#but oh well cest la vie
Title: two hard working ho’s
Pairing: DeanxSamxClaire
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: 2,520
Notes: written for @spnpolybingo, square ClairexDeanxSam, age of Claire is undefined and may be interpreted as underage, bondage, edging, incest, au, prostitute Claire, bottom Dean
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She’s small. Each tit you could cup in the palm of a hand, with an ass you could span with both. Her blue eyes are big and wide, blond hair falling in messy waves over one shoulder while the other side of her head is braided back. She’s timid in the set of her shoulders and how she holds on to the strap of her bag, but she matches Sam’s gaze and she talks a tough game.
“You didn’t say anything kinky, I want two hundred.”
Sam closes the motel door behind her and she almost suppresses her flinch.
With a small hum, Sam circles around her, pulls out his wallet, gives her a few more bills. She doesn’t look like she’s sure she really wants to take them, although it’s clear from her dingy clothes, the ripped jean-shorts she’s probably trying to pass as artfully ho, that she really needs that extra cash.
Hey, Dean can’t blame her if she’s having second thoughts.
He’s tied down star-fish spread, one wrist to the bed with a belt, one wrist with old electric cable, his ankles with rough camping-grade rope, secured to the frame under the mattress. Still, as limited as his mobility is, he moves his head in an approximation of a friendly nod, lips stretched grimace-wide around the wiffle-ball black gag in his mouth but he can mumble a garbled hello to her.
She stays rooted at the edge of the bed, staring, tucking her money away.
Sam steps behind her, one hand lightly pulling her hair back as he leans over her, lips grazing her neck, and there’s some arousal there as she leans back and her tongue darts out against her lip.
“What’s your name?” Sam asks.
“Claire,” she answers immediately, brow twitching with the slightest consteration, and Dean thinks it might just be her real name.
Christ, he wonders if Sam checked out if she was legal to even buy a pack of cigarettes.
Right now, that’s not really important to Dean. What matters is how much his fucking dick hurts, a hot insistent throb, left alone with a cock ring on after Sam gave him a stellar blow job that just almost, almost tipped him over the edge. Dean’s been squirming and sweating into the mattress for what feels like hours. Maybe it has been hours that Sam’s been out, finding Claire. The small vibrating plug inside him keeps a semi-steady trickle of precome dribbling onto his belly, dripping down his sides, every muscle in him tensed and tight and Dean doesn’t fucking care how old she is and how new she is to this.
“Claire,” Sam repeats.
One of his arms snakes around Claire’s narrow waist and up, hand cupping a breast and in the span of Sam’s hand they’re itty-bitty. Looks like the perfect mouthful to Dean.
“That’s my brother,” Sam says, “Dean.”
Claire jerks, mouth twisting down, but Sam’s got a hold on her as his other arm circles, hand sliding down between her legs, his muscles flexing as he squeezes her bodily.
“What?”
Claire’s face is pinched and she’s squirming and Dean feels for her, he really does, but there’s not much he can do about it.
It’s easier, when he can’t do much.
“Mhm,” Sam kisses her ear, pulls her shirt up and her bra down, resumes his position with one hand on a breast and one between her legs. “What, you want another extra hundred for that? It’s yours.”
“Oh what the fuck….”
Dean’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement.
Claire fits her hands to Sam’s forearms, tips her head back so he can get at her neck better, rocks her hips against him.
“So,” moaning as Sam tweaks a stiff nipple, she shudders, “So what, do you, want to both fuck me, like after each other, or,” groaning as Sam deftly undoes her shorts and pushes his hand inside, Claire’s on her tip toes, “or at the same time?”
Dean doesn’t really care what he’s getting in this equation, he just needs to get something. He knows Sam’ll give him what he needs, and probably something he doesn’t expect, but he’s been left so long with this heavy heat in the pit of his gut that if he didn’t have a gag in he’d be begging for the barest touch. All he can do is push his hips up, dick swinging fat and wet and so fucking red.
“Yeah, Dean, I know,” Sam reassures him, watches him over Claire’s shoulder, smiling wide enough to bring out the dimples. “I want you to suck my brother while I fuck you,” Sam tells Claire, “But don’t let him come.”
“How do I…” Claire looks at Dean, at the sorry state of his dick ready to go off at a stiff breeze.
“I’ll let you know if he gets too close.”
“Yeah, you do this a lot, huh?”
There’s that attitude in her voice, maybe she’s not as young as Dean’s guessed or maybe she’s older than she should be.
“We do,” Sam tells her.
He yanks her jean shorts down, flimsy slip of a dark thong going with them, and she’s got the smallest patch of pale blond curls at the top of her mound. Dean’s mouth waters. He needs to do something, anything, with his hands or his mouth or his dick. It drives him mad to be tied down, relegated essentially to furniture. Sam knows this.
Claire trips against the shorts around her ankles as Sam spins her, peels her shirt off, her bra, pushes her face forward onto the bed between Dean’s spread legs. Her long hair falls softly against Dean’s thighs, tickling, as she brings a hand up to brace on his hip, her big blue and not-so-innocent eyes lined with thick black looking at him. There’s amusement there, probably at his cost, some kind of smug satisfaction that at least she’s not in his position.
A loud crack echoes and Claire’s eyes go shock-wide as she gasps. Sam just spanked her. It won’t be the only time. Claire whips her head around to him, and Sam is opening a condom as he says, “So, get started.”
“Condom?” Claire demands, reaching a hand back to the just opened one, brooks no argument as she rolls it over Dean’s dick, and Sam gets another for himself.
Her skin is pale and there’s scars in neat lines on the insides of her forearms as she strokes a hand up Dean’s hip, touches his side with long fingernails painted chipped blue, and simple black stars are tattooed on her upper arm across her shoulder. She looks at him questioningly, and Dean puts every ounce of pleading that he can in his eyes and the whiny noises that make it past the ball gag.
Claire dips down, purses her lips around the head of his dick, flicks her tongue over it as she sucks and does this little twist and Dean damn near about shoots at that.
It wouldn’t just be Claire in trouble if he comes.
Sam tugs his shirt off, gets his jeans open, no underwear, rolls the condom on and that’s the most that he undresses when he kneels on the end of the bed and spreads his hands over Claire’s backside, lets her know he’s there.
Mouth on Dean, Claire tips her hips up, the smooth pretty curve of her back flowing towards Sam’s neat sharp angles.
Dean could cry.
It’s a slick wet sound and the startled stuttering cry as Claire pulls off, mouth hanging open and her shoulders roll. Yeah, even when you expect it coming, Sam’s dick is always startling.
Moving over her, Sam clasps a hand against the back of her neck and pushes down, “Keep going.”
Eyes rolling, Claire groans and takes Dean into her mouth again. Less technique, now, as Sam fucks her from behind. Moving with him, his pace sets her sliding along Dean, mouth slack and spit messy as she loses focus. It’s hot and slick and it would be so fucking easy to let go, his stomach cramping with how bad he needs it, toes curled and he’s pulling hard enough to hurt against his restraints, but a loud crack echoes again and Sam has a fist her hair saying, “Easy, he’s too close.”
Okay, maybe Dean is crying a little.
Claire gives these breathy little grunts every time Sam shoves into her, his big hands on her wide hips pulling her back onto it. She’s fallen onto her elbows bracketing Dean’s thighs, soft breasts brushing against him, mouth purposefully left wide and loose as she tongues and breathes against his cock in the worst kind of tease. Her pretty hair gets tangled with spit against his balls. Sweat beads on her forehead, her hands gripping hard into his sides as Sam fucks her stupid, makeup smearing, she blinks hazy and unfocused at Dean.
The sight of Sam’s body flexing and rippling behind her, tan and broad and every bit of it confident control, has Dean’s body juddering with phantom orgasm. Sam curls a hand under Claire’s belly, touches her where it makes her spasm and drop Dean’s dick out of her mouth, chanting ohgodohgodohgod.
Everything stops.
Sam pulls out, hand grazing down her back, and Claire is snagged right on the cusp, her face twisted with almost almost.
“Did I say you could stop?”
“Fuck,” Claire groans, drops her forehead to Dean’s sweaty hip, drags her tongue over his dick, and Sam starts again slowly.
Lazy, unhurried, easy he rolls his hips, moves his hand between her legs, nips across the swell of her shoulders and Claire’s mistake is to Dean’s detriment too. He’s pretty sure he’s whining loud enough behind his gag to warrant some concern, but all he sees in Claire’s eyes is her own need, and in Sam’s that familiar cruel amusement.
Claire earns a few more swats to her pretty ass when she brings Dean too close, and as Sam slants her hips up higher, Dean can see the pink imprint of his hand spreading over the top of her ass. Everything throbs and he can’t focus on which hurt is the most, which need is the most.
Sam finds even more slights to stop Claire just before. He always does. And when he finally, precisely when he wants to, presses into her and against her with intent purpose that hurtles her over that damned edge, Claire shakes apart so violently Dean worries she might hurt herself.
His dick, of course, is lonely and cold on his belly at this point.
Sam hauls her up by her long tangled hair, pulls her to straddle his lap as keeps fucking up into her through it. Fingers circling expertly over her clit as he works in deep, he pulls through another few rolling orgasms as Claire spasms and clutches on tight to his forearm, tits bouncing so sweetly and her face scrunches up in what you would think is pain.
When Sam finally lets her go, she’s drenched. The jeans spread tight over Sam’s thighs, halfway down, are dark and wet. Claire collapses in a sprawl over Dean’s thigh. Dean has empathy for her, but come on, she’s done her part, she could just give him a quick squeeze and relieve his pain.
But no, Sam taps her ankle, tosses her shorts and top to her, passes her a few more bills. Claire, in a stupor, stumbles up right and pushes her hair off her face.
“What, seriously, you kicking me out now?”
“We’re done,” Sam flicks a finger between him and her, “I still have to take care of him,” Sam flicks a finger to Dean.
“I could - “ Claire starts.
“No.” Sam strips the condom off.
They don’t use one, between them.
Sam’s still hard, unfinished. As much as he’s a sadistic jerk that gets off on the power of edging other poor, unsuspecting souls - and his brother, who always suspects - Sam is amazingly in control of his own dick too.
He pushes his jeans the rest of the way down and Dean wants to bite the insides of his thighs.
“Man, I can’t walk.” Claire drops into the wobbly, scratchy upholstered chair in the corner of the room. “Can’t I watch?”
Arms slung along the back of the chair, all sated easy slouch and she doesn’t seem to care if they’re brothers now, Claire has a familiar dopey smile on her face.
Sam shrugs as if to say ‘fine’. He unknots one of the ropes holding an ankle, snaps the electric cable off one wrist, leaves the other two restraints tight. Dean makes a swipe at his gag, Sam bats his hand away.
Pulling the vibrating plug out of Dean, Sam tosses it over the side of the bed and Claire’s eyes track it curiously. Sam grabs the lube on the night-stand, slicks his fingers to spread wet inside Dean. One free hand, Dean clutches at his brother’s shoulders, curves his fingers against the shifting muscle and tamps down violently against the sharp surge of arousal that almost pushes him over the edge at the perfunctory stretch of Sam’s fingers inside him.
Sam tugs his free leg high, knee bent, slings it up and braces his arm at Dean’s side, keeping his leg wide and high as Sam slides inside, bright wide stretch of him so suddenly sweet it sweeps up and down Dean’s body with shocks.
“Shh, shh,” Sam shushes him, swipes a thumb against Dean’s wet cheeks.
Curled over him, bracketing him, pinning him down, Sam fucks Dean mercilessly. Lurching way up beyond what he thought was the edge so fast he’s reeling, somewhere in the fucking stratosphere, body gone white and wide and undefined, Dean screams as he jerks, tenses, breaks and quakes and he ascends into the fourth fucking dimension.
Sam is shivering on top of him when he comes back down, hair hanging over a red flushed face, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose onto Dean, muscles flexed tight as he finishes with his hips pressed flush into the cradle of Dean’s thighs.
“Holy shit.”
Oh yeah, Claire’s still here.
Sam huffs, tosses his hair, straightens. He unbuckles the gag first, knowing it’s not Dean’s favorite. Carefully eases the cockring over a swollen sensitive dick. Dean flexes his jaw, his tongue. Sam works on the last two restraints.
“I don’t know why you guys have to pay some cheap hooker, like, you could make money if you went into porn or something.”
Sam’s laugh is wry. “I’m pretty sure you can walk by now.”
“Do you guys have like, a mini bar or something?” Is her non-answer. “I could use a drink.”
The look that Claire sends Dean, now that he’s not tied down and silenced, is something darker than her words say, something questioning.
Dean summons the strength to sit his jelly body up, smiles his most charming smile at her, voice raspy as he shoves a foot in Sam’s side and say, “Yeah, Sammy, c’mon, don’t your two hard working ho’s deserve a drink?”
