
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/288482.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Original_Character(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Bondage, Autoerotic_Asphyxiation
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-09-16 Words: 4202
****** Ghost of Love ******
by bellatemple
Summary
     It's about sex, yes, but it's also about ghosts and learning and
     deciding one's own fate. 'Cause I can never write something just
     about sex.
Notes
     I've never written anything remotely like this before, and every time
     I think about it I start cursing and snickering and I very nearly
     posted it under a new, unaffiliated name, but decided that would be
     lame. I totally blame
     [[livejournal.com profile] ]
twasadark and this_conversation for this actually getting written. Constructive
feedback would be adored.
Dean loses his virginity at fourteen to Maggie Stevens, also fourteen, also a
virgin, on her pink-sheeted twin bed while her parents sleep in the next room.
They know enough from health class to use a condom -- which Dean's stolen from
the mini-mart four blocks away -- and with four years' experience under his
belt, Dean's a master kisser, but health class doesn't cover foreplay. It
doesn't mention the clitoris or the G-spot or anything other than "insert
penis, thrust, repeat", and so while the experience is mind-blowing and eye-
opening for Dean, Maggie ends up not sure what all the fuss is about.
Two weeks later, she hooks up with a senior and lets Dean know that he has a
lot to learn.
And he won't, she tells him, in front of half the school, be learning it on
her.
Dean's dad confirms this a few hours later, when he tells Dean and Sam to pack
up and drives them out of town, headed for the next hunt and the next school
and the next girl whose pants Dean hopes to manage to talk himself into.
                                     * * *
It becomes something of an obsession for him, after that. He's left one girl
unsatisfied, and one girl is one too many. He needs a teacher -- not something
he often thinks, but it's true. He can't just ask a girl to let him experiment
on her, and unlike fighting and escape techniques, he can't experiment on his
younger brother. He can't ask his dad, either. His dad doesn't have sex.
Yes, he knows that Dad had to have had sex with Mom more than once to get Dean
and Sam, he's been in health class in four separate school districts, after
all, he's no dummy. But it's not something Dad does now. And if it is, well.
Dean doesn't want to know about it.
Seriously. Gross.
But with the way that they move around, it's hard for Dean to find someone to
teach him. He tries to ask some of the older girls, for awhile, but it turns
out "have you had lots of sex?" doesn't go over well as a conversation starter,
and "I don't know how to get a girl off" really isn't the way to convince her
to let you see her naked, so he gives up. Guys are right out. He can tell by
the way they talk about their conquests in the locker room that they don't
actually have a clue what they're talking about, though he does learn the words
"clit", "gizz" and "cum" the very first day he bothers to try to listen. They
make it sound like a game, and maybe it is a game, but it's not like football
or baseball, not really. It's its own, complicated, slightly terrifying game of
wit and strategy.
And crap, he's comparing sex to chess now, and he's never, ever, ever going to
get laid again.
He makes off with another pack of condoms every time he's in a gas station
convenience store, like having more condoms will make him more likely to get
some action, but when it's time to leave again, he doesn't have the guts to
pack them all up in his duffel, afraid his dad will find them and chew him out.
Or worse, try to talk to him.
'Cause. Gross.
And then they're moving again, and Dean's getting closer to fifteen, and he's
thinking Maggie didn't count, she couldn't count because she didn't like it and
he's going to be a virgin forever, sitting around playing chess with Sammy
forever and ever.
And geez, that's even grosser.
                                     * * *
When Dean's a little less than two months from his fifteenth birthday, they
move into an old Victorian place on the edge of a small New England town, one
that's been split into cheap apartments and furnished with even cheaper press-
board furniture. The Winchesters manage to get a deal on the whole top floor,
thanks some contact or other who knows somebody who knows somebody who once
saved the landlord's rooster from a bunyip or something equally stupid and
probably completely not-true, and that means that they get three bedrooms and
one-and-a-half baths -- and Dean's never been able to figure out why they call
a room with a toilet a "half-bathroom" in houses, but just a bathroom in
schools and restaurants and things -- so Dean and Sammy manage to get their own
rooms for the first time in . . . well, Dean's lost track. Hell, just getting
to sleep in a different room than Dad is a treat, this is like going to heaven
without the mess of dying first.
Or it will be, just as soon as he manages to get a girl up here.
He's more determined than ever now to learn what the hell he's doing in bed,
since if there's one thing that Maggie taught him, it's that he can probably
get a girl a first time -- hell, he's "cute" enough to do that easy, so long as
he doesn't pick some girl who's a total prude and "not ready yet" -- but if he
wants her a second time, or any of her friends, or probably any other girl in
the entire county, he sure as hell better make sure she enjoys the ride, too.
He starts lifting dirty mags, when he can, along with the condoms, not to whack
off to -- okay, not just to whack off to -- but to study, to figure out what
everything really looks like -- there wasn't a lot of looking, with Maggie,
just "insert penis, thrust" in the dark -- and to find out what girls like. He
learns they like "foreplay", but not exactly what that is. He learns they like
stupid things like popular music and "guys with a sense of humor" and he
decides that dirty magazines just aren't going to cut it, and he whacks off and
groans into his pillow and figures he and his hand are going to have to get
real friendly, because he hasn't got a chance.
And then one night, something magical happens.
He's met a girl, that day, in his shop class of all places. A girl like Maggie
but even better, because she doesn't like pink and she listens to decent music
and she's funny as hell as well as being hot as fuck, but she's a junior, so
there's no way she'll put up with a total newb like him in the bedroom and he
lies in bed thinking about her, about what her magnificent boobs would look
like under his hands, about her sitting on his bed with her legs up and spread
the way the women sit in the dirty mags, all trimed and glistening and just
waiting begging for his dick, and he feels hands, cold and light and damp like
fog and kinda big slide over his hips and he hears a voice, faint and crackly
like a dying record and calling him "Susanne" of all things, whisper promises
in his ear of the greatest sex he's ever had, and he shudders and presses his
feet into the mattress even though hello, ghost dude feeling him up is, like,
the opposite of sexy and there's another voice, like the first only softer and
in his head and saying "Oh God, George, yes", and something tingles between his
legs, not quite his dick, and he realizes that there's two ghosts here, not
one, and the girl ghost is in him and he's about to feel the best sex of the
girl ghost's life and this is his chance.
So he lies back and he closes his eyes instead of going for the salt, and he
concentrates on that tingle, on the way the large, ghost hands pinch and tickle
there and slide into something Dean doesn't even have and Dean doesn't even
have to touch himself to be harder than he's ever been, even with Maggie.
He feels stubbly lips on a ghostly nipple and it sends signals through every
part of his body, but mostly that strange ghostly spot that's not his dick but
feels just as awesome and after awhile he forgets that he's trying to keep
track of what the guy ghost's doing, take mental notes so that he can do it,
too, later, on some not-ghost chick, and he just rides a wave of twitchy
pleasure, even after he's managed to come all over himself without even
touching until the ghost lovers fade away and he falls asleep spent and naked
and sticky, grinning like an asshole.
                                     * * *
He should tell his dad the old Victorian place is haunted. He should salt his
room and sleep on the couch and research the place and figure out who "George"
and "Susanne" are so they can go dig them up and burn them and put them to
rest.
But all they're doing is having sex. And Dean's found the teacher he wanted. He
knows so much more already, more than any other guy could ever know, because he
knows exactly what it feels like if he puts his mouth on a girl's nipple and
wiggles his fingers around in her junk, and no other guy could ever possibly
know that. He'll be like a king. No, like a god. A sex god for all the hot
women in the world and they'll flock to him and he'll never have to see a girl
look at him the way Maggie did after she got with that senior, ever ever again.
So he doesn't tell his dad and he doesn't get the salt. He just goes to bed.
                                     * * *
The girl in his shop class -- Leigh -- asks if he wants to go to a movie
sometime, and for the first time since he slept with Maggie he grins and says
"hell yeah" without feeling like a total tool.
                                     * * *
The ghosts always come (get it? Come. He's a comic genius) after two in the
morning, and Dean's starting to feel the lack of sleep. Dad asks about it, the
one time he's home for breakfast, and Dean just shrugs and says something about
homework, which they all know is a lie but Dad can't guess what the truth is,
and if Sammy's looking at him funny, what the hell does that matter? He's only
eleven. He hasn't even kissed a girl yet. So what if he might've heard Dean
moan once or twice (a night)?
Seriously.
And he's learning so much. This George guy was a real maverick. Who knew a girl
could get off on ice cubes? And that thing with the feathers, hell, that was
like magic. He can't stop now. He wants to give Leigh the most and best orgasms
she's ever had, wants to see her squirm the way he feels Susanne squirm night
after night and hear her say "Dean" the way Susanne says "George", like he's
the most awesome being on the face of the planet and she wants to worship at
his feet.
He wants to be perfect for her. And the next girl after her. And the next and
the next. It's not like he'll ever find a girl like Mom was for Dad, not the
way he lives. Dad had years to get Mom to sound the way Susanne sounds. Dean's
going to have, like, a week at most.
He's almost ready, too. He's sure of it. Just a couple more nights until the
movie date. Dad'll be gone and he can get Sammy a new book at the library or
something and he won't bother them and it'll be magic and Leigh will tell all
the other girls how awesome he is, and he'll finally get to use the twelve
packs of condoms he's got hidden under the mattress with the skin mags.
Just a couple more nights. He's fifteen (well, close enough, anyway). He can
sleep when he's old.
                                     * * *
The night before the big date with Leigh, something changes. Instead of
George's ghost hands slipping up (his) Susanne's body, the first thing Dean
feels is something cold and hard against his lips. He feels Susanne open her
mouth and it slips inside, sitting heavy on his tongue and pushing against the
roof of his mouth, and though he wants to spit it out, she doesn't and it stays
while straps wrap around (his) Susanne's jaw to the back of her head.
Dean's heard of kinky sex. He's watched movies and picked up a few of the mags
for this sort of thing, but he thinks that maybe this is a little ridiculous.
Come on, now, George, he tries to say, get to the good stuff, but while he
knows that he's not really gagged, he's just feeling what Susanne felt, he
can't get his tongue to make the right shapes and all that comes out is an odd,
garbled mutter. He feels a pressure on his eyes and springs them open, suddenly
desperate to see, but Susanne isn't, and the room is dark and he can't even
make out the texture of the popcorn ceiling. He feels (his) her arms get tied -
- no, locked -- behind her, hears the faint rattle of chain and feels the way
the position arches (his) her back, makes her bare breasts stick out. Another
rattle, and Susanne's pulled to the end of the bed and her legs are lifted and
spread, shackled to something hanging from the ceiling that has her ass hanging
slightly in the cold air, her body held tightly open and ready for whatever it
is George is going to do to her tonight, and Dean feels it all, even though he
knows -- he knows -- that he's still lying on his back in the middle of the
bed, his hands folded behind his head, one knee bent, with a towel over his
crotch for quick clean up.
George, who's usually whispering dirty promises to Susanne with every touch,
hasn't said a word.
Dean tries to roll over, thinking that enough is enough, he's learned plenty by
now and'll be able to get Leigh off no problem so maybe it's time to put the
ghosts to rest, but he can't move. Like the gag with his voice and the
blindfold with his sight, the ghost chains are holding his body still just as
surely as they held Susanne however long ago this really happened.
Dean wants to panic, is desperate to panic, but though his mind is going shit
and no and get the fuck off me, his body's only feeling what Susanne felt: a
thrill of anticipation, a shivering glee over being completely and totally
helpless and Jesus, Dean thinks, some people are seriously fucked up.
And god help him, right now, he's one of them.
He hears footsteps, and a door shutting, and then it's just him and Susanne,
chest up, legs spread, ass swaying in the breeze. He can feel the low burn of
desire from her ghostly body stiffening him up as they wait in the dark
silence, but Susanne trusts George, so Dean's trusting George, even though he
thinks they both might go insane with the wanting and the waiting before George
finally gets back.
Then the crackly, ghost-door creaks and the footsteps return and Susanne and
Dean tense as one, already wet for what's to come.
"Susanne," George says, his voice tender but somehow distant and professional.
"I'd like you to meet Scott and Karen."
He brought FRIENDS? Dean thinks. Susanne gasps behind the gag and her body
trembles, but her lust only increases with the idea of another couple in the
room and looking at her when she's like this, and so Dean's lust goes up, too,
and he thinks that if someone doesn't touch them right the hell now, he and
Susanne are going to explode and that's going to be really fucking messy.
He can hear George -- or possibly Scott or Karen -- moving around the bed and
he pictures him, though he has no idea what he looks like, tilting his head and
examining them lying here like they're a really fucking nice car on a dealer's
floor. And he realizes that he's thinking of him and Susanne as a "they", like
they're one person, like George is looking at him and breathing on him instead
of Dean being an unnoticed voyeur like he'd been all the nights before. It's
really fucking intense, and Dean's starting to notice that it's a little hard
to breath around the phantom gag in his mouth.
When George -- or Scott, but really probably not Karen -- finally touches them,
it's to slam into them without warning, and it's really damned lucky that
Susanne's as wet as she is, or Dean's pretty sure it would have hurt like hell.
It burns slightly, like a good stretch, and Dean and Susanne gasp hard and buck
their hips in time to George or Scott's thrusts -- three of them, hard and
rapid and then he's suddenly pulling out and the loss makes them gasp all over
again and jerk against the restraints and then there's hands, so many hands all
over, on Susanne's (Dean's) breasts, on her (his) hips, on her (his) clit -
- and yeah, Dean's finally figured out what that sweet, sweet spot is -- and
Susanne and Dean are writhing together as far as the restraints allow and the
only sounds are the rattle of ghostly chains and the gasps and grunts of Dean
and Susanne and George and Scott and Karen and Dean loses track of what's where
and who's who and everything is just wild touching and desperate wriggling and
mad, mad pleasure so intense that if it weren't for the gag, he'd scream, Sam
and Dad be damned.
And then it all goes wrong.
                                     * * *
Dean can't breathe.
He's not sure what happens or how it happens, but he suddenly realizes that in
the midst of the touching and the thrusting and the whimpers, something has
gotten pressed over his face. It smells like sex and sweat, so he thinks it
might be a person, but it's smothering him -- smothering Susanne, really, but
he and Susanne are practically the same person, just now, and that means it's
smothering him -- and he can't bring his arms up to push it off. He can't roll
out from underneath it, and all his bucking is getting interpreted all wrong
and fucking shit, he can't breath!
Dean's never heard of "autoerotic asphyxiation", so he has no idea what term to
apply to what's happening to him and Susanne. He sure as hell has no idea that
people do this on purpose. He can feel Susanne riding the terror, getting
closer to coming even though he knows her head has to be swimming as much as
his is, and he's suddenly struck with the idea that maybe, just maybe, chicks
can be as completely stupid over sex as guys are, because this right here, this
getting off on the fact that she's dying? This is pretty fucking dumb.
And there's not a damned thing he can do about it.
Susanne is dying, too. He knows it, suddenly, as certainly as he knows anything
just now -- which isn't all that certain, since there's sparks going off behind
his eyelids and his chest is jerking and most of what he knows is that he can't
fucking breathe -- that this is how Susanne died. That George and Susanne have
been leading up to this -- on him -- the entire time, and that maybe if he'd
just sucked up his damned ego and told his dad weeks ago, he wouldn't be here
right now.
But, instead, he's going to die of kinky sex. Alone in bed before he's even
fifteen. And that just fucking sucks.
He's just about gone when he hears a door slam and a shot ring out and suddenly
the thing on his face is gone and he sucks in a hard breath through his nose
before realizing that the gag is gone, too. The restraits are gone and the
blindfold's gone and he's staring at the popcorn ceiling.
George and Susanne are gone.
He gasps again, so hard he chokes on it, and rolls desperately to the side,
right off the edge of the bed, and he hears someone say "Dean," and another
someone say "Dad?" and the first someone say "Go the fuck to bed, Sammy," and
he knows he's been saved from death by sex only to get screwed with death by
Dad-lecture, because Dad totally just walked in on him being stupid enough to
let a couple of ghosts fuck him to death.
"Dean?" his dad says again, and he's got his hands on Dean's shoulders and
goddammit, Dean's naked and still, like, half-hard and aching and frustrated
and -- fuck, he's crying -- and Dad's got his hands on Dean's shoulders like he
just made an awesome meatloaf or something and what the fuck is going on?
"Your room's haunted," Dad says, and Dean wonders if he actually asked that
outloud and if he gets to get the "watch your fucking language" lecture along
with the "don't let ghosts fuck you" lecture, 'cause won't that be fun.
"I noticed," Dean says, or he thinks he says, but maybe it's Susanne that's
saying it, because his voice isn't that tight and it sure as hell never has
half a sob in it, but Dad's squeezing his shoulders and rubbing his hair, so
maybe it really is his voice that sounds like that.
"They only go after teenagers," Dad says and Dean goes rigid.
Dad knows.
"George," Dean says. "And Susanne."
"Got it," Dad says, then "grab a shower. You're crashing in my bed tonight,"
and he lets go of Dean's shoulders and leaves the room, but not before Dean
sees the flash of doubt and fear and pain in his eyes or the rigid posture of
his shoulders.
George and Susanne are about to go down, and though Dean's spent the last two
weeks getting to know them both intimately, he's elated. He stumbles to his
feet, makes it into the shower without Sammy seeing him, somehow, and if he
starts shaking and ends up jerking off under the spray, that's nobody's
business but his own.
It's not until he's lying down on his dad's bed, letting his dad's scent wash
over him and staring resolutely at the wall and not the ceiling that he lets
himself think about it.
Dad knew. He knew they were there and that they went after teenagers. He just
didn't know exactly who they were until Dean told him. There's no someone who
knows someone who saved a rooster. Dean was bait.
He lies there like that for a long time, until Dad comes back in sometime just
before dawn, reeking of sweat and graveyard dirt and lighter fluid, and Dean
doesn't even try to pretend he's been asleep, just stares at him without
moving.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Dad says.
"They only go after teenagers," Dean says.
"Went. They're gone, now."
"Teenagers," Dean says.
"Something to do with hormones."
Dean nods and rolls over to face the other wall, but he still doesn't close his
eyes. He feels the bed shift as his dad sits down, and he lets himself shake
for a moment before bringing his body back under control.
"You okay, kid?" Dad says, after Dean's been staring at the wall for a long
time.
Dean nods. Dad doesn't know everything, he realizes. Just "ghosts" and
"teenagers" and "hormones" and probably "suffocated". He doesn't know about the
death by kinky sex, doesn't know about the late nights of lessons of how to
treat a girl just right.
Dean knows, though. And he thinks he has a choice here. He can let tonight, the
sex and the bondage and the bait and the -- he can't think of it the way he
thinks a therapist might, because that word doesn't happen to a Winchester -
- he can let tonight be what sticks with him. Or he can use this and grow. He
can take Leigh out -- maybe not tomorrow night, but if he tells her he's sick
(and it won't even be much of a lie) he thinks she'll let him postpone -- and
he can show her the time of her life and just not think about how he learned
it.
He just won't do the bondage thing.
Ever.
                                     * * *
Two weeks later, they're moving again, but Dean manages to get his night with
Leigh. He's terrified he'll be hearing and feeling George the whole time, but
they're not in his room at the old Victorian place, they're in the back of her
father's garage, on a couch in his office. He's not always on his back, they're
taking turns as they fool around, constantly on the verge of falling off and
laughing the whole time. She fumbles open a condom once they're both finally
naked, but pauses and looks him over.
"I've never done this," she says, blushing slightly. "I mean, I've messed
around -- a lot -- but I've never gone all the way."
He smiles takes the condom from her and doesn't think about George and Susanne
at all. "It's okay," he says. "I can teach you."
And he does.
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