okay? I have exactly a hundred and twelve dollars left of the thousand.”
Dean’s shocked. For the first time in a long time he’s not sure what to do or say; he just leans back in his seat for a long moment, stunned.
They don’t say anything to each other during the twenty-mile drive back to the motel. Sam gives Dean a few sheepish glances, but he never responds with looks or words.
Dean’s gripping the steering wheel tight as he focuses on the road ahead, his mind going a mile a minute, trying to think of anything to get them back on their feet again. He doesn’t want to go back to the motel, doesn’t want to do a sleep and dash, but their stuff’s still in the room and he’s pretty sure they’d be on the most wanted list, again, if anyone found the arsenal in those bags.
It’s silent for the rest of the night. Sam lies in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about everything that went wrong, and especially how Dean is never going to forgive this enormous catastrophe.
Sleep is elusive for Dean too, his mind racing with this momentous fuck-up. He hasn’t been this out of luck since the rabbit’s foot incident of 2006. He wants to get really, really drunk and forget this problem, but he doesn’t have the money to spare for a bottle at the moment.
Early that morning, Dean rolls over and faces Sam’s bed. “You awake?” It’s the first thing he’s said to him since the strip club.
“Yeah.” Sam doesn’t even roll over, doesn’t look toward Dean, just lies staring at the wall, waiting for what might come next.
“Here’s the plan.” Dean sits up on the edge of his bed. “Fit everything you can in your duffle and sit it by the door. I’ll take it out to the car with mine and throw them in the back seat.” He moves to Sam’s bed and sits on that edge. “Leave some stuff so that it looks like we’re still here and I’ll put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door so the maids don’t come in for at least a day.” He looks down at Sam. “You listening to me, Sam?”
Sam gets up. “Yes, Dean.” He rubs his face and puts his duffle on the edge of the bed to start packing it. “I heard every damn word.”
“You know what, Sam?” Dean raises his voice. “If you don’t like it, go make us some goddamn fucking cash and all will be forgiven.” He gets up too and starts to pack his own duffle bag.
Sam doesn’t look at Dean; he can’t, and it’s not because of shame, but anger. He isn’t the only one at fault here. “I told you.” Sam’s voice is deep and stern. “I had a bad feeling about that game, so don’t put all of the blame on me.”
“You were the one playing the fucking cards, Sam. Should I blame the dealer instead?” Dean throws the jeans he’s packing across the room.
“I don’t need this shit.” Sam yanks on his clothes and pulls on his jacket. “If you don’t want to wait for me, then just leave.” He throws sixty-one dollars on the bed. “Here’s your half of what’s left,” he snaps, and then he walks out the door.
He’s barely away from the motel door when he shoves his hands inside of his pockets and feels that small rectangular piece of cardstock. He pulls it out and looks at it, at the crisp white paper with black embossed writing on it, at the red ink encircling the phone number. He stops and looks back at the door to the room, not sure if he’s waiting to see Dean walking out to the car and leaving, or if he’s pondering the thought of taking the man up on his offer.
In the room, Dean’s not actually sure if he’s completely registered Sam’s outburst or not. He looks at the crumpled-up bills in front of him, then at Sam’s half-packed duffle bag still sitting on the bed, before focusing on the door. He can’t believe Sam walked out and told him to leave if he wanted to.
It’s only been a few minutes since he walked out, but Sam finds himself still there, still standing outside of the motel door, clutching tight to the business card.
When the door opens, Dean doesn’t even look up from packing.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry.” Sam sits down on Dean’s bed.
Dean stops packing and looks at him with a stern expression. He doesn’t say anything, just forcefully zips his duffle shut and drops it on the floor.
“Look, you can be mad at me, blame me, give me the silent treatment all you want, but I might have a way out of this.” Sam starts to hand Dean the business card.
“So your five-minute storm out gave you clarity then?” Dean’s being sarcastic, his tone dry and unforgiving.
“Do you always have to be such an asshole, Dean?” Sam stands up and walks over to him. “You think I like being broke, worrying about skipping out? You think I wanted to lose all of our cash?” He pokes Dean’s shoulder.
“Did you win at all?” Dean looks down at Sam’s finger with distain as it pokes him.
“On and off.” He’s not going to tell Dean how he basically blew it all in one bad hand because he was being arrogant.
“Should have quit while you were on.” Dean stares Sam directly in the eyes.
Sam narrows his eyes, the business card crumpled in his hand. “You want me to earn back the money?” He throws the business card at Dean. “I’ll fucking do it!”
Dean picks up the card and looks at it. “Job offer?” He cocks his eyebrow.
“Kind of. Perv says he’ll pay cash to watch me fuck someone.” He pulls the cell phone out of his pocket.
“Huh!?” is all Dean can say. It’s a mixture of confusion and being stunned. Dean’s eyes are huge and his jaw is slack.
“Yeah, came up to me in the bathroom at the strip club and told me if I was down on my luck he’d love to watch me fuck someone.”
“Who, his wife?” Dean’s heart feels like someone is squeezing it.
“Said he didn’t care, that as long as I was fucking someone he’d love to watch it.” Sam’s gauging Dean’s reaction.
“Who would you fuck? It’s not like we have anyone here to call up and say, hey, been offered money to watch me fuck, want a cut of this action?” Dean crumples up the business card and throws it on the bed.
“I’m pretty sure I can find someone willing to have sex with me, Dean.” Sam bites his lower lip as he watches Dean’s mannerisms.
“No doubt, but you’ll have to share your take with them. You think they’re not going to ask why some guy is watching you have sex with them?” Dean’s shoulders get stiff and he feels just a little bit jealous at the thought of Sam with someone else. He doesn’t like to think about it, doesn’t like to acknowledge the fact that his little brother is hot enough to get sex whenever, with whomever he wants. But there it is.
“Are you offering?” Sam’s tone is sarcastic, yet has a coy edge to it.
Dean’s stunned again. His eyes avert from Sam like he can’t look at him, like he’s been caught staring and he’s embarrassed. “No...” The word comes out hesitant and uncertain. “We’re both guys, and we’re brothers, that’s just...fucked up.” He swallows hard. His hands are shaking and he hides them in his pockets.
“Guys hook up all the time, Dean, and nobody else has to know we’re brothers.” Sam’s cheeks flush at the proposal. “Besides, it’s not like it would mean anything if we did do it.”
“Jesus, Sammy, what the hell porn have you been watching?” Dean tries to act disgusted at the thought. “Pretty fucking screwed up if you ask me,” he growls, like he won’t even entertain the idea.
Sam grabs the card off of the bed and shoves it into his pocket. “Okay then.” He walks to the door.
“Where are you going?” Dean asks, his heart pounding so hard he’s afraid it might come out of his chest.
“To find a prospective fuck.” Sam’s hand is turning the doorknob.
“Better hope he pays you enough, ‘cause you’re going to have to share it.” Dean’s tone is sharp as he tries to hide the fact that he wants Sam to stay.
“It’s the price you have to pay when you don’t have a willing partner at your disposal.” Sam opens the door.
Dean thinks about it for a second, watches Sam stepping out the door, leaving again, and takes a deep breath. “Wait!” He damn near rushes over and pushes the door shut before Sam can get through it. “Did he mention how much he’d pay you?” He reaches in Sam’s pocket, pulls the card back out and flattens it with his thumbs.
“Just told me he’d pay me cash to watch and then shoved his card in my pocket and said to think about it.”
Dean bites his lower lip. “Wonder if mutual hand jobs would be in his realm of kinks?”
The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “Want me to call him? See if another guy is all right?” He takes the card, their thumbs touching as he slides it from Dean’s grip.
Dean’s eyes don’t look up from the floor. “Find out, but I’m pretty sure if he wanted to watch you fucking someone, he’s not going to care if it’s another guy. I kinda think he might be gay, Sammy.” He walks over and sits on the bed. He’s nervous as Sam dials the phone, wants to run over and hang it up, but they need the money. Just, he never thought that he’d ever be selling his body for cash, let alone entertaining the idea of letting his little brother jerk him off, to get it.
The phone rings once, and a man answers. “Hello,” he says cheerfully.
Sam freezes for a moment before answering. “Uh, hi.” He’s not sure how to start this conversation. “We met at the club last night?” He hopes that is enough of an introduction.
“Sally’s?” the man questions.
“Yeah, in the men’s room after the poker game.” Sam’s hands are shaking a little bit.
“Tall drink of water that was having a streak of bad luck, right.” He remembers very well and sounds interested.
Sam can hear the sound of joy in his voice and it only makes him more nervous. “Yes.” He tries not to sound hesitant.
“Taking me up on my offer?” The man’s tilting his office chair backwards as he thinks about the outline of Sam’s broad shoulders.
“Maybe,” Sam says with forced confidence. “I have a question first.” He bites the inside of his cheek like a nervous child waiting for an answer.
“Fire away.”
“Do you have specific gender in mind that you’d want to see me...you know.” He takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Fuck,” the man says with lust in his voice.
“Yeah.”
“No, just want to watch you do what I know that body does best.” He sounds lecherous.
Sam can almost see the drool seeping out of the corners of the man’s thin mouth as he speaks. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, because it’s a guy.” He lets it out slowly after he says it.
“If a guy is who you want to fuck, then by all means, a guy is perfectly fine with me.”
“Do we have to actually fuck or can it be like hand jobs or rubbing off on each other?” He’s really nervous now; his voice even quakes a little bit.
“Fucking is preferred, but I guess not all guys like to be fucked. I’ll tell you what, its low-ball pay for jerking him off, better pay for blow jobs, and top dollar for hot dogging his ass until you come.”
“What is top dollar pay?” Sam looks over at Dean, who is so nervous he’s bouncing his leg.
“Four hundred dollars.” He sits up and taps a pen on the thick leather mat on his desk.
Sam looks at Dean again; he bites the inside of his lips, then answers. “No deal.”
“What would make the deal acceptable for you?”
“Hand jobs four hundred, blow jobs six hundred, and anything else that even resembles fucking, like grinding off or - what did you say?”
“Hot dogging,” the man quickly answers.
“Yeah. A thousand dollars.” Sam winks at his brother, who looks surprised to hear the numbers and the tasks to achieve them. Dean wipes his hand nervously across his upper lip.
There’s a long pause as the offer is considered; the man takes a deep breath and lets it out. “It’s a deal, but, if you fuck him, I mean actually put your pretty cock in his tight ass, it’s two thousand.”
Sam’s surprised. “I don’t think that’s happening.” He looks over at Dean and swallows hard. “But, yeah, okay, it’s a deal then.” He’d thought there’d be more haggling, but he’s just so relieved that it’s over. “When?” he asks dryly.
“Is tonight good?” The man sounds anxious.
Sam covers the mouthpiece and whispers to Dean. “Is tonight all right?”
Dean looks like a deer caught in headlights. He just nods yes and shrugs his shoulders. Suddenly his mouth goes dry and he needs a sip from his flask.
“Tonight, room 15 of the Starlight Motel, on Route-” Sam’s quickly interrupted.
“I know where that is. Around eight?”
“That’s fine. And bring enough cash for everything we discussed.” Sam hangs up his phone. “It’s done, tonight at eight,” he says to Dean.
“I swear, if things get awkward - hell, what am I saying, things are already awkward.” Dean takes another long swallow from his flask.
Part 2
Author: Dolavine
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8,944
Artist: Selecasharp
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fantasy that wincest is canon.
Warnings: Voyeurism and prostitution, first-time wincest
Summary: When Sam and Dean are down on their luck, Sam gets a surprising proposal that changes the dynamic of his and Dean’s relationship. Money’s made, feelings are stirred up, and a denied love is recognized.
A/N: Written for the spn_reversebang for the art prompt by selecasharp who is an absolute pleasure to work with. She's talented and smart, also a great 2nd beta, she helped me immensely, and was kind along with patient. Also we had lots of kitty cat talks. ♥ Thanks for being so Awesome. Make sure to check out her art.. she delve into peen just for me. ;) First beta by memoonster thanks sweetie, your the best.
Art Link: ART
PDF: AO3
Sam’s lining up his shot; he glances up at Dean, who’s leaning against his pool cue at the opposite end of the table, and gives him a half-smirk. It’s a shot he’s made thousands of times, set up by Dean as the kill, to hustle their way into some much-needed funds. Dean gives him the gentle nod and Sam strikes the cue ball, sending it gliding across the field of green felt as it careens into the black eight ball leaning against the bumper next to the right corner pocket; it bounces gently off of the corner before sinking into the pocket with a slow spiral.
Dean’s already folding the thick wad of cash that he’d snatched up from the corner of the table and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks, guys,” he winks at the two burly men with displeased looks on their faces. Sam only nods at them as he puts his pool cue back on the wall before following Dean out the door.
They don’t count the money until they’re back at the hotel, it’s a rule. Rule number one of hustling pool: never count your money while you’re sitting at the table; there’ll be time enough for counting when the dealin’s done. John had lots of rules, but this one came straight from The Gambler. Hustling is as big a part of the hunting lifestyle as credit card fraud. Sam used to try to earn an honest living, but it’s hard when you’re a transient, drifting from one town to the next, so he finally gave up and gave in to the lifestyle that Dean was so accustomed to, to the lifestyle he was raised on: being a con artist. It makes ends meet and lets them live without roots.
They’ve hustled everything - well, almost everything - and Dean’s a total pro at getting what he wants without any trouble. They rarely lose at pool or cards. Sam’s great at poker and he’s ace at pool if he’s paired up with Dean. Between the two of them and a few fraudulent credit cards, they get by comfortably.
“Nice take tonight, Sammy.” Dean hands him half of the money.
“Could have been better if we’d been able to sweeten the pot a little more.” He stuffs the money into his duffle bag without counting it.
“Yeah, well, things have been lean the last few times. A sign of the times, I guess. We’ll do better next time.” Dean puts his beer on the nightstand and strips down. “We made enough for awhile, we’re good.” He climbs into bed. “Best get some rest, we’re outta here tomorrow.”
Sam’s watching his brother strip down, barely listening. He’s not going to lie; he’s a little bit drunk and apparently a lot horny, and watching his well-muscled brother get naked isn’t helping the situation at all. He swallows hard, tries to pretend he’s hearing everything Dean’s saying without staring directly at him or letting his eyes wander to how the light catches those well-defined thigh muscles as his brother swings his legs into bed.
“Yeah, okay, Dean,” is all he says as he turns out the light.
He just lies there, on top of the covers, still completely dressed, staring at the ceiling as the pink neon light flashes across it, his brain focusing on Dean’s half-naked body as his erection taunts him.
Dean slaps Sam’s foot. “Wake up, Sammy!” He squeezes his big toe. “Time’s a’wastin’.”
Sam rubs his eyes and sits up. “What time is it?” He’s groggy, and he squints as the sun burns his eyes.
“Ten am, and I’m ready for some bacon and potatoes.” Dean’s already packing his duffle.
“Yeah, all right,” Sam groans as he stretches his tired, stiff muscles out. He didn’t sleep much; he tossed and turned all night trying hard to fight off his erection without touching it, but he finally had to give in around four just so he could get some sleep. “Just let me clean up and brush my teeth,” he says as he heads to the bathroom.
“All right, but don’t be all girly and take too long.”
Dean’s standing by the door when Sam comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and hanging in thick waves. It’s pushed off of his face, slicked back, and Dean can see every inch of Sam’s strong jaw and expressive hazel eyes.
“Come on,” he groans. “I’m starving to death.”
But Sam’s throwing his toiletries into his duffle bag. “The bacon will still be there in a few minutes, Dean.” He gives him a glance from under his annoyed knit brow.
“Just hurry it up, all right?” He sighs loudly. He secretly loves when Sam’s annoyed with him, loves how his jaw sets and he makes that bitch face. It always makes Dean swallow hard and his breath hitch in his throat a little bit.
But when Dean goes to check out of the motel, their last working credit card is declined.
The clerk looks apologetic. “Sorry, Mr. Wilde, I’ve tried it three times. Do you have an alternate form of payment?”
Dean takes the card back and searches for another, but it’s the last one in his wallet. “Damn,” he mutters as he looks at the bill for $245 lying in front of him. Shouldn’t have watched all that pay-per-view, he thinks ruefully, and begrudgingly counts out the cash.
“What’s the matter?” Sam asks when Dean gets in the car. “You have disgruntled Dean face.”
“What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” He throws the credit card on the seat next to Sam. “Credit card was declined and it’s our last one. I had to pay with cash, and because you couldn’t keep out of the mini-fridge we are down two hundred and forty-five freaking dollars, leaving me with about four hundred from our take last night.”
“Dude, you’re the one who kept getting into the liquor,” Sam protests. “At least I still have my six hundred, plus a little over two hundred that I had left from last time.” He pulls the money out of his wallet and fans it out to show Dean. “I’ll get breakfast and pay for the next hotel. Just, no watching porn this time, okay? And both of us have to stay the hell out of the mini-fridge. We'll pick up some whiskey before we check in.”
Dean makes a face. “We need to find another score in the next town so we can squat for a bit and get a few more credit cards built up. We got soft off of the five we had stored up. Now we’re broke, Sam, and things don’t seem to be getting any easier in the way of making fast cash.” He starts the car and sees the gas gauge is almost on E. “Great, baby needs gas too.”
In the next town, they visit a lot of the bars looking, but there aren’t any pool games, card games, or dart games happening. Dean bellies up to the bar at the last place they stop. “Beer with a whiskey shooter.” He looks around. “Any action going on tonight?” He swallows his shot and chases it with the beer.
“Nothing happening in this town,” the bartender says.
Sam walks up behind Dean. “No pool table.” He points to Dean’s beer and motions to the bartender for one.
“This town is as dry as a bone.” Dean’s nursing his beer.
The bartender hands Sam a beer. “If you two are looking for a game, there’s one next town over. They have a strip joint there, Sally’s. They’ve always got high rollers in the back.”
“Sally’s, you say?” Dean quickly drinks over half his beer in one swallow, then looks at Sam.
“Yep, but you need a thousand to even get in the back door.” The bartender’s wiping out a glass now and watching the boys.
“We have a thousand easy,” Dean whispers to Sam.
“Yeah, but if we lose,” Sam whispers back, concerned, “We won’t have anything.” He rubs his palms over his thighs nervously. “I just don’t know.”
“Come on, Sammy, you’re ace at poker. I’ve watched you play down champions.” Dean’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah,” Sam scoffs. “Old has-been champions.” He takes a swallow of beer, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I have complete confidence in your skills.” Dean slaps Sam on the thigh. “Now stop being such a pussy.”
“We shouldn’t go borrowing trouble, Dean.” Sam makes his patented bitch face.
Dean smirks and looks Sam directly in the eye as he asks the bartender, “So, which way is this Sally’s?”
Sally’s is exactly where the bartender said it would be, about twenty miles south, over the railroad tracks and along a dirt road. It’s kind of a dump, but the parking lot is filled up with contrastingly nice cars and trucks. There are letters burned out on the giant pink neon sign that reads ‘Live Nude Dancers’ with an arrow pointing towards the entrance.
“This is the place,” Dean says, pulling out his wallet. “Ante up, Sammy, we need to pull a thousand.”
Sam pulls money out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got eight hundred here.” He fans out the mix of bills, mostly twenties. He hands it to Dean.
“Two hundred, here.” Dean mixes his cash in with Sam’s. “One thousand dollars,” he says, slipping the money clip on it and handing it to Sam. “Don’t lose this, ‘cause all we have left is about fifty bucks, and after the admission fee, two drinks, and these ten ones for the strippers,” he waggles his eyebrows at Sam, “that leaves me with exactly fifteen dollars.” He holds it up for Sam to see.
“Maybe we shouldn’t, I don’t have a good feeling-”
Dean cuts him off. “You can do this, Sammy.” He puts his hand over Sam’s money-filled fist and squeezes. “I have complete confidence in you.”
Sam sighs deeply. “All right.”
Once inside the smoke-filled establishment, they take a seat against the stage. Dean’s ogling the strippers while Sam orders two whiskeys from the topless brunette waitress.
“Oh, Sam,” Dean gushes as he takes his whiskey from the waitress and tips her a five. “Now we’re down to ten.” He smiles up at the naked girl pushing her rear end in his direction.
Sam just shakes his head. “Um, miss,” he yells over the loud music and whooping men. “I was told there was a poker game here tonight?”
She looks him up and down, then snaps her gum. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” She starts to walk away.
Sam clears his throat and cautiously pulls the money out of his pocket to show her. “A thousand,” he whispers in her ear.
“Ohh, that game. Follow me.” She heads off through the crowd. Sam taps Dean’s shoulder, then follows after her to the bar. “Fellow’s got the buy in,” she tells the bartender, then leaves.
“Buy in?” the bartender asks.
Sam leans over the bar to talk. “One K, cold hard cash.”
“Follow me.” The bartender leads him through a doorway and down some stairs. Sam’s cautious, keeping far enough behind, but not so far as to seem like he’s nervous that he’s being scammed. “In here,” the man grunts and opens a door. On the other side is a room with several tables set up under a heavy cigar smoke cloud.
Sam wanders inside and a man approaches him and leads him over to a makeshift cage. “Cash in, sir,” he says, standing behind him. Sam hands the money to another man behind the crude bars, who counts the money and then shoves a small rectangular box filled with poker chips out at him.
“What’s your poker pleasure?” the first man asks as he leads Sam toward the tables.
“If it’s all poker, I don’t have a preference,” he answers, checking out the tables. “If it has an empty seat, I’ll fill it.”
The man sets him up at a Five Card Stud table with three other players after the current hand has finished playing.
Sam relaxes and makes himself comfortable, sipping at his neat double shot of whiskey as he antes in. The cards are dealt; he examines his hand and throws down three cards to be replaced. He has two sets of pairs, aces and jacks. When the cards are called, Sam takes the pot. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he smiles as he’s pulling the chips to himself.
Over an hour later, Sam’s taken six of eight hands, the ones with the biggest pots. He knows that he should cash out now that he’s tripled his money, but when two of the men leave the table and it’s just him and the man with the losing streak, he decides to play on a few more hands.
He wins the next hand too, but then the man’s luck changes, and Sam loses half his money on the hand after that. But he can’t quit now; he’s only five hundred up and Dean won’t be happy with such a small increase.
He changes tables and moves to Texas Hold’em, where he takes a few small pots. Then it’s a faceoff between him and a very sweaty bald man with a serpent tattoo on his forearm. The stake goes high; Sam’s got a full house and is pretty sure he can take whatever his opponent has, so he ups the stakes, wanting to make this his last hand. The man throws in, then adds another two hundred and calls. Sam throws in his full house and the man has four of a kind, aces high.
Sam watches as the man takes all but one hundred and twelve dollars of his money. He knows he doesn’t have enough to bet on another hand. His bank roll is gone. Dean isn’t going to like this.
Dean’s slipping his last dollar bill into the stripper’s g-string when Sam comes up behind him. “When you’re done,” he says nervously.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off of the nubile woman on stage.
“Yeah, I’m going to the bathroom. Then we’ll go.” Sam heads off for the restroom.
He washes his face in the sink, splashing himself with cold water, then stares at himself in the mirror. “What are we going to do?” he whispers to his reflection.
A man comes into the restroom and stops, looking over at Sam. “Hey, sorry about your luck,” he says, walking up behind Sam. “You played a hell of a game.” He pats him on the back.
“Thanks.” Sam dries his face and hands, then turns to leave.
“Yeah, you seem like you lost your last dime,” the man says from the urinal.
“Not really,” Sam acknowledges without looking.
The man zips up and rinses his hands. “Have a proposition for you,” he drawls, drying his hands as Sam opens the door to leave.
Sam knits his brow and looks down at the man, whose silvery hair is shining in the low light of the bathroom. He looks to be in his fifties, not bad-looking, and dressed in a business suit. “I’m not interested,” he says shortly. He figures it’s a sex for money thing.
“You haven’t even heard what it is,” the man says, stepping up toe to toe with Sam.
“I doubt I’ll be interested.” He backs up a step.
“Look, I watched you in there. You’re down on your luck and, well, I’m not. It’s a job. I’ll pay you well, in cash, and then we’re done.” He smiles with friendly eyes at Sam.
“What kind of work?” Sam’s cautious.
“You’re a fine-looking specimen of a man, and I’d love to watch you fuck someone.” His friendly eyes turn almost sinister as he looks Sam up and down.
“Like I said, not interested.” Sam turns to leave again.
“Just think about it.” The man pulls a business card from his pocket and pushes it into Sam’s jacket pocket. “You wouldn’t be fucking me, I just want to watch,” he says hurriedly as Sam’s leaving. “Think about it. You’ve got my card.” Sam slams the door in his face before he can step out into the club behind him.
“Got to go now, Dean.” Sam grabs his brother’s arm and pulls him away from the stage.
“All right, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Dean demands as he follows Sam out the door.
Back in the Impala, Sam’s visibly distressed, and not just from the man’s proposition in the bathroom, but from the loss of their money too.
“How much?” Dean asks, still distracted from the bar.
“Not now.” Sam’s voice is agitated and impatient.
Dean gives him a confused expression that turns into a stern look. “How much?” he repeats with a darker tone.
“You really want to do this here, Dean? Now?” Sam yells at him.
“Yes, Sam. Yes I do.” Dean turns completely to face Sam.
“Nothing, okay? I have exactly a hundred and twelve dollars left of the thousand.”
Dean’s shocked. For the first time in a long time he’s not sure what to do or say; he just leans back in his seat for a long moment, stunned.
They don’t say anything to each other during the twenty-mile drive back to the motel. Sam gives Dean a few sheepish glances, but he never responds with looks or words.
Dean’s gripping the steering wheel tight as he focuses on the road ahead, his mind going a mile a minute, trying to think of anything to get them back on their feet again. He doesn’t want to go back to the motel, doesn’t want to do a sleep and dash, but their stuff’s still in the room and he’s pretty sure they’d be on the most wanted list, again, if anyone found the arsenal in those bags.
It’s silent for the rest of the night. Sam lies in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about everything that went wrong, and especially how Dean is never going to forgive this enormous catastrophe.
Sleep is elusive for Dean too, his mind racing with this momentous fuck-up. He hasn’t been this out of luck since the rabbit’s foot incident of 2006. He wants to get really, really drunk and forget this problem, but he doesn’t have the money to spare for a bottle at the moment.
Early that morning, Dean rolls over and faces Sam’s bed. “You awake?” It’s the first thing he’s said to him since the strip club.
“Yeah.” Sam doesn’t even roll over, doesn’t look toward Dean, just lies staring at the wall, waiting for what might come next.
“Here’s the plan.” Dean sits up on the edge of his bed. “Fit everything you can in your duffle and sit it by the door. I’ll take it out to the car with mine and throw them in the back seat.” He moves to Sam’s bed and sits on that edge. “Leave some stuff so that it looks like we’re still here and I’ll put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door so the maids don’t come in for at least a day.” He looks down at Sam. “You listening to me, Sam?”
Sam gets up. “Yes, Dean.” He rubs his face and puts his duffle on the edge of the bed to start packing it. “I heard every damn word.”
“You know what, Sam?” Dean raises his voice. “If you don’t like it, go make us some goddamn fucking cash and all will be forgiven.” He gets up too and starts to pack his own duffle bag.
Sam doesn’t look at Dean; he can’t, and it’s not because of shame, but anger. He isn’t the only one at fault here. “I told you.” Sam’s voice is deep and stern. “I had a bad feeling about that game, so don’t put all of the blame on me.”
“You were the one playing the fucking cards, Sam. Should I blame the dealer instead?” Dean throws the jeans he’s packing across the room.
“I don’t need this shit.” Sam yanks on his clothes and pulls on his jacket. “If you don’t want to wait for me, then just leave.” He throws sixty-one dollars on the bed. “Here’s your half of what’s left,” he snaps, and then he walks out the door.
He’s barely away from the motel door when he shoves his hands inside of his pockets and feels that small rectangular piece of cardstock. He pulls it out and looks at it, at the crisp white paper with black embossed writing on it, at the red ink encircling the phone number. He stops and looks back at the door to the room, not sure if he’s waiting to see Dean walking out to the car and leaving, or if he’s pondering the thought of taking the man up on his offer.
In the room, Dean’s not actually sure if he’s completely registered Sam’s outburst or not. He looks at the crumpled-up bills in front of him, then at Sam’s half-packed duffle bag still sitting on the bed, before focusing on the door. He can’t believe Sam walked out and told him to leave if he wanted to.
It’s only been a few minutes since he walked out, but Sam finds himself still there, still standing outside of the motel door, clutching tight to the business card.
When the door opens, Dean doesn’t even look up from packing.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry.” Sam sits down on Dean’s bed.
Dean stops packing and looks at him with a stern expression. He doesn’t say anything, just forcefully zips his duffle shut and drops it on the floor.
“Look, you can be mad at me, blame me, give me the silent treatment all you want, but I might have a way out of this.” Sam starts to hand Dean the business card.
“So your five-minute storm out gave you clarity then?” Dean’s being sarcastic, his tone dry and unforgiving.
“Do you always have to be such an asshole, Dean?” Sam stands up and walks over to him. “You think I like being broke, worrying about skipping out? You think I wanted to lose all of our cash?” He pokes Dean’s shoulder.
“Did you win at all?” Dean looks down at Sam’s finger with distain as it pokes him.
“On and off.” He’s not going to tell Dean how he basically blew it all in one bad hand because he was being arrogant.
“Should have quit while you were on.” Dean stares Sam directly in the eyes.
Sam narrows his eyes, the business card crumpled in his hand. “You want me to earn back the money?” He throws the business card at Dean. “I’ll fucking do it!”
Dean picks up the card and looks at it. “Job offer?” He cocks his eyebrow.
“Kind of. Perv says he’ll pay cash to watch me fuck someone.” He pulls the cell phone out of his pocket.
“Huh!?” is all Dean can say. It’s a mixture of confusion and being stunned. Dean’s eyes are huge and his jaw is slack.
“Yeah, came up to me in the bathroom at the strip club and told me if I was down on my luck he’d love to watch me fuck someone.”
“Who, his wife?” Dean’s heart feels like someone is squeezing it.
“Said he didn’t care, that as long as I was fucking someone he’d love to watch it.” Sam’s gauging Dean’s reaction.
“Who would you fuck? It’s not like we have anyone here to call up and say, hey, been offered money to watch me fuck, want a cut of this action?” Dean crumples up the business card and throws it on the bed.
“I’m pretty sure I can find someone willing to have sex with me, Dean.” Sam bites his lower lip as he watches Dean’s mannerisms.
“No doubt, but you’ll have to share your take with them. You think they’re not going to ask why some guy is watching you have sex with them?” Dean’s shoulders get stiff and he feels just a little bit jealous at the thought of Sam with someone else. He doesn’t like to think about it, doesn’t like to acknowledge the fact that his little brother is hot enough to get sex whenever, with whomever he wants. But there it is.
“Are you offering?” Sam’s tone is sarcastic, yet has a coy edge to it.
Dean’s stunned again. His eyes avert from Sam like he can’t look at him, like he’s been caught staring and he’s embarrassed. “No...” The word comes out hesitant and uncertain. “We’re both guys, and we’re brothers, that’s just...fucked up.” He swallows hard. His hands are shaking and he hides them in his pockets.
“Guys hook up all the time, Dean, and nobody else has to know we’re brothers.” Sam’s cheeks flush at the proposal. “Besides, it’s not like it would mean anything if we did do it.”
“Jesus, Sammy, what the hell porn have you been watching?” Dean tries to act disgusted at the thought. “Pretty fucking screwed up if you ask me,” he growls, like he won’t even entertain the idea.
Sam grabs the card off of the bed and shoves it into his pocket. “Okay then.” He walks to the door.
“Where are you going?” Dean asks, his heart pounding so hard he’s afraid it might come out of his chest.
“To find a prospective fuck.” Sam’s hand is turning the doorknob.
“Better hope he pays you enough, ‘cause you’re going to have to share it.” Dean’s tone is sharp as he tries to hide the fact that he wants Sam to stay.
“It’s the price you have to pay when you don’t have a willing partner at your disposal.” Sam opens the door.
Dean thinks about it for a second, watches Sam stepping out the door, leaving again, and takes a deep breath. “Wait!” He damn near rushes over and pushes the door shut before Sam can get through it. “Did he mention how much he’d pay you?” He reaches in Sam’s pocket, pulls the card back out and flattens it with his thumbs.
“Just told me he’d pay me cash to watch and then shoved his card in my pocket and said to think about it.”
Dean bites his lower lip. “Wonder if mutual hand jobs would be in his realm of kinks?”
The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “Want me to call him? See if another guy is all right?” He takes the card, their thumbs touching as he slides it from Dean’s grip.
Dean’s eyes don’t look up from the floor. “Find out, but I’m pretty sure if he wanted to watch you fucking someone, he’s not going to care if it’s another guy. I kinda think he might be gay, Sammy.” He walks over and sits on the bed. He’s nervous as Sam dials the phone, wants to run over and hang it up, but they need the money. Just, he never thought that he’d ever be selling his body for cash, let alone entertaining the idea of letting his little brother jerk him off, to get it.
The phone rings once, and a man answers. “Hello,” he says cheerfully.
Sam freezes for a moment before answering. “Uh, hi.” He’s not sure how to start this conversation. “We met at the club last night?” He hopes that is enough of an introduction.
“Sally’s?” the man questions.
“Yeah, in the men’s room after the poker game.” Sam’s hands are shaking a little bit.
“Tall drink of water that was having a streak of bad luck, right.” He remembers very well and sounds interested.
Sam can hear the sound of joy in his voice and it only makes him more nervous. “Yes.” He tries not to sound hesitant.
“Taking me up on my offer?” The man’s tilting his office chair backwards as he thinks about the outline of Sam’s broad shoulders.
“Maybe,” Sam says with forced confidence. “I have a question first.” He bites the inside of his cheek like a nervous child waiting for an answer.
“Fire away.”
“Do you have specific gender in mind that you’d want to see me...you know.” He takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Fuck,” the man says with lust in his voice.
“Yeah.”
“No, just want to watch you do what I know that body does best.” He sounds lecherous.
Sam can almost see the drool seeping out of the corners of the man’s thin mouth as he speaks. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, because it’s a guy.” He lets it out slowly after he says it.
“If a guy is who you want to fuck, then by all means, a guy is perfectly fine with me.”
“Do we have to actually fuck or can it be like hand jobs or rubbing off on each other?” He’s really nervous now; his voice even quakes a little bit.
“Fucking is preferred, but I guess not all guys like to be fucked. I’ll tell you what, its low-ball pay for jerking him off, better pay for blow jobs, and top dollar for hot dogging his ass until you come.”
“What is top dollar pay?” Sam looks over at Dean, who is so nervous he’s bouncing his leg.
“Four hundred dollars.” He sits up and taps a pen on the thick leather mat on his desk.
Sam looks at Dean again; he bites the inside of his lips, then answers. “No deal.”
“What would make the deal acceptable for you?”
“Hand jobs four hundred, blow jobs six hundred, and anything else that even resembles fucking, like grinding off or - what did you say?”
“Hot dogging,” the man quickly answers.
“Yeah. A thousand dollars.” Sam winks at his brother, who looks surprised to hear the numbers and the tasks to achieve them. Dean wipes his hand nervously across his upper lip.
There’s a long pause as the offer is considered; the man takes a deep breath and lets it out. “It’s a deal, but, if you fuck him, I mean actually put your pretty cock in his tight ass, it’s two thousand.”
Sam’s surprised. “I don’t think that’s happening.” He looks over at Dean and swallows hard. “But, yeah, okay, it’s a deal then.” He’d thought there’d be more haggling, but he’s just so relieved that it’s over. “When?” he asks dryly.
“Is tonight good?” The man sounds anxious.
Sam covers the mouthpiece and whispers to Dean. “Is tonight all right?”
Dean looks like a deer caught in headlights. He just nods yes and shrugs his shoulders. Suddenly his mouth goes dry and he needs a sip from his flask.
“Tonight, room 15 of the Starlight Motel, on Route-” Sam’s quickly interrupted.
“I know where that is. Around eight?”
“That’s fine. And bring enough cash for everything we discussed.” Sam hangs up his phone. “It’s done, tonight at eight,” he says to Dean.
“I swear, if things get awkward - hell, what am I saying, things are already awkward.” Dean takes another long swallow from his flask.
Part 2