every stone a story (Part Two), Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: every stone a story, Part Two ( link to Part One)
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John, mentions of Pastor Jim, OMCs/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 13,254 (both parts combined)
Summary: Dean is a few months shy of seventeen when John is hurt in a car accident coming home from a hunt. The accident lands him in a coma and leaves Dean trying to find a way to support Sam when he can't reach their emergency contacts. What starts out as a seemingly simple job stripping turns into anything but and Dean finds himself in a game where the only card he has to play is his own body and the deck is stacked against him.

A/Ns & Warnings: For the exquisite katbcoll. Warnings include: under-age dub-con, under-age prostitution, some violence. Gratuitous placement of leather pants. Abuse of classic songs. This was actually meant to be done in one part, but well...it ended up being longer than I thought...so I'll post this in two parts and I'll have to come back with the rest at a future time. (bribery is welcome)



He woke to the sun nearly blinding him and Sam watching him from the doorway of the bedroom. "The hospital called."

Dean sat up fast, then grabbed for his head, which seemed two sizes too big and filled with sludge. "What did they say?"

"Dad woke up."

"Okay…just…give me a minute."

Sam crossed his arms. "Coffee's ready. We got snow. I'll go dig the car out."

Dean knew he was pissed. He just wasn't sure what it was about. He put his feet on the floor and stood slowly, shuffling toward the bathroom. He shouldn't be so hung over from just two shots. He relieved himself and started the shower, hoping it would help shake the cobwebs from his brain.

Twenty minutes later he had a cup of coffee into him and was putting his boots on while Sam waited.

"Okay, lets go." Dean waited until they were on the street and headed toward the hospital. "You gonna tell me what's got you angry?"

"I heard you come home." Sam said, crossing his arms. "You were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk." Dean countered, though he was less convincing than he wanted to be as he rubbed his bloodshot eye.

"Right. I've seen drunk before, Dean. You were mumbling and falling into walls."

Dean sighed. "Okay, look. The guys at the bar wanted to welcome me to the team. They bought me a few drinks. It was nothing."

"I don't like this job." Sam crossed his arms and turned his face away.

Dean couldn't argue with him there. He didn't much like it either. He parked the car and together they headed in to the hospital, aiming for the room their father was in. They were met by Dr. Havilen as they got off the elevator.

"Our dad?" Dean asked.

Havilen's eyes narrowed as they swept over Dean. "Rough night." Dean said to head him off. "My father?"

"Come to my office."

"I'd rather see him." Dean said.

"We should talk first."

Dean stopped and looked at him. "Sam said you called and said he was awake. I want to see him."

"He was awake, yes."

"Was?" Dean frowned at him. "I don't understand."

"Please, come down to my office and I'll explain."

He led Dean and Sam into his office and closed the door. "Your father came out of the coma on his own early this morning. He was in a great deal of pain, but he answered a few of our questions and responded well to the tests we ran to determine the extent of the damage to his back."

"So, when can we take him home?" Dean asked. He was eager to be done with this town.

Dr. Havilen shook his head. "I don't think you understand, Son. Your father has a pretty severe injury to his back. We still haven't ruled out surgery to repair the damage."

Dean inhaled sharply. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Your father isn't out of the woods yet, and may not be for some time. Even if we were to wake him up right now, he may not walk again."

Sam's hand squeezed Dean's and Dean's stomach twisted inside him. "What?"

"We had to put him back into a medically induced coma, to prevent him from injuring himself more. Until we can determine the right course of action for the spinal injury, we plan to keep him under.”

“Dean…”

“It’s okay Sam. It’s going to be okay.” Dean pulled Sam to him, holding him tight for a minute. “Can we see him now?”

Dr. Havilen nodded. “Of course.”

His father looked paler than he remembered as he stood by the bed. Some of the bandages were gone, and his face had a slack expression, the dark hair standing out starkly against the pale skin.

The stitches over his left eye looked nasty, the skin around it dark with bruising. “He’s gonna be okay, right?” Sam asked, his voice wavering.

“Course he will.” Dean responded, a little too fast, a little to tightly.

“Can we stay a while?”

“Sure.” Dean said, pulling the chair closer to the bed. “I don’t have to be to work until eight. We can stay as long as you want.”

The club was already hopping, the music booming out into the cold winter street as Dean arrived and headed around to the back door. He’d spent a big chunk of the afternoon thinking about what Charlie had said. He was right, Dean had been clunky and uncomfortable.

And the music, while classic, wasn’t really right for him. He needed something…more suited to his particular tastes. And the costume wasn’t really right either. He needed something…better.

Matty was just coming in from the stage, sweating and glittering. Dean raised a hand in greeting before turning to the racks and racks of costumes. “Hey, is any of this okay to use?”

“Most of it.” Matty answered. “What’s the matter, don’t like the way I deck you out?”

“No offense, dude, just need something…a little different.” Dean picked through the assorted bits of clothing until his hand found something made of soft, supple leather. He pulled them out and held them up to check the sizing. “What about these?”

Matty turned from the mirror where he was wiping his face. “Hey, I didn’t realize Jonas left those. You think they’ll fit?”

Dean shrugged, an idea forming in his head. “Your sound guy got any AC/DC or Metallica?”

“Probably.”

Dean grinned. “Get him to pick something for me.”

He still wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but his father had taught him that you take care of your family, and if this is what it took, this is what he would do. He dressed in his g-string and the leather pants, which fit like they’d been made for him, smoothing a hand down the snaps along the seams as he crossed to the mirrors. He brushed down his face and chest with powder, then spotted a black eyeliner pencil.

He smirked and lifted it, carefully lining both eyes above and below, murmuring thanks to Penny Aberton and her broken arm the school year before. She’d taught him to put her make up on for her, and paid him with the most amazing blow jobs. He borrowed some hair gel from Jay’s spot and mussed up his hair, then turned to Jay who was just sitting down.

“That your jacket?”

Jay frowned at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Promise I get it back?”

Dean grinned and snagged the jacket, pulling it on over a tight white t-shirt that was thin and easy to tear.

“Last night, he made his debut here on our stage, tonight he’s back to strut his stuff, everyone make welcome Sweet Ride Mustang!”

The first notes of “Back in Black” rocked through the house and Dean stepped through the curtain, already sweating under the leather. The lights were hot as he strutted out to center stage with his feet bare. He gyrated to the music, as if he was alone in the world for the first few lines, then looked up, his eyes sweeping the faceless shadows that made up the audience.

The only person he could see clearly was at the end of the runway, a well dressed man on approach to middle age. Dean dropped the jacket and ran his hands down his thighs as he squatted down, then pulled his hand up over his groin, onto his stomach and up to the collar of his shirt.

He tugged on the shirt, pretending to struggle with it, then tearing it open, earning a bout of standing applause from those closest to him. He turned, shaking his ass as he shredded the shirt, then moved down to the end of the runway.

The leather was making the show for him, his ass filling out the seat of the pants like they were skin more than clothing. He ran both hands over his ass as he bent forward, leaning a shoulder into the pole and sliding his hands down the backs of his legs, down to his ankles where he worked the first few snaps open.

Middle-age Guy was definitely interested, Dean could see him leaning forward. He moved his hips, bent his knees and gripped the pants near the ankles, waiting for just the right second in the song to stand and pull, popping the snaps and leaving him there in his g-string, ass out at Middle-age Guy.

He turned, grinning down at the man, who had money in his hand now. Dean danced closer, thrusting his hips forward to accept the tip. The older man raised an eyebrow and stepped back. In his place came a few others, money out, hands sliding over whatever skin they could reach as Dean moved to the song for them.

The music ended and Dean looked back at his target, winking and licking his lower lip before he tossed the pants over one shoulder and strutted his way back up the runway. He paused near the jacket, bending over slowly to pick it up, then dragging it behind him as he exited.

He ducked behind the curtain and started pulling the money from the string of his g-string. “Not bad, new guy.” Jay said, taking his jacket back. “Next time, drag your own pants, not my jacket.”

Dean chuckled and collapsed onto a chair, counting out his money. Not bad was right, the dance had garnered him almost eighty bucks. Another one like that and they’d be set to get the heat turned on.

He was shoving the night’s take into the pocket of his jeans when Matty slapped his shoulder. “Hey, boss wants to see you.”

Dean stifled the yawn and grabbed his jacket. “Office?”

Matty nodded and Dean headed out to find Charlie. “You wanted to see me?”

Charlie waved him in, his eyes on a monitor on his desk. Dean could see one of the dancers in a small room…but he wasn’t dancing. “Hold on, just want to make sure…” Charlie didn’t look up until the man with the dancer finished and stood back. When he had walked out of range o the camera, Charlie gestured. “Close the door.”

“You did good tonight.” Charlie said when Dean was sitting. “I was impressed. And I wasn’t alone.”

“Oh?” Something in his tone had Dean nervous. Or maybe it was that he had just watched someone getting fucked on camera.

“One of our regulars took a shine to you. He had to leave tonight, but he’ll be back tomorrow. He’s already paid for a private dance.”

Dean shifted. “By private…you mean…what exactly?”

Charlie gestured at the monitor. “Private room.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not…interested.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Charlie said, his tone turning a little colder. “You want to work here, that’s part of the job.”

“I ain’t…dancing’s one thing.” Dean started to stand, only to find a heavy hand on his shoulder. He didn’t know when the bouncer had come in, but his hand was hard, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder.

“Let me explain what is going to happen here Dean.” Charlie stood, coming around to lean on the front of his desk. “You are going to dance tomorrow night and after your dance, you’re going to go into the private room. You’re going to take off the g-string, you’re going to bend over and you’re going to take whatever Mr. Evans offers you.”

“Or maybe I’ll go to the cops.” Dean countered, wincing as those fingers dug into him.

“You could. But let me tell you why you won’t. See, you’re sixteen and you’re alone with a twelve year old brother. You call the cops, and they’ll take Sam away, put him in foster care. You too, probably. Then your father might end up getting into trouble for leaving you alone.”

“He was in an accident.” Dean ground out through clenched teeth.

“Oh, yes, he was. But he was also gone for nearly two weeks before that, wasn’t he?”

Dean’s eyes were wide as Charlie laughed. “Oh, yes, Dean. I do my homework.” Charlie stood, his hands sliding around his waistband. “Get up.”

The pressure eased a little and let Dean stand. “Now, I realize you’ve never done this, and so I don’t want to throw you to Evans tomorrow completely unprepared. Which is why I’m gonna fuck you right now.”

“Like hell.” Dean elbowed the guy behind him, but Charlie punched him in the face and the bouncer got Dean’s other arm twisted up behind him.

“Shaun, get him to the desk.”

Dean fought, but Shaun was bigger and stronger and in minutes he had Dean face down on the desk.

“Now, Dean, I don’t necessarily want to hurt you. So, I’m going to give you a choice. Either you take your pants down and let me fuck you, or Shaun and I will fuck you anyway, and while we’re doing you, Spike will be having a go at your little brother. He’s there now, sitting outside your house, waiting for me to call him and tell him to have at it.”

Dean froze, looking up at him, trying to judge if he was serious. “What? You…Sam’s just a kid…”

Charlie smirked. “That’s how Spike likes them.”

This was not happening. Dean struggled against Shaun, but he was already in a compromised position and Shaun just put more of his weight against Dean, pressing him into the desk until the edge was cutting into his stomach.

Charlie had his phone in his hand. "Spike, you ready?"

"Wait." Dean angled his head to get a better look at Charlie.

"You have something to say, Dean?" Charlie asked, holding the phone away from his face.

"Don't….don't hurt Sam."

"Hold on a minute, Spike." Charlie lowered the phone and indicated that Shaun should let Dean up. Dean shook him off and stood upright, exhaling slowly. "Well?"

Dean swallowed. "I have your word he won't touch Sam?"

"You be a good boy and you'll never have to worry about little Sam."

They stared at each other a minute, and as Charlie lifted the phone, Dean's hands went to his zipper. "Okay. All right? Just…" He shook his head, his hands trembling as he unzipped and pushed his jeans down.

"Hang tight, Spike. I'll get back to you."

His stomach twisted and for a second Dean was sure he was going to be sick before he could go through with it. His hands fumbled as he went for his underwear.

"That's good." Charlie said, coming around behind him. "Shaun go around and hold his arms. Don't want him changing his mind once we get started." Shaun let go of his wrist, and Dean nearly bolted as Charlie touched him the first time, his hand smoothing down over Dean's ass as if it belonged to him. He pushed Dean's underwear down further.

Shaun grabbed his wrists from the other side of the desk and Dean tugged trying to get them loose, while Charlie was busy adjusting his legs. "Bend over." Charlie demanded and Dean started to hyperventilate. "Bend over now or Shaun will make you, and we all know where that will lead."

In jerking movements, Dean leaned forward until his stomach was on the desk, still pulling on his hands. Behind him, Charlie petted over his ass, down between his legs to grab his cock. He pulled until Dean yelled, then chuckled. His hands left Dean and when they came back, one steadied his hip, the other went straight to Dean's hole.

A finger circled it, pressing inward after a couple of strokes. Dean bit his tongue to keep from saying anything, to keep the whimpering noises and fear from leaking out of his mouth. He couldn't help the cry that came as Charlie's finger pushed in, however. Fire and pain competed for his attention as Charlie shoved into him, then pulled his finger out. "Damn boy, that is one fucking tight ass. I'm going to enjoy this."

He leaned over Dean and opened the drawer pulling out a bottle of something. He straightened up and there was drop of cold, slick stuff against the burning of his skin, which Charlie then pushed into him with his finger.

Dean closed his eyes and breathed in and out through his nose, trying to distance himself from the pain and humiliation. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't this person…and yet, here he was.

Charlie's fingers moved inside him and Dean's heart raced.

He could do this.

For Sam.

For his father.

The sound of a zipper sounded in the room and then those fingers were gone and there was something bigger and thicker and Dean yelled and yelled as it was pressed in, only a little more lube added than what Charlie had already used.

He breathed out shakily when the pressure eased and Charlie pulled out, but all too soon he was pushing in again. Three strokes and Charlie was laying over Dean's back. "See, not so bad." Charlie said in his ear. "I want you to get used to this feeling. I predict that you're going to make more money like this than you could on the stage."

"I'm no whore." Dean growled through clenched teeth.

Charlie pulled out and shoved himself back in. "Oh, yes you are. You're my whore. I own you."

He started up a rhythm then, fucking Dean into the desk, both hands on Dean's hips tight enough to bruise. It seemed to go on forever, then Dean felt the heat flush as Charlie started to come, pulling out so that the sticky mess slid down Dean's leg.

"Let him up." Charlie stepped back and Shaun let go of him.

Dean pushed himself upright, reaching from his underwear and pulling them up, then going back for his jeans. When he turned, Charlie was sitting in one of the chairs looking up at him. "No more arguing with me. Tomorrow night you do what you're told…and no one has to get hurt. And don't worry, I meant what I said. Like any good whore, you get paid for the cocks I stuff up inside you." He stood, pulling out his wallet and stuffing a hundred dollar bill in Dean's pocket. "Now, you should get home and make sure that little brother of yours is okay."

He wanted to punch him, beat the shit out of him, but Shaun was hovering and Dean knew he couldn't take the bouncer. Instead, he nodded tightly and left the office, walking stiffly, his ass screaming. He got as far as the car before he lost in, doubling over and dry heaving into the dirty snow on the side of the road.

Tears burned his skin in the cold and he wiped at them angrily as he got in the car, trying to find a way to sit that didn't hurt more than if he'd just been beat with his father's belt.

After a few minutes he gave up trying and just starting the car. His face was wet as he pulled in the driveway and got out of his car. Spike waved from his car on the street and pulled away.

Dean ran inside, straight to Sam's bedroom and throwing open the door. Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking. "Dean?"

"You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Go back to sleep."

Dean left him and went to the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes quickly and turning on the shower. He could smell nothing but Charlie's come all over him. He quivered as the hot water hit him, wincing as it washed over the raw skin of his hole. He grabbed soap and lathered up, scrubbing at his skin and turning the hot water up higher and higher until he really couldn't stand the scalding and was forced to turn it off.

He was shaking as he pulled a towel around him and got out of the shower. He wiped down the mirror to check his face. The left cheekbone where Charlie had punched him was red and was probably going to bruise in. He wiped the mirror again as it fogged over, his eyes catching on the bruises coming in around his wrist.

He shivered and turned away. He needed to sleep. He turned, his foot hitting the clothes he'd left on the floor. He bent to pick them up, and the smell of sex hit him square in the face.

He couldn't leave them like that. He gathered them up and all but ran to the kitchen, to the sink, filling it with hot water and bending under to get the laundry soap. He poured way too much of the soap into the running water, dumping the clothes in and scrubbing at them manically. It wasn't until the bubbles were tingling against his chest that he realized what he was doing and stopped himself, turning off the water and leaving the clothes to soak in the strongly scented soapy water.

Dean shuffled to his own bedroom then, still wrapped only in the towel. He crawled up into his bed, drawing the blankets up around his chest and curling into a ball on his side, hoping his ass stopped hurting enough that he could function in the morning, praying he could just go to sleep.

He closed his eyes, but all that did was put him back in that moment, with Shaun squeezing his wrists and Charlie pushing into him. Dean opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling.

“What happened to you?” Sam asked as Dean shuffled into the kitchen late in the day.

Self consciously, Dean pulled the long sleeves of his shirt down to make sure they covered the bruises from Shaun’s hands. “Bar fight.” Dean grumbled, heading for the fridge. He was starving, which was the only thing that had brought him out of his room where he’d been hiding all day. He just couldn’t face Sam after…even now he couldn’t look at his brother.

He pulled the ham and cheese out and tossed them on the counter, then reached for the bread.

“What is your problem?” Sam asked.

“No problem, Sammy, just tired.”

“I heard you come in, remember?”

Dean froze. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You checked on me.” Sam sounded amused.

“I check on you every night.” Dean responded. “Have ever since we started sleeping in separate rooms.”

He threw a sandwich together and lifted it, leaning against the counter.

“Should we try calling Pastor Jim?” Sam asked when the kitchen had been quiet for too long. “Or…someone?”

“Who? Who can we call Sam that isn’t going to just get us into more trouble?”

Sam frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Dean growled his frustration. “Grow up, Sam. We’re two underage kids living alone while our father is in the hospital and we don’t know if he’s even going to wake up. If anyone found out, we’d be screwed.” He blanched and turned away. “More than we are already.”

He heard Sam moving, the chair scraping the bad linoleum. “We’re okay, aren’t we Dean?” Sam asked. “You and me? I mean, you’ve got this job and no one knows you aren’t old enough and we’re okay?”

Dean dropped his sandwich and turned, surprised to find Sam right in front of him. “I…I can’t keep…” He wanted to say he couldn’t keep the job, that he had to quit, but Sam looked actually scared. Instead, he pulled Sam to him. “Yeah, Sam. It’s gonna be fine.”

It was his job to make sure that it would be. Even if that meant…He squeezed Sam tight and put that thought out his head. He had a few hours before he had to think about it. And if he thought about it, there was no way he could go through with it.

The doorbell rang as Dean was putting his shoes on, running late in his attempt to not actually have to go to the club. Sam answered and Dean looked up, surprised to find Shaun there.

“Boss sent me to give you a lift.”

Dean frowned at him. “I have a car.”

“Roads are icy, Boss didn’t want you to…have an accident.”

Dean stood, understanding the unspoken threat. Charlie wanted to make sure Dean wasn’t going to run. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the twenty he’d planned on giving Sam.

“Order a pizza or something.” Sam took the money, looking up at Dean with big, concerned eyes. “I’m fine Sam. Lock up behind me.” He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, but Sam was suddenly there, hugging him. Just as quickly, Sam was gone, dropping into the chair to watch television and Dean slipped his coat on as he moved through the door.

“I wasn’t planning on running.” Dean said as they got into Shaun’s car.

“The boss just wanted to make sure that you understood your place.”

“I understand just fine.” Dean responded.

“You should have Matty help you cover the bruises. He’s good at it.” Shaun glanced at him, then back at the street. “And learn not to fight it so much. I don’t actually enjoy leaving bruises on you.”

“Right, because you’re such a nice guy.” Dean said coldly, looking out the side window.

“Most of the time I am.” Shaun adjusted himself in the seat. “You should remember that I’m the one that gets paid to keep you safe up there on that stage.”

“But I’m fair game off the stage, right?”

Shaun snorted. “Okay, I get your attitude, okay? I do. But there’s coming a day when you’re going to appreciate having me around. Mark my words.”

“Today is not that day.” Dean barely waited for him to park the car before he opened the door and was out. He stormed into the dressing room to start getting ready.

“Someone obviously shit on your cornflakes today.” Matty said as he came in from the bar with a couple of beers in his hand.

“Fuck off.” Dean responded.

“Nice. Here.” He put one of the beers in front of Dean.

“You knew.” Dean said after a long silence.

“Yes, I did.” Matty responded, sitting in a nearby chair and sipping on his beer.

“You could have warned me.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Not if I want to keep my job. And trust me, if I could go anywhere else, I would.” He gestured at the chair by Dean. “Sit down, let me show you how to cover the bruise.”

Dean glowered at him. “Maybe I like the bruise right where it is.”

“It’ll just piss Charlie off.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” Dean sat though, leaning down to start untying his shoes.

Matty leaned in. “Maybe you better start. I’ll tell you from experience, Dean, his threats are not idle. Whatever it is he says he will do, he will.”

Dean frowned at him. “What did he do?”

Matty shook his head and sat back as the room started to fill with other dancers. Dean undressed and got into his costume, then sat in the chair and let Matty cover the bruise on his cheek.

Dancing was more difficult with the impending sexual encounter looming over him, and he was stiff and twitchy and the tips were no where near as good as they had been the night before. All too quickly it was over and Shaun met him as he came off the stage, one big hand wrapping around his upper arm. He led Dean down a corridor and up to a door where Charlie was waiting, a shot of something in his hand.

Dean shook his head, but Charlie shoved it at him. "Drink it, you'll thank me later."

He took the glass and swallowed the whiskey in it, coughing a little. "Now, Mr. Evans knows you're new to this, but he doesn't like disobedience, so do what you're told."

He felt a little ridiculous standing there in just a g-string. He wanted to cross his arms or cover himself somehow. "You understand me, Son?"

Dean inhaled and his whole body tightened up. "Don't call me that. I am not your son."

Charlie's hand came up and grabbed his hair, yanking him close. "No, you're my whore, so get in there and make me some money."

He opened the door and shoved Dean in. He stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the low lighting, blinking as he took in the gaudy walls and carpet, the stripper pole set off to one said, the multi-level bench in the corner with places that were perfect for bending someone over and any number of other sexual configurations.

Someone cleared his throat and Dean turned, finding the well-dressed middle-aged guy of the night before. Unconsciously, Dean stepped back away from him, his hands dropping to cover his groin.

"You are even more beautiful up close." He had a vague accent that reminded Dean of the east coast and he stepped out of the shadows, lifting a hand to Dean's face. He had to remind himself not to pull away. "He's right to call you Sweet…but I'm betting you ride more like the Mustang."

Dean tensed and looked away, though he didn't move so much that he escaped that hand. "Relax, Mustang, I'll take it slow."

He almost wanted to tell him he'd rather they got it over with quickly, except he was still sore from the night before and Dean knew enough to know that going too fast could cause damage he couldn't afford.

Evans stepped closer and Dean stepped back, into the wall. He had nowhere to go. Evans loomed over him, a good half foot taller, taking Dean's face in both hands and turning it slightly before kissing him. Dean did his best to keep his mouth closed, but Evans was persistent and his tongue found its way into Dean's mouth.

Dean squirmed, but Evans made it clear that he was going to take his time. He pressed his body against Dean's and let his hands slide down over Dean's shoulders and arms, then around to his ass.

"I am looking forward to fucking this hot ass tonight. It's going to be tight and I'm already hard just thinking about it." He pressed his groin into Dean's hip as if to make his point. Dean clenched his teeth and fought the urge to shove him back.

Evans caressed over Dean's skin, toying with the g-string before tugging on it. "Oh yeah, I like this." One hand pushed the g-string down, the other slipped up through Dean's crack and up to his hole.

Dean hissed and Evans laughed. "So I'm not the first."

He stepped back. "Turn around."

The g-string was around his knees as he did and Dean's hand fell in place to cover himself. Evans was unbuckling his belt and pulling out his already hard cock. Dean tried to look away, as Evans fondled himself. "Move your hand away. I want to see what I paid for."

Dean moved his hands away, clenching his fists.

"Normally, I'd have you get down on your knees and use your mouth to get me ready, but Charlie tells me you're new to this…so I'll give you a pass." He gestured to the bench in the corner. "There's lube over there. Get yourself ready."

Dean wasn't completely sure how to do that, but he stepped out of the g-string and forced himself to move over to the bench. The top shelf had an assortment of packets of lube and a stack of small towels. Dean lifted one and opened it, looking back at Evans who was taking his jacket off.

He was panting as he slicked two of his fingers and turned to face the corner. He couldn't do this if he had to watch Evans get ready to fuck him. Hesitantly, Dean reached behind him for his ass, rubbing over the hole with the slick lube. It was soothing to skin that was still sore.

Dean gritted his teeth and pushed just the tip of one finger in, gasping at the fire that immediately rushed to the spot. "Shit." He leaned forward, forcing himself to keep pushing that finger in even though every instinct in his body screamed at him to pull it out. Pull it out and run like hell.

He could feel Evans behind him and his chest tightened. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you don’t want me to hurt you, boy.”

Dean pulled his finger free and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t…never…”

Evans snorted behind him. “Charlie told me you were green, didn’t say you were ignorant.”

He could feel the burn in his ears and on his cheeks and there was something very wrong with the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was more ashamed of not knowing or what he was doing.

Evans hand took Dean’s and guided it back to his hole. “Two fingers.” He pushed those fingers in and Dean fought the instinctive reaction to tense up. “In and out to get the lube spread around, then open them up. Push against the sides, until you can get a third finger in.”

Dean’s face was burning as he worked himself open. Behind he heard Evans open a condom wrapper. His hand stopped Dean and pulled Dean’s hand away before dropping to his hip. With both hands on Dean’s hip, Evans nudged his legs open a little further, then slid that hand up his back, pressing him forward.

Dean closed his eyes and held his breath as Evans’ cock touched him, nestling against his ass, then pressing in. He stopped with just the tip inside Dean, hesitating as he readjusted his grip on Dean’s hips. Dean exhaled explosively when Evans shoved inside him with a violent snap of his hips.

With his head pressed against the bench in front of him, Dean counted out the strokes, tears burning the corners of his eyes. His skin was damp with sweat and Evans dragged his one hand through the slick on Dean’s back, his fingers digging in, adding another element of pain.

Disgust churned in his stomach, threatening to come up along with the whiskey and Dean prayed Evans would just finish. Finally, long after Dean had given up counting, Evans grunted and shoved into him, pressing his weight onto Dean as he filled the condom.

He stood slowly, but Dean didn’t move, just leaned against the bench with his eyes closed. He could hear Evans dressing, moving around the room, then coming back to him. His hand stroked over Dean’s skin, up his back to his neck where it tightened and pulled, making Dean stand and turn.

“The only reason you don’t have your ass filled with my come, is that you still have to dance tonight.” He stroked a finger over Dean’s cheek. “When you do, I want you to remember that you’re dancing for me. And when it’s over, I’m going to show you the right way to suck a man’s dick, and spill all over your pretty little face.”

Dean shivered and looked away and Evans finished pulling on his jacket before heading to the door. Dean was alone for a few minutes, time he spent trying to reason out what was happening, but all he could really understand was that it was his fault. He was here like this because he didn’t know how else to provide for his family. He had nothing more to offer than his body.

The door opened and Matty was there, offering him a robe. “I’ll show you where the shower is so you can clean up.”

He pulled on the robe and followed Matty numbly to a shower head mounted over a drain in a back room. He stood under the spray and watched the water pool at his feet before being sucked into the drain.

His father was going to kill him, beat him bloody and leave him on the side of the road.

If he didn’t die first.

And he wasn’t even sure if that thought meant his father or himself.

Dean turned his face into the tepid spray and scrubbed his hands over his skin, trying to erase the feeling of sticky sweat. Somehow he didn’t doubt that Charlie wasn’t above killing, if he thought the threat was high enough.

“Dean, you okay?” Matty’s voice came to him from the doorway.

“Yeah, just…another minute.” Dean’s own voice sounded strange, low and gravelly.

He reached to turn the water off and grabbed at his robe. The dressing room was empty when he came back and Matty had a shot and a beer waiting for him. “Thought Charlie didn’t like drunk dancers?” Dean asked when he found his voice.

“What Charlie doesn’t know…just don’t fall off the stage.”

Dean grabbed the shot and downed, letting the burn ground him and pull him out of his head. He needed to get ready to do the whole damn thing over again. “I got your stuff together.” Matty pointed at the pile of leather on the back table.

“Why you handling me?” Dean asked.

Matty shook his head and sat down. “I’m not. Just trying to help.”

“Yeah, help me right into getting my ass fucked.” Dean growled, reaching for the beer.

“If I’d told you, you would have bolted, and Charlie would have taken it out on me.”

“What’s he got on you?” Dean asked.

Matty shook his head. “It’s better you don’t know. But once I was a lot like you.” He sat back and looked at Dean. “The other guys won’t stay gone for long. Let me offer you a little advice. Just listen and do what you’re told. Don’t talk back, don’t fight. Learn as you go. I know you don’t want to think about it, but the better you get at it, the more control you have.”

“Right, because I control anything here?”

Matty’s smile was tight. “You’d be surprised. When you let yourself play along, when you pretend it’s something you want, you control most of the scene, most of the time. There are some who…well, they just want to beat you down and fuck you, but most are looking for a ride.”

“Well, despite your clever name for me, I am not a horse.” Dean downed half his beer and stood up to go start getting dressed for his next number.

Matty followed him, grabbing his shoulder. “If you want to get through this without getting hurt, or getting your family hurt, you’ll dance your ass off and take the whoring like it’s a good thing. You’ll get paid well when you do, and then maybe you can escape, like Jonas did.”

Escape, at the moment, seemed nearly impossible, but Dean didn’t say that, he just turned and started getting dressed.

The second dance seemed easier somehow, with someone to focus on. Dean left the stage with nearly a fifty dollars in tips. Like before, Shaun was waiting for him, escorting him back to the room.

Evans was waiting, his pants already unzipped, his cock in his hands. "Get on over here, boy…on your knees for me."

Dean licked his lips and took a few hesitant steps, then stopped. Why this should be harder he wasn't sure, but the idea of going to his knees, of letting this man put his cock in Dean's mouth…it terrified him.

Evans was not a patient man though and he tugged, pulling Dean in and shoving Dean down to the floor. "I don't expect you to be good, just open your fucking mouth."

Again, Dean's tongue swiped over his bottom lip. Evans grabbed his face, forcing his thumb into Dean's mouth and using that to press his lips open and holding it open. "My cock likes the way you strut up there." He rubbed the tip of his cock over Dean's lips. "I like knowing you were looking at me, knowing that I was going to do this."

He pushed in, still holding Dean's mouth open, rubbing his cock along Dean's tongue, half way into his mouth and back out, then around his lips again, until Dean's mouth was wet and messy with saliva. "Look at you…panting after my cock…" He pushed into Dean's mouth and pulled his thumb out, sliding his hand back to fist in the short hair at the back of Dean's head.

Evans looked down at Dean as he moved his hips, pressing his cock deeper and deeper into Dean's mouth until Dean was gagging and starting to panic. Evans chuckled and eased out again. "Close your lips around me and suck."

His fingers tightened in Dean's hair, and Dean obeyed as best he could. There was spit sliding out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes were watering. The cock seemed way too big and he couldn't help the gagging as Evans pushed in.

Evans put his hands on either side of Dean's head, holding him in place as he sped up the movement of his hips. He licked his own lips, watching Dean's face. Dean wanted to look anywhere but up at the man, but his choices were up at his face or down at his dick moving in and out of Dean's mouth or to close his eyes.

There was a new taste in his mouth, salt and tang and Evans was pulling out, still holding him in place as his cock spilled, his come painting over Dean's open mouth and onto his cheeks. When his orgasm ended, Evans used his thumbs to smear the cooling come on his skin and into his mouth. "Suck them clean."

Dean flinched, but Evans held him and he used his tongue to lick at the thumbs before sucking each of them into his mouth. Evans pulled them away, doing up his pants. "Get up."

He stood slowly, watching Evans pull on his jacket. He crossed to Dean and held up a folded twenty. He glided it down Dean's chest to where his g-string barely covered his dick. "That's for you. I'll be seeing you, Mustang, you really are a sweet, sweet ride."

Dean waited until he was gone, then moved to the corner for a towel, mopping the come from his face as he all but ran for the dressing room. He'd done his job. All he wanted to do was to go home and shower and brush his teeth until he couldn't taste cock on his tongue any more.

He didn't speak to anyone and he had to fight not to throw up or cry in front of the other guys. He was trembling by the time he got into his own clothes and he clenched his hands into fists to make it stop. He was nearly to the door when his name in Charlie's voice stopped him.

He didn't turn to look. Charlie came up behind him, his fingers catching in Dean's back pocket. "You running out without getting what I owe you?"

Dean twitched, but didn't respond. "Got a stone for you." He held up a few bills folded together. "Fifty dollars for the fucking, plus a little extra, since he got you twice." He reached around Dean and tucked the money in his front pocket. "Take your little brother out for a nice dinner before work tomorrow or something."

"We done?" Dean asked coldly.

"For now." Charlie pulled back and Dean bolted for the door. He stumbled through the alley, stopping just off the street when he was sure he was going to be sick. He bent over, retching against the wall, but nothing came up, leaving him with the taste of cock and come on his tongue.

The cold seeped in under his jacket as he moved out onto the street, and he remembered that he had left the car at home. Shaun was nowhere to be seen. Dean pulled the jacket shut and started the long walk home, chilled well beyond the air around him.