Rougher Than Before | By : Druffine Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3442 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and make no money from writing this story. |
Sam’s surprised to see Dean in a
bar in Palo Alto. He’s even more surprised when Dean doesn’t recognize him.
Fandom:
Supernatural
Rating: 18+ (explicit het only in part
TWO, explicit slash)
Warning: Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean, mentions of Dean/OMC
Setting: pre-pilot, a bar in Palo Alto
Category: memory loss, rent-boy!Dean,
Wincest, dub con, angst
Status/Words: complete / ~ 18,300
Special thanks to Jenny, Joolz, Tenshi, Tabaqui and Alwaysand who
helped me with beta stuff or their opinion. Whoever wants to point out mistakes
or offer concrit - you're welcome. (http://druffitown.de or druffine@gmail.com)
Lots
of rich college kids with shiny clothes and polished watches. Their laughter is
always fake: meant to impress, to entertain. They're too unsure of themselves.
Don't know where they stand between Daddy's money and Mommy's fussing. Who cares? Their lives are the dreams
TV shows are made of.
Their
attitude, that's not played, not pretended, and that’s why he’s here tonight.
The
reality of his job is rough fucks in back alleys, against dirty walls or on
stained bathroom floors -- not this 90210 version with clean college
types with false smiles and expensive cars and fucked-up fantasies -- but he’s
got no choice tonight. Prices go up with this clientèle. And he needs the
money.
He
cleaned up okay, not too much. Blue jeans and heavy leather jacket over a black
shirt. They like it; he can tell the moment he walks into the bar: they like
the taste of roughness and experience, the unbreakability he boasts.
They
like him on his knees.
He
gets why they do it, why they see him and want him. It's some kind of rebel
thing against a dominating father or bigger brother humiliation; they just need
to get it out of their systems, and they’re willing to pay. They throw around
money as if it has no worth.
They
hardly ever want a fuck; it’s probably too
gay. He huffs to himself and winks at the bartender, sweet blonde
thing. He needs some alcohol and now – he'll need the liquid to numb his
thoughts – doesn't want to think about the amount of spunk he plans to taste
and spit and swallow tonight.
It’s
not that he doesn’t like it – sometimes.
He's
barely into his second beer when a hand on his shoulder startles him. He goes
for nonchalant when he turns on his stool. Why the stranger knows his name and
why he’s making big friends with him, that goes beyond him. He’s never seen
this guy before. He’s fucking huge but not bad – not the type he’s looking for
because money doesn’t reflect
in his appearance – but the simplicity and warmth in the stranger’s eyes is
intriguing.
That
guy belongs here as much as he himself does.
Maybe he should give it a shot.
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