
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7902277.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/Original_Male_Character
      (s)
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-09-05 Words: 3541
****** Girls Are for Fun, Guys Are for Business ******
by dragonspell
Summary
     Girls are for fun and guys are for business.
Notes
     Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.
Title: Girls Are for Fun, Guys Are for Business
Author:
[http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=140.9]
dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, OMCs/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Some underage content and some dubious consent.
Summary: Girls are for fun and guys are for business.
Word Count: 3468

Dean chases after girls like a buck in rut. Just like a wild animal, he could
no more help himself than he could stop the damn sun—he needs this. He’s also
aware of his family’s disapproval—of Dad’s exasperation and Sammy’s
annoyance—but they’ve got to understand. Yeah, he can’t stop himself, and maybe
he does appear single-minded but really, he only does it in his free time. It’s
not like chasing girls is all he does. He knows that the job comes first; it
always comes first. He doesn’t let a girl interfere with a hunt, because,
really, a job’s no place for a girl.
Dean chases after girls because that’s what he does when he’s off work.
Everyone’s got to have a hobby, right?
Protecting Sammy’s a full-time job and then some. With all the trouble the kid
gets into? It’s amazing Dean has any free-time at all. So Dean figures he
deserves the little R&R when he can get it. Because that’s what the girls are
there for—a little bit of fun in his off-time. They’re not a job or
anything—not his main focus.
Girls are for fun.
But guys are for business. Dean doesn’t chase after guys in his free-time.
The first time it happens, Dean’s fifteen and Sammy’s a too young eleven but
neither of them have been kids for a long time. Especially not Dean.
The first time it happens, the rent is overdue and Dad has been missing for 12
days straight. The landlord damn near pounds down their door before Dean
finally answers to have the guy demand two months worth of money that Dean
doesn’t have. Dean looks down at Sammy’s scared eyes and gives it some thought.
He considers putting the landlord off and then ditching as soon as the guy’s
back is turned—except that would leave them MIA when Dad gets home so it isn’t
even an option. Besides, Sam likes this school—he’s even made a friend—and Dean
wants to make him happy. He thinks about stealing some money but this really is
a hick town and the sheriff already has it out for Dean as it is. There really
aren’t many options to think about, Dean realizes.
So when the landlord eyes Dean up and down with an oily smirk, Dean meets him a
strained smile. And when the man says, “I’m sure we could work something out…”
Dean doesn’t say no. He doesn’t have the option.
Instead, he puts his hands in his back pockets and rocks his hips forward while
he says, “I’m sure we could.” The man’s eyes light up like Christmas has come
six months early.
Dean ends up standing naked in the apartment’s scummy living room, his toes
curling in the disgusting carpet, while the apartment’s equally scummy landlord
fondles his junk and calls him pretty. The man’s touch makes Dean’s skin crawl
but he forces himself to hold still and take it. If this is what it takes, then
this is what it takes. Dean can do this.
Sammy’s locked in the bedroom under strict orders not to come out until Dean
says and hopefully he’s got his hands over his ears. Poor kid doesn’t need to
know what has to be done—that’s Dean’s job, after all. And Dean’s real good at
his job. Nobody could accuse him of being otherwise.
If forced to admit it, Dean would say it really wasn’t that bad but after he’s
done, Dean still wants to puke. He wants to just hit his knees and hurl all
over the guy’s snakeskin boots but he doesn’t. Instead, he forces it down and
gets down to business. He hammers out a deal with the guy—Dean’s good at
that—and the “service” ends up worth last month’s rent and an extension on this
month.
Dean spends the next two days dreading the guy trying to welch on the deal or
maybe demanding ‘more’—more bang for his buck, so to speak—but then Dad shows
up. When they skip town an hour later without paying any of the rent—current or
back—Dean doesn’t feel bad at all. In fact, he puts the whole damn thing out of
his mind besides giving himself a pat on the back for his quick thinking and
his business skills.
The second, third and fourth times, well, they’re like that too. Except for
maybe a little less touching and a little more sucking on that third time—but
who was Dean to complain if somebody wanted to give him a free blow job? The
guy got off on sucking teenage cock and Dean figures it's an even trade. The
fifth time, though, that’s different.
Sammy’s thirteen and being picked up for a shoplifting charge which is really
fucking ironic considering it’s Dean who’s been shoplifting. Dean is the one
that’s pocketed two packs of batteries, five candy bars, three new lighters,
two gas station watches, and a bottle of Coke. Sammy’s just been loitering,
standing around reading the magazines. It'd been fucking TIME, too, and just
who does that?
So Dean ditches his stuff in the alley behind the dumpster where he can claim
it later and pounds down the pavement after the cop, hurrying to make it before
anything can be called in.
The cop blinks at Dean’s proposition, throwing his head back, but Dean can see
the repressed interest in his eyes. “Did you just offer to bribe me, boy?” the
cop growls.
Dean cocks a hip, confident grin on his face, and pushes his jeans down a
little bit more—enough to expose a glimmer of skin under his short T-shirt. “No
sir,” he says, coating the words in a facsimile of respect. “I just offered to
give you the best damn blowjob of your life if you agreed to let my little
brother off from what we both know is a bogus charge.”
The cop’s torn—with lots of guilt over being so and arguing with himself—but
Dean still ends up on his knees in the alley, licking his way into the guy’s
pants. Sammy faces the brick wall and pretends he’s deaf.
Afterward, when the cop’s stumbling back to his cruiser, dazed and guilty as he
zips his pants and tries to fix his uniform, Dean wipes off a stray bit of jizz
from his chin. He’s got to learn to swallow better if he’s going to make this
work at all. Or at least get better at ducking. Guys seem to like it better
when he swallows, though—maybe it’ll work better if he just gets used to the
taste. But Dean’s telling himself ‘good job’ anyway and already putting the
incident out of his mind when Sammy whispers, “You didn’t have to do that,
Dean.”
Dean glances up. “Yeah I did, Sammy.” There isn’t a choice here and looking at
Sam’s face, Dean knows that it is worth every second, too. Sam says nothing,
turning away and staring hard at the ground. Dean gets to his feet and swings
an arm over his brother’s shoulder as he steers him back to the dumpster where
Dean hid the shoplifted goods. Sammy’s been a good kid—he deserves some candy.
Also, frankly, the cop’s spunk tastes absolutely foul and Dean needs to get the
taste out of his mouth. He cracks the top of the Coke and takes a swig, washing
it all down. He’d do it again in a heartbeat, though. Anything for Sammy.
After that, it doesn’t happen again for awhile but Dean makes sure he goes out
and gets some practice because it’s part of his job. So when it does happens
again, he’s more than ready. He even gets used to the taste—gets real good at
swallowing and doesn’t even need a Coke afterward.
In his free-time, Dean chases girls. They’re easy catches with soft bodies and
no demands. There’s nothing to worry about because girls are just for fun.
Dean knows his father doesn’t feel the same way that Dean does—that he may be
able to understand Dean’s rather mindless pursuit of girls, but he doesn’t
necessarily condone it. “Waste of time,” he says once when Dean asks if he
wants to join Dean at the bar. But Dean knows that his dad appreciates the type
of girls Dean goes after—that Dean knows enough to keep everything strings
free. Dean only messes that up once but he really thought she was different.
For John Winchester, girls aren’t for fun. Neither are boys. Every person, to
him, is just merely a means to an end. Dean learns that when he’s ten and comes
to find Dad screwing the store manager of the local Sears. The next day, Sammy
and him have brand new shoes and the Impala has a brand new set of Craftsmans
in the trunk. “You do what needs to be done,” Dad always says. Dean knows he
means that in every sense of the word.
The first time Dean ever sees his father bend over and take it, Dad's buying
the truck. It’s a nice truck. It just costs a little too much.
The former owner fucks Dad against the driver’s side door, all soft whispers of
“Yeah, like that?” and “Fuck, so damn good...” while Dad just takes it. Neither
one seems to realize that Dean is watching. Or maybe they just don’t care. Dean
still occasionally wonders if he got a black light if he’ll be able to see
anything. Which is just silly considering how many hunts the truck’s been
through now—all the blood would cover everything up.
The easy way Dad accepts it, though, how he moans and enjoys the fuck out of
it, Dean knows it’s far from his father’s first time. He’s got to say that it’s
a bit of an eye-opener.
The next day, Dean has a pocketful of cash, a different way of walking, and a
new secret he’s never telling Sammy.
Dean manages to keep a lot of things from Sammy, actually. For years he
continues along with his job, doing business and Sam stays safe and protected
and, most importantly, innocent. Until Des Moines. Fucking Des Moines. Dean
hates big cities—they’re really nothing but trouble. Give him a small town on a
stretch of endless blacktop any day.
Sammy’s seventeen and suspected of an arson he didn’t do but the two cops
aren’t about to believe that the pixies did it. Dean’s well aware of that. They
are willing to believe, though, that the circumstantial evidence of a now
unknown teenager being in the area when the building just happened to burn is
not particularly relevant. Especially when Dean drops to his knees and takes
both on at the same time, letting them jerk his head back and forth while he
licks each one like a lollipop. One’s completely convinced when he comes all
over Dean’s face while the other needs a little bit more. Dean lets the guy
bend him over the back end of the cruiser. Jeans around his ankles, Dean
spreads his legs as wide as he can get them and puts on the best show he can.
Sammy watches it all, jaw clenching, though Dean really wishes he’d turn
around. If he could face the wall again like he did when he was thirteen, that
would really work out well for Dean. There’s nothing wrong with what Dean’s
doing but it upsets Sammy so Dean wishes he wouldn’t watch. Sam likes being
angry, though, so he glares holes into all of them.
Afterward, they jump in the Impala and get the hell out of Des Moines, the city
fading behind them as the car pushes 95. They make it all the way to Missouri
before Sam finally demands that they pull over and Dean agrees, stopping on a
two-track off a backroad to call Dad. Dad’s angry but he doesn’t ask details
and tells them to just find the nearest motel and stay put. Sam’s glaring at
Dean when Dean finally hangs up.
“You didn’t have to do that, Dean,” he says and it’s like he’s thirteen all
over again, except angrier. Should have faced the damn wall.
Dean gives him the same look he did four years ago. “Yeah I did, Sammy.” Maybe
since Sam was older now, he’d understand.
But Sam doesn’t understand and he’s not letting it drop this time. “No, Dean,”
he states, plain and clear, “you didn’t.”
Dean doesn’t know what the hell Sam’s problem is—he never jumps this hard on
Sam’s case when Sam’s trying to do his homework or something. “Dude, I just
kept you out of jail.”
“Dude,” Sam shoots back, fists clenched, “you just prostituted yourself to some
scumbag cops!”
Dean shrugs, rolling his eyes. “Everything worked out, Sammy.” And he’s not
prepared for when Sam slams him back against the door. “Dude! What the fuck!”
He tries to shove Sam off, but Sam’s not having it and gives him a shake.
“Never again,” Sam orders, invading Dean’s space. He’s close enough that Dean
can feel his breath. It’s warm and it’s got a hint of mint. “Don’t you dare!
Ever!” He shakes Dean again and Dean grips Sam’s wrists in self-defense. “Don’t
you dare…” Then Sam kisses him.
Dean’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in surprise so Sam sticks his
tongue in. Sam kisses Dean like he’s making a claim and Dean’s so confused, he
just lets him. When Sam moves his hands under Dean’s shirt though, Dean moves
past just letting him into accepting it. He closes his eyes and goes with it
because Sammy apparently needs this. Anything for Sammy. He’s more than a full-
time job.
Sam fucks him in the front seat of the Impala, Dean braced between the back of
the seat and the steering wheel while Sam pants above him. Sam jerks him off
hard and fast as well and Dean comes with a muffled groan, splattering on to
the shirt he’d put over the seat. Sam whispers, “Dean…” and spills into the
condom that had formerly been in Dean’s wallet. Afterward, Sam refuses to shut
up until Dean swears never to prostitute himself again. Dean still doesn’t
understand what the big deal is but he wants to make Sam happy.
The next few months are a little shorter on cash than Dean would like but he
doesn’t let Sam know. He doesn’t have the extra ten bucks for pizza anymore and
most times he skips lunch just so Sam doesn’t catch on at dinner. It’s easy to
hide not eating when Dean’s away at the shop or Sam’s at school—it’s not so
easy to hide not having any food when it’s supposed to be set out in front of
somebody. Dean doesn’t mind, though. He wants to keep Sammy happy—safe and
protected and happy. If this is what it takes, then Dean will never eat lunch
again.
And then comes that stupid letter. That stupid fucking letter.
Sam and Dad fight—which is usual nowadays but this time it’s even worse—and Sam
storms out. Dean follows and begs on his knees for Sam not to go. He got
Sammy’s jeans open and his face in Sammy’s crotch but Sam pushes him away
before he can finish. He tells Dean that this is wrong and that he’s sorry.
Then he asks for forgiveness with tears in his eyes. Dean stares up at him, not
understanding—Sam still wants this, he can see it—and Sam just repeats that
he’s sorry and that Dean doesn’t deserve him. The bottom of Dean’s heart drops
out and then Sam picks up his bag and leaves. Just fucking leaves.
It’s the first time in a long time that Dean bothers to cry.
For a long while, Dean wonders what he did wrong—how he drove Sam away. In the
end, though, he realizes that it really doesn’t matter. He’s still got his
job—it's just gotten more difficult because it’s hard to protect Sammy when
Sam’s at school and so obviously doesn’t want to see Dean. It hurts too, to
know how Sam feels but Dean ruthlessly crushes that. It doesn’t matter how Sam
feels about Dean, only that he’s safe.
Sam doesn’t flunk PLS 118 because Dean lets the professor fuck him on the
couch. The tweed is scratchy and a spring pokes at Dean’s knee uncomfortably
but he takes it. The professor runs his hands over Dean’s body—anywhere and
everywhere—and whispers how he ‘just can’t believe it.’ Sammy just thinks he
got a lucky break—that’s what he tells his friends at the restaurant the next
week when he brags about his D turning into a B. Dean really wanted to get him
an A, but, well, there was helping Sam out and then there was going overboard.
Between the job and Dad and protecting Sam, Dean doesn’t have much free-time
anymore. He almost forgets how. So when he gets the chance, he pursues Cassie
with a simple-minded zeal, making himself his most utterly charming and
forgetting to hold that little bit of himself back. He forgets why girls are
just for fun. When his heart gets broken and he’s reminded of why no strings
are a good thing, he makes sure Sam gets a good deal on his first
apartment—only $500 a month including utilities with no money down—and then
hooks up with Dad and throws himself into the hunt.
Around December, Dean remembers to make sure Sammy gets a good grade on the
class that’s been stressing him this semester. While he’s on his back on the
desk getting plowed by a doctor of French literature, Dean closes his eyes and
keeps himself focused. He makes sure he comes and that he tells the guy that
he’s amazing but he also makes sure that Sam’s final essay is worth 494 points
out of 500. Sam’s pleased with the results, high-fiving the black guy that he
took the class with.
Dean eventually stops counting how many times it happens. Once he even gets
fucked by a small town sheriff in the station house to bail Dad out of jail.
The cop takes him right up against the bars, pushing Dean against them while
Dad watches. It’s a little disturbing but the guy obviously gets off on it and
Dean’s not going to say anything. When he gets let out, Dad stares long and
hard at Dean, swallows a few times, and nods. Unlike Sam, Dad understands. Dean
smiles back and they head to the next hunt.
And when Dad goes missing, Dean knows he won’t be able to find him on his
own—not and still have time to protect Sammy. It’s got to be one or the other
or he’s got to combine them somehow.
It’s really kind of pathetic how happy Dean is to be allowed to talk to Sam.
Dean isn’t too hard on himself, though, because, in his defense, it’s been a
long time and he loves his baby brother. Dean will even take whatever abuse Sam
has to throw at him because at least it means that Sam’s still standing in
front of him.
They hit the road and Sam doesn’t show the same kind of interest in Dean that
he did four years ago, so Dean figures that Sam doesn’t need it like he used to
and checks that part of the job ‘complete.’ Sam’s apparently been satisfied
elsewhere. Dean’s not happy but he’s not disappointed, either. It was just
another aspect, after all.
They don’t find Dad for awhile but, with Sam right beside him, Dean’s got a lot
more free-time on his hands. Which is good, because he was thinking that he
deserved a little bit of a break. He’s been working really hard, lately.
So it takes him by surprise when, a year later, before Dean can finish sucking
off the informant that’s gripping his hair, Sam grabs him roughly and hauls him
up. He shoves the guy away and slams Dean up against the wall as he yanks down
Dean’s jeans. Sam fucks Dean against the hard surface, pressing Dean’s face
against it while Sam works his way in. The informant watches them with a
dropped jaw but Dean’s too concerned with trying to keep his face out of the
bricks. He thinks the guy runs away about the time Sam starts growling things
like “Goddamn it, Dean” and “you fucking slut” and “Mine.”
Dean relaxes around Sam and lets him take what he wants. Anything for Sammy and
this is just another part of the job. The possessive tone of Sam’s voice is
sending shivers down Dean’s spine but he decides not to think about that.
It could be Dean’s imagination but afterward, it seems like he has a lot less
free-time than he used to.
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