Changeover -- for maryaminx
Title: Changeover
Author: micawbish
Recipient: maryaminx
Pairing: Dean/OMC
Rating: R
Word count: 1,500 (15 interconnected drabbles)
Warnings: sexual situations, prostitution
Summary: Dean gets mistaken for a hooker and goes with it.
Notes: Beta'd by alwaysenduphere who salvaged what she could. So sorry for the delay! Based on the prompts: rosary, first time, oral, struggling with sexuality
[Changeover]
"You working?"
Dean looks over to meet eyes that've been tracking him all night. The guy's in his twenties and undeniably good-looking with fine features and dimples when he smiles, something he's attempting to do now. Dean's mind stalls for a moment, but there are only so many ways he can take those words. "I'm still deciding. Wouldn't say no to a beer," he drawls, lazily.
"Come back to my place." The voice is low, and the hint of desperation should put Dean off completely, but he's felt that gaze on him all night, wants to know where it leads.
*
"What's your name?"
"Dean," he answers like an idiot, even though he knows better. He feels like he's on a hunt, feels that same blend of excitement and fear.
"Jonah," the guy says, and then goes quiet. Things are dragging too much, so Dean reaches over, no real thought except to touch, to remind them both what he's here for.
Jonah startles and catches his wrist, squeezing too tightly, before he murmurs apologies and guides Dean's hand back -- their interlocked hands hover over his lap before Jonah smoothes Dean's hand down and brings his own back to the wheel.
*
Dean's 18, and he's never had sex with a guy. Never had sex for money.
Technically, that's not true. He's done both exactly once -- some guy had begged to suck his cock, and Dean had thought, what the hell. The guy had swallowed his come like he was starving for it and hadn't even needed a helping hand to get off. It was fifty easy bucks and a warm mouth, nice enough, but nothing world-changing.
This-- isn't the same. It's far more dangerous, and he doesn't know why he's taking the risk, or maybe why he didn't take it sooner.
*
"Take off your clothes."
It should be embarrassing how quickly, how well Dean obeys. But it's hardly a surprise, and Jonah's voice is softer than his dad's ever is, which, oh god. Not something he should be thinking about right now. He's not wearing any layers in the heat, which is a relief, and he skims his t-shirt up slowly.
"Don't. Don't make a show of it," Jonah says intently.
He feels more embarrassed, if that's possible, but he covers it up with an easy grin. "Can't wait to get to the good part, huh?"
"I just want to see."
*
That's all Jonah ever does -- looks. Dean thinks he should at least be putting himself on display, but Jonah makes distressing noises when he tries and tells Dean to relax. He's always been comfortable in his skin, and soon even this becomes routine between them.
He hadn't known he could want it until Jonah kept looking and telling him no. He's not the first guy Dean's found attractive, but it was only distant appreciation before. He never thought about what it'd actually be like. It never came up, and girls were so yielding, and Dean has always liked easy.
*
Jonah isn't anything Dean thought he would want. Yeah, he's a guy, but it's more than that. He's also quiet, too serious, isn't funny at all. He smiles at Dean's jokes, but never laughs. Jonah pays him. He's straight from the pages of the Victorian novels Dean's skimmed the Cliff notes of for school -- fine-boned and too pale, exceedingly tragic, as intriguing and insubstantial as any apparition. He doesn't know why Jonah reminds him so much of Dad and Sam -- they're nothing alike -- and it's only later that Dean realizes it was the comfort that was familiar.
*
Jonah never demands, not with words, but Dean hears them anyway, all the rules and boundaries that lie between them. Dean never pushes, just silently waits, stretches, collects the little pieces that Jonah can't help spilling.
Dean's sprawled out on the bed, laughing at the TV, and he looks up at Jonah's soft exhale.
"You're so much like him," he says before scoring his bottom lip with his teeth and looking away.
"So that's what this is," Dean says, knowingly.
"No."
"Then what is it? What are you doing?" It's the first and only question Dean's ever asked.
"Testing myself."
*
That exchange eases something between them. Dean still doesn't ask, but his body starts to demand. Summer's drawing to a close, and everything about them screams they won't outlast it. He's never thought too hard about it, doesn't know the right words for what they are, hasn't cared, but suddenly he feels desperate to somehow make it real.
"You're so young," Jonah says.
"I'm the same age--" he stutters to a stop, but Jonah trips right over his words, heedless. "I never touched him. We were friends. I told you," he says, quietly.
"Then don't make the same mistake twice."
*
Sometimes Jonah brings a sketchbook and he directs Dean to turn this way and that and sketches for hours. But when Dean peeks one day, he sees only lines of text. He hasn't processed the first few words before the book's ripped from his hands.
Dean raises an arched brow.
Jonah has the grace to look embarrassed. Dean's fascinated by the blush that blooms across his skin. "I draw, too," he says, faintly. "But it feels-- keeping those drawings," Jonah stumbles, reddening further, and Dean can suddenly clearly see his meaning. "But I still need to react in some way."
*
When Jonah finally starts touching him, there's nothing exciting about the touches at all -- they're more incidental than anything, but it's how natural it seems. Outside of sex, he's never been touched so much in his life; he's horrified to find his body now knows to miss it. Sometimes they talk, other times it's so quiet Dean thinks Jonah's fallen asleep, except he's always, always watching.
Dean wants to say something about not looking at him that way if he doesn't want to give the wrong idea, but Jonah pays for the privilege to look, so Dean says nothing.
*
"You never ask for anything."
"That's not true," he says as he arches his back meaningfully.
"You'll do anything for me, won't you?"
"You pay me. Pretty sure that means you get to set the terms."
"If it hadn't been me -- what would have happened? Where would you be now?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "Probably making money actually barbacking like I tell Sam I am before going back to check on his dinner."
"You would've said yes to someone. Do you even know?" Jonah grabs his arm. "You can't keep giving, Dean."
"What're you offering for me to take?"
*
Jonah refuses to fuck him. "I can't," he says, and that's how he confirms he's leaving.
"Let me blow you, then."
No man should look that horrified to be propositioned for sex. And definitely not by Dean.
"I could do you?" he hedges.
The idea isn't without its appeal, but Dean remembers that guy on his knees in front of him, how much he seemed to enjoy it, and he wants to know for himself. Wants to be fitted around Jonah, stretched to accommodate this new space he's taken up in Dean's life, a reminder that this happened at all.
*
Jonah lifts his hips helpfully, and Dean slides his boxers down, his tongue feeling more like cotton in his mouth with every bit of skin he uncovers. His heartbeat is too loud in his ears, and god, he wants this, he suddenly can't breathe for how much. He's never seen Jonah naked before. Never seen his cock. The sight is shockingly arousing.
Jonah cups the back of Dean's head gently. Relaxing, he presses his lips to the head of Jonah's cock, traces the thick vein with his tongue, teases the slit, and it's like something's been knocked loose inside him.
*
The skin beneath his tongue is hot and velvet-soft, and Dean can't get enough. He opens up for Jonah easily -- and apparently he was made for this, he thinks hysterically before his brain snaps off, and Jonah slides all the way to the back of his throat. He feels like he's choking, eyes watering, but he tightens his mouth for a long moment before he slowly slides back up and wraps a hand around the base of Jonah's cock, jerking his fist in an uneven rhythm as his head bobs and holy fuck, he never wants this to end.
*
"Was this okay?" At the questioning look, Dean elaborates. "You won't get in trouble?" Beneath the blankets, his thumb slides down his fingers as he remembers the feel of the smooth round beads he'd found at the bottom of Jonah's pocket.
"You know," he says, unsurprised, then smiles fondly. "I'm fine. I haven't taken my vows."
"Not yet." Jonah doesn't correct him. "Well. This has been unexpectedly kinky for all the lack of gay sex."
Jonah lets out this strange sound that takes Dean a long minute to place as laughter.
"I don't know what to feel, now."
"Feel free."
.
Author: micawbish
Recipient: maryaminx
Pairing: Dean/OMC
Rating: R
Word count: 1,500 (15 interconnected drabbles)
Warnings: sexual situations, prostitution
Summary: Dean gets mistaken for a hooker and goes with it.
Notes: Beta'd by alwaysenduphere who salvaged what she could. So sorry for the delay! Based on the prompts: rosary, first time, oral, struggling with sexuality
[Changeover]
"You working?"
Dean looks over to meet eyes that've been tracking him all night. The guy's in his twenties and undeniably good-looking with fine features and dimples when he smiles, something he's attempting to do now. Dean's mind stalls for a moment, but there are only so many ways he can take those words. "I'm still deciding. Wouldn't say no to a beer," he drawls, lazily.
"Come back to my place." The voice is low, and the hint of desperation should put Dean off completely, but he's felt that gaze on him all night, wants to know where it leads.
*
"What's your name?"
"Dean," he answers like an idiot, even though he knows better. He feels like he's on a hunt, feels that same blend of excitement and fear.
"Jonah," the guy says, and then goes quiet. Things are dragging too much, so Dean reaches over, no real thought except to touch, to remind them both what he's here for.
Jonah startles and catches his wrist, squeezing too tightly, before he murmurs apologies and guides Dean's hand back -- their interlocked hands hover over his lap before Jonah smoothes Dean's hand down and brings his own back to the wheel.
*
Dean's 18, and he's never had sex with a guy. Never had sex for money.
Technically, that's not true. He's done both exactly once -- some guy had begged to suck his cock, and Dean had thought, what the hell. The guy had swallowed his come like he was starving for it and hadn't even needed a helping hand to get off. It was fifty easy bucks and a warm mouth, nice enough, but nothing world-changing.
This-- isn't the same. It's far more dangerous, and he doesn't know why he's taking the risk, or maybe why he didn't take it sooner.
*
"Take off your clothes."
It should be embarrassing how quickly, how well Dean obeys. But it's hardly a surprise, and Jonah's voice is softer than his dad's ever is, which, oh god. Not something he should be thinking about right now. He's not wearing any layers in the heat, which is a relief, and he skims his t-shirt up slowly.
"Don't. Don't make a show of it," Jonah says intently.
He feels more embarrassed, if that's possible, but he covers it up with an easy grin. "Can't wait to get to the good part, huh?"
"I just want to see."
*
That's all Jonah ever does -- looks. Dean thinks he should at least be putting himself on display, but Jonah makes distressing noises when he tries and tells Dean to relax. He's always been comfortable in his skin, and soon even this becomes routine between them.
He hadn't known he could want it until Jonah kept looking and telling him no. He's not the first guy Dean's found attractive, but it was only distant appreciation before. He never thought about what it'd actually be like. It never came up, and girls were so yielding, and Dean has always liked easy.
*
Jonah isn't anything Dean thought he would want. Yeah, he's a guy, but it's more than that. He's also quiet, too serious, isn't funny at all. He smiles at Dean's jokes, but never laughs. Jonah pays him. He's straight from the pages of the Victorian novels Dean's skimmed the Cliff notes of for school -- fine-boned and too pale, exceedingly tragic, as intriguing and insubstantial as any apparition. He doesn't know why Jonah reminds him so much of Dad and Sam -- they're nothing alike -- and it's only later that Dean realizes it was the comfort that was familiar.
*
Jonah never demands, not with words, but Dean hears them anyway, all the rules and boundaries that lie between them. Dean never pushes, just silently waits, stretches, collects the little pieces that Jonah can't help spilling.
Dean's sprawled out on the bed, laughing at the TV, and he looks up at Jonah's soft exhale.
"You're so much like him," he says before scoring his bottom lip with his teeth and looking away.
"So that's what this is," Dean says, knowingly.
"No."
"Then what is it? What are you doing?" It's the first and only question Dean's ever asked.
"Testing myself."
*
That exchange eases something between them. Dean still doesn't ask, but his body starts to demand. Summer's drawing to a close, and everything about them screams they won't outlast it. He's never thought too hard about it, doesn't know the right words for what they are, hasn't cared, but suddenly he feels desperate to somehow make it real.
"You're so young," Jonah says.
"I'm the same age--" he stutters to a stop, but Jonah trips right over his words, heedless. "I never touched him. We were friends. I told you," he says, quietly.
"Then don't make the same mistake twice."
*
Sometimes Jonah brings a sketchbook and he directs Dean to turn this way and that and sketches for hours. But when Dean peeks one day, he sees only lines of text. He hasn't processed the first few words before the book's ripped from his hands.
Dean raises an arched brow.
Jonah has the grace to look embarrassed. Dean's fascinated by the blush that blooms across his skin. "I draw, too," he says, faintly. "But it feels-- keeping those drawings," Jonah stumbles, reddening further, and Dean can suddenly clearly see his meaning. "But I still need to react in some way."
*
When Jonah finally starts touching him, there's nothing exciting about the touches at all -- they're more incidental than anything, but it's how natural it seems. Outside of sex, he's never been touched so much in his life; he's horrified to find his body now knows to miss it. Sometimes they talk, other times it's so quiet Dean thinks Jonah's fallen asleep, except he's always, always watching.
Dean wants to say something about not looking at him that way if he doesn't want to give the wrong idea, but Jonah pays for the privilege to look, so Dean says nothing.
*
"You never ask for anything."
"That's not true," he says as he arches his back meaningfully.
"You'll do anything for me, won't you?"
"You pay me. Pretty sure that means you get to set the terms."
"If it hadn't been me -- what would have happened? Where would you be now?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "Probably making money actually barbacking like I tell Sam I am before going back to check on his dinner."
"You would've said yes to someone. Do you even know?" Jonah grabs his arm. "You can't keep giving, Dean."
"What're you offering for me to take?"
*
Jonah refuses to fuck him. "I can't," he says, and that's how he confirms he's leaving.
"Let me blow you, then."
No man should look that horrified to be propositioned for sex. And definitely not by Dean.
"I could do you?" he hedges.
The idea isn't without its appeal, but Dean remembers that guy on his knees in front of him, how much he seemed to enjoy it, and he wants to know for himself. Wants to be fitted around Jonah, stretched to accommodate this new space he's taken up in Dean's life, a reminder that this happened at all.
*
Jonah lifts his hips helpfully, and Dean slides his boxers down, his tongue feeling more like cotton in his mouth with every bit of skin he uncovers. His heartbeat is too loud in his ears, and god, he wants this, he suddenly can't breathe for how much. He's never seen Jonah naked before. Never seen his cock. The sight is shockingly arousing.
Jonah cups the back of Dean's head gently. Relaxing, he presses his lips to the head of Jonah's cock, traces the thick vein with his tongue, teases the slit, and it's like something's been knocked loose inside him.
*
The skin beneath his tongue is hot and velvet-soft, and Dean can't get enough. He opens up for Jonah easily -- and apparently he was made for this, he thinks hysterically before his brain snaps off, and Jonah slides all the way to the back of his throat. He feels like he's choking, eyes watering, but he tightens his mouth for a long moment before he slowly slides back up and wraps a hand around the base of Jonah's cock, jerking his fist in an uneven rhythm as his head bobs and holy fuck, he never wants this to end.
*
"Was this okay?" At the questioning look, Dean elaborates. "You won't get in trouble?" Beneath the blankets, his thumb slides down his fingers as he remembers the feel of the smooth round beads he'd found at the bottom of Jonah's pocket.
"You know," he says, unsurprised, then smiles fondly. "I'm fine. I haven't taken my vows."
"Not yet." Jonah doesn't correct him. "Well. This has been unexpectedly kinky for all the lack of gay sex."
Jonah lets out this strange sound that takes Dean a long minute to place as laughter.
"I don't know what to feel, now."
"Feel free."
.