It’s bullshit, this fan fiction thing, it really is. That Carver Edlund Supernatural incest shit had baffled him, and when they’d closed the book on that one he was more than happy to move on and never think of people getting off on him fucking his little brother ever, ever again.
But the thing is, that whole mess had planted a seed. That was when he realised that this thing, this writing out your half mad, mostly pornographic, fictional character-based fantasies was something that people in the world actually do.
Which is how he ended up here. Well, not really; how he ended up here involved an angry ghost with a good throwing arm, Cas and his magical healing mojo being out of contact, and Sam deciding that No, Dean, you’re no use on a hunt in the wilderness with a busted ankle and you need to rest. No. I’m leaving. Yes I am, Dean. Tell you what, if you can get up quickly enough to stop me I will give you the damn keys… How you holding up there, big guy? I thought so. See you in a couple days. Yes I’ll keep you updated. Sit back down, you obviously want to. Goodbye, Dean.
Actually, no, the incest wasn’t the problem; why in god’s name anyone would think he’d want to fuck someone that out-and-out goddamn annoying Dean had no idea.
So here he is, stuck watching TV in a hotel room in Idaho (fucking Idaho), absolutely reeling from the Doctor Sexy MD season three cliff hanger – and, by the way, if that bomb blast really did kill the cute orderly with the sick mother he is going to pitch an absolute fit, surely she has suffered enough – and he’s about to gnaw his own arm off. He’s been watching this marathon so long he doesn’t think his brain can process any information that isn’t directly related to Seattle Mercy Hospital anymore. There are four months till season four airs, and oh god the bomber said not to move, damn it, but the last shot had Dr Sexy fucking charging forward and Dean has no idea how Howard and Olivia’s marriage is going to withstand Sophia coming back, and. Look. Basically, Dean has a lot of feelings and a lot of time on his hands. There are four fucking months till the new season, the laptop is right there and he’s jonesing.
He is jonesing something terrible when he boots the thing up and opens a private session, tentatively googles “Doctor Sexy MD fanfiction” and begins opening tabs.
He sifts through a lot of crap, avoids anything short and instead devours a few really good plotty pieces, basking in the sheer drama or it all and being satisfied to an extent that he will never, ever admit by the amount of extra angst that comes of being able to read what people are thinking. He stumbles into his first full blown sex scene quite unexpectedly in the middle of a story about Dr Georgina Steiner’s (the sexy but determined doctor) mission to rebuild the children’s wing. Sexy had been dead against some of her radical therapy ideas, then moved by her compassion, and now they’re fucking on his desk and Dean suddenly realises that there’s been a low heat building in his belly the whole time, waiting for this with every line of prose. The sex scene is good, well written and hot and porn is porn, he figures, so why the hell not. (And when the story ends with them making tender love in her bed, differences forgotten and gorgeous, warm new love blooming between them, well, he might whimper, just a little.) He rubs one out before going to sleep – because of course he does, have you even meet Dean Winchester – the images of this last fic filtering through his mind all the while.
Dean is not a total loser. Even injured he is still on the job, and the next day he spends several hours on research at the local library (their collection on supernatural beasties is non-existent, of course, but they have free wifi and he’s been in his hotel room for thirty-three hours straight at this point, so sitting in a library is basically nirvana as far as he’s concerned, even if he had to hop all the way there), and on the phone helping Sam with the case he’s working.
Seattle Mercy Hospital does enter his thoughts, of course, just in passing, but he’s a professional, and a grown-ass man, and it doesn’t go any further than that.
He limps back to his hotel room around five, Sam signed off for the day and the library just closed. He’s reached his mental threshold for researching, but it’s too early for dinner and he’s not in the mood for TV. It’s hot out and the awkward walk has him sweaty and uncomfortable. There’s really nothing else for it; Dean flicks on the AC, strips down to his boxers, falls down on the bed and opens the laptop. Slipping into another story feels like bliss.
This time, he starts off reading shorter, character-focused pieces. He’s figured out that a good way to find stories he likes is to go by writers; find a good one and read all their stuff, then check out their bookmarks. People who write quality tend to read quality, he’s finding. He soon finds a writer whose interpretation of Doctor Steiner matches Dean’s almost exactly – sexy, determined, obviously still affected by what happened to her parents when she was a teenager, even if the show writers sometimes forget to acknowledge it, the assholes. This chick has like a dozen stories about Steiner, her life before and during her residence at Seattle Mercy, and Doctor Sexy coming to understand what she’s going through before making sweet, supportive love to her. Sexy tells her that she’s strong and powerful between kisses, promises that she will never, never be alone again as he lays her down on the bed. Dean’s chest feels full as Sexy holds her, and he almost can’t handle it when the story starts describing how amazing Steiner feels having Sexy inside her.
It’s not till Dean’s a couple of hours in, after he’s polished off the burger he got delivered and it’s finally completely dark outside, that he intentionally goes looking for porn. His excuse to the universe was that he’s morbidly fascinated by it, and if his dick looks firmer from some angles, well, the light is shitty in here and your mind is playing tricks. Shut up.
There is, as it turns out, no shortage of fic about Dr Sexy schtuping his way through Seattle (and outer space, and Medieval Europe, and his entire clientele at a small massage parlour in Hawaii, and wow where do people think up these AU things). Dean sticks to fics with Sexy and chicks at first, even if it’s the descriptions of Sexy’s broad chest and strong arms, Sexy’s stubbled chin and dark eyes, and Sexy’s firm grip and thick dick that Dean’s thoughts linger on the longest.
It’s in the middle of a nice slow burn story about Sexy and the (sexy but pedantic) Scandinavian foot surgeon that Sexy fucks his first dude. Or, well, it’s implied - very explicitly implied – by Dr Piccolo in the midst of warning Dr Heidi about Sexy’s promiscuous ways, that Sexy has bent more than one cute young orderly over his desk.
It’s a throwaway line. Dr Heidi barely reacts (something about a ripe sexual history being completely acceptable in Sweden), but Dean gets a picture in his head so clear and overwhelmingly scorching that his dick jerks and his breath catches.
After, even with a very nice description of Sexy and Heidi going at it in the parking lot still lit up on the screen before him, it’s the image of Sexy and a guy that won’t leave his mind. He glances around – which he knows is stupid because obviously there’s no one here, but fuck you, people have appeared out of nowhere in his hotel rooms before and they very likely will again, damn it – and goes looking for a new batch of stories.
He’s not certain what he wants exactly, so starts his search pretty broad. He notices that one story is tagged with “bottom Dr Sexy” and he’s overcome with an intense sense of wrong. That’s, just – no. Fucking, no. Have these people even seen the show? Do they – do they not have any understanding of what makes Dr Sexy sexy at all? Fucking posers. He scrolls down until he sees something tagged with “top Dr Sexy” and clicks on the tag, bringing up a new lot of stories to pick from. Dean very resolutely does not think about what this says about him.
Dean’s not gay. That’s – it’s important to note that. Sometimes he notices guys, sure, and sometimes – very, very occasionally – he screws around with them. But there are always extenuating circumstances. Like maybe he’s had a couple of drinks, or he’s stuck in the boonies somewhere and the options are limited, or the guy’s got unfairly strong hands and great stubble and makes Dean feel so wanted that he can’t help himself. And anything that happened before he turned twenty-five definitely doesn’t count because teenagers are naturally stupid anyway; he can’t be held responsible for choices he made before his brain had finished developing.
(He’s aware, vaguely, that he’s probably not entirely straight either, but even though he’s been apart from Dad for years now, he still hasn’t quite managed to shake away the tethers of excuses and denial that for so long had helped him keep his head up in front of the old man. He’s not gay, that’s for certain, and therefore he’s close enough to straight that he doesn’t have to think about it too much.)
This time, he blames it on the pain killers. Dean is hard as fuck, leaking and feeling heady and overly warm by the time Dr James Garcia (the sexy but impulsive doctor) has his legs up in stirrups with Sexy working him open, a routine prostate exam quickly turning into something else. That’s it, nice and loose for me, baby, there’s a good boy, murmurs Sexy and Dean can’t hold off anymore. It’s gotta be the codeine, he decides, as he snakes a hand beneath his waistband and grips himself tight.
Such a lovely warm hole, Sexy growls and Dean moans. Want daddy to put something bigger in that pussy, sweetheart?
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Dean stammers. This fic is suddenly filthy and he had not been prepared for this at all. Sexy eases his dick into Garcia, and Dean has to close his eyes. He falls back onto the bed and pushes the laptop away. One hand is still moving over his dick while the other reaches past it towards his ass. He imagines Sexy’s warm, strong body above him, Sexy’s breath on his skin, Sexy’s big, dark dick pushing in, in, in, stretching him open and filling him up. Dean presses at his own hole through his boxers and rubs, thinking in Sexy’s voice, yeah, that’s it sweetheart, open that lovely little thing up for me. “Fuh-fuck,” Dean gasps, his body jerking on the bed.
He could come like this, will soon if he keeps at it, but he wants more. Loosening his grip on his cock, he lifts his other hand to his mouth, sucking in two fingers. He imagines Dr Sexy looming over him, running a hand up Dean’s thigh and over the seam of his – not boxers, his –
Such pretty lacy panties, says Sexy. Did you get all dressed up for me, darling?
Dean pushes his boxers out of the way and rubs a wet finger at his asshole. Fuck yes he did, would have been wearing all kinds of panties for weeks just waiting for Sexy to pull down his scrubs and see them. This pair would be dark pink and covered in lace and damp from where his dick has been leaking, so wet and ready for Dr Sexy to do whatever he wants with him.
You gonna be my naughty girl, baby? Gonna let me work that ass till you cream all over your pretty panties? Dean fucking keens at this, wants it so bad he could die.
Spit is the worst lube, hardly does anything at all, but Dean is so keyed up that it doesn’t matter. He works his finger into his hole with a low moan, body aching with the rare joy of being filled.
Sexy would flip him over, wrench his panties aside and press his dick at Dean’s hole while speaking directly into his ear. You’ve been teasing me with this ass all over my hospital for weeks now. He’d press in then, not even caring whether Dean was ready for it, knowing that Dean had been fingering himself open every morning after his shift since he started working on Sexy’s floor. Fucking begging me to hold you down and fill your pussy up, haven’t you? Such a little slut, fucking pining for daddy’s cock.
Dean’s hand is working his dick fast again now, his body rocking as his finger works deep and firm in his asshole. In his mind’s eye he can see his ass stretched around Sexy’s cock, can see Sexy’s gorgeous hair shifting with his harsh thrusts, the muscles in his chest flexing as he pushes Dean’s shoulders down into the mattress. Sexy is making him take it, is going to come inside him and Dean’s hips lift off the bed, ass clenching around his finger and voice catching in his throat and coming out as a broken whine as he comes long and hard.
Sexy would keep going, Dean thinks as he comes down, pulls his finger out and rests his hand on his stomach instead. Sexy wouldn’t care that Dean was done, was over sensitive and sore. Sexy would have kept going until he was done with him, would pull Dean up into his lap and work him up and down until Sexy blew in his ass, leaving Dean leaking and exhausted, his panties and his asshole fucking ruined.
“Oh Jesus,” Dean groans, covering his eyes with his forearm. Without the headiness of arousal to distract him he’s suddenly desperately embarrassed by the whole situation. He got hot from fanfiction, for Christ’s sake, and, daddy, did he make Sexy say daddy? Dean will never be able to look anyone in the eye ever again.
That doesn’t stop him the next day, though, from picking up a bottle of lube from the local drug store.
(Or, later, from finding guys in bars who have long dark hair and a commanding posture and letting them take him home.)
It’s bullshit, this fanfiction stuff, it really is. It can mess a guy right up.
That’s Dean’s excuse and god damn it, he’s sticking to it.