rating: NC-17, a tiny bit
word count ~2000
summary: hooker!Sam fic, just because I’m selfish and don’t think there’s enough of it out there.
The urge just came on like a freight train every now and then. Not as often as it had when he was younger, but once maybe every few months, Sam felt like he needed it.
Had Dean known, now or when Sam was in college and first started doing it out of necessity, he knew he’d get his ass handed to him and that Dean would rail about finding and ENDING every man that had been with his brother in that way. And certainly now that it was something he did just because, well, he didn’t even want to think about how Dean would react. So he was careful, and kept it to just a few times a year.
At first, it really had just been necessity. And it hadn’t even been his idea. He was walking around campus at night, trying to figure out how he could possibly find a way to pay for that summer semester abroad in Wales. Though he had traded hunting for college, he figured out that a scholarship wasn’t everything. He wasn’t complaining. It covered his tuition, dorm fees, books, even his meal plan for the shitty cafeteria where the salads all looked a day old. As he walked, he wandered off campus and through a nearby neighborhood, not really taking in his surroundings as he’d always been taught to do. He was distracted and frustrated and hungry and tired as he leaned against the brick wall of a building on the east side of town. His eyes were closed and he had one foot propped behind him against the wall.
Before he could snap himself out of his train of thought, there was a car pulling up at the curb and the passenger side automatic window slid down as Sam could see the driver looking him over. He stayed where he was, not trying to create any trouble for himself.
Then, the man driving the car spoke to him, in a most shocking and peculiar way.
“How much for an hour, you gorgeous boy?”
Sam stammered because he knew exactly what the guy in the fancy car was asking, but he hadn’t come here for that. Though, he had been thinking just moments before about how he could earn more money than he made with his campus job helping out at the library between classes.
He was torn. There was a part of this that screamed wrong but then there was a part of him that thought, well, what the hell, I’ve got to earn the money some way and though he had few other marketable skills, he knew that sex was something he was very very good at. Sam gave himself about ten seconds to think it over. He asked the guy what he wanted and how much he’d pay for each of those things. An agreement was made, Sam got in the car, they parked in a secluded alley, he gave the first blowjob of his life right there in the front seat, and then walked back toward campus with a fifty dollar bill in his pocket.
He put the fifty into a jar, and spent the next couple of months hanging around the same neighborhood. He watched the other guys when they weren’t looking, and he picked up some of what he was supposed to know. Sam wore tighter, darker jeans. He smudged black eyeliner under his eyes and painted his fingernails black to match. No more overshirts or jackets, just tight plain tees, even though it was starting to get cold outside.
The semester ended and Sam headed off for Wales, where he’d heard through the Almighty Internet Grapevine that exceptionally strange things were happening, and had been for a while. He didn’t see any of those things, mainly just castles and historical buildings, but he’d met a beautiful man at a pub who’d taken him to bed and ushered him to the door afterward with a handful of cash, not having said a word about the exchange of money for sex. Sam wondered then whether or not he just looked like a hooker.
Once he got back, though, there was no reason to do it again. That didn’t change the fact that trading his sexual favors for cash seemed to have become a huge turn-on for him that wouldn’t seem to fade away.
So, out of NOT necessity but out of pure curiosity, he went right back down to his old block on the east side of town and went with the first decent looking guy who approached him. He let the dude fuck him for almost an hour and went back to his dorm with Benjamin Frankin in his front jeans pocket.
That was, certainly, a turning point. Sam realized something that he hadn’t considered before. He liked having sex for money. Goddamn if it wasn’t the absolute truth. It made him feel good and at the same time completely filthy. Only with guys, though. He never would have considered doing that with a woman, not that a woman had ever tried to pick him up when he was “working”. He was one of the lucky ones, only having returned to his dorm room bruised or injured two or three times. Maybe because he’d been trained to fight and there weren’t many men who could overpower him physically, or maybe because his instincts were finely honed and he could usually spot a psycho from half a block.
Time went by. He met Jess, and he loved her and since there was no chance he’d risk passing off the inevitable (it hadn’t happened yet) STD that he’d eventually pick up, they used a condom every time and Sam just stopped. For more than a year.
One night, out of the blue, all of their lives were changed in the span of a few days. Dean had come to get him, worried about their father. They’d worked together on a hunt then said goodbye, and hello again almost as quickly as Sam watched his life disappear into a billow of smoke and a pile of cinders before his eyes.
Even after that, it was a while before the urge hit him again. At least a year, maybe more than that. But left on his own for the night in a decent sized city, his memories got the better of him. He consulted his laptop and headed out, on foot, toward the neighborhood where he was most likely to be picked up. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t far from the crappy motel where they were staying.
For a moment, he felt a bit torn. But then he started rationalizing, or, you know, following a completely logical train of reasoning. How was this all that different than what had left him alone that night in the first place? Dean was at the local bar hustling suckers out of their hard earned paychecks in games of pool. And probably getting an anonymous blow job in the bathroom from some barfly or waitress. So, Dean was out, making money and having sex. He could hustle the wrong guy at the pool table and get jumped in the parking lot, or go into a dark alley with a girl who might steal his wallet. So, Dean was out, doing something that might be dangerous. Tomato, tomahto. Right? Of course right.
There was no way for him to make himself pretty like he had in Palo Alto, and he was a few years older, sure, but he wasn’t leaning casually against a pay phone booth for more than twenty minutes before someone stopped. The guy was in a hot car, not the kind his brother would like, but a brand new BMW M6 with tinted windows and a stereo system he could feel almost before he heard it. As per usual protocol, the driver slid down his passenger side window to speak.
“Hey kid. Need a ride?”
Sam put on his most uninterested and bored expression and asked “To where?” Sam knew right away it was legit, he could identify a cop in less than a minute, and this guy was not a cop. He had sandy blonde hair and green eyes, maybe 10 years older than Sam, definitely smaller physically (most people were) but still fit, no one else in the car, and honestly seemed just a little nervous.
“Just around the corner. I’ll drop you off right back here, an hour tops. What do you say?”
“No more than an hour, then all right.”, Sam replied, and got in the car. His knees were pulled up because there wasn’t enough room for him in the front seat, but they weren’t going far. The man parked in a lot behind an empty building and they got down to business. It didn’t happen often, but this was one of the rare times when a guy picked him up because he wanted to do something to a hooker instead of having the hooker do something to him. Sam made a show of negotiating, but ended up agreeing to take this man’s hundred bucks so that he could get a blowjob. Can’t ask for much more than that, right?
They stayed right there in the front seat while Sam pulled his tight jeans (nothing underneath) down to his knees, showing BMW guy his impressive erection. “Not too much for you, is it?”, he asked, eyebrows raised but not really looking straight on at the dude.
“Perfect”, was the only reply he got before he felt the head of his cock inside the guy’s mouth. He did everything he could to remain quiet and still, but fuck, it had been a long time. MrBMW took his time swallowing Sam down more and more each time he thrusted his mouth onto Sam’s dick. He still had to use his hand to take care of what didn’t fit (Sam had only ever run into one guy, and never a single girl, who could deep throat, he wasn’t unaware of what he was packing), but it still felt good, really good, better than it should have, obviously, but it really had been a long time. Fifteen minutes into it, Sam grabbed onto the dash with his right hand, white-knuckled, and came in the guy’s mouth. Dude didn’t spit, either. Hmmm. Nice.
Endings things there would have been fine, but he’d told the guy an hour, so after pushing back the (obviously very inexperienced) pickup from trying to kiss him (Kiss him? On the mouth? Seriously? Christ.), he returned the favor by giving him what was probably the most amazing blowjob he’d ever had, judging by all the writhing around and whining and keening. At one point, Sam had no other choice but to steady the guy with a hand on his hip because he was bucking up his hips so much and there was no way he was going back to the motel with a bruised mouth.
True to his word, Sam got a ride in the fancy little sportscar right back to where he’d been before, and as soon as the BMW pulled away, he fondled the two fifty dollar bills in his pocket and started walking back toward the motel.
Dean still wasn’t back. Sam took a shower, brushed his teeth vigorously, and slipped one of the fifties into the roll of cash Dean kept in his duffle, putting the other one into his own before falling into bed and finding sleep more quickly than he had in months. He didn’t even wake up when his brother slipped into the room in the middle of the night, half-drunk and smelling like Jack Daniels and pussy. Dean, unlike Sam, wasn’t considerate enough to wash the evening’s activities off him before he dropped into the bed, shedding jeans and boots and passing out on top of the covers.
Every time Sam did it, he thought maybe it would be the last time. So, hell, guess you just never know, maybe next time would be the last time. Or maybe it wouldn’t.