Sometimes Dean is on his knees. In a dirty back alley or a grimy bar toilet; in front of some guy’s desperately unfastened jeans, cock jumping into his face, so unbelievably lucky to meet a mouth like Dean’s.
It’s not like Dean’s gay. It’s not like he enjoys sucking dicks or likes men that way, that’s really not the case. But every other month, sometimes every other week or so, he does it. Goes out on his own, finds the bar in town where the gay dudes hang and goes about the business of locating one who fits the prerequisites. Seducing them never is much effort, anyone who doesn’t jump at the opportunity of screwing around with Dean has to be legitimately blind or clinically insane (and as much fun as that can be, that’s not really a trait Dean likes his men to have) and so it’s never long until Dean has an eager-eyed guy trailing him out the back door.
He kisses them sometimes, when he’s in the mood to get his mouth wet first or has found a particularly pleasing specimen. This guy today he kisses. He’s tall, long hair melting into the night and eyes that bore a straight hole into the alcohol cloud Dean’s drunk himself into. So Dean kisses him and closes his eyes when the guy’s - Daniel’s - tongue presses past his teeth and curls around his own tongue. It even gets him a bit hot. He makes a point of not imagining a woman when he kisses a guy, that’d feel like cheating, and so usually it doesn’t do much for him, having a guy lick into him like he’s the goddamn sexiest thing they’ve ever gotten their tongue on. But this guy’s good, Dean only half-flinches when Daniel grabs his butt and squeezes. Still though, Dean’s here to suck his dick, no more, no less, and so he pulls back, unconsciously sucks in the thread of spit connecting their lips and presses Daniel harder into the wall, watching his eyes go wider, darker, cling to Dean’s wet mouth.
“Alright?” Dean asks and waits half a second before he slides down onto his knees before Daniel can say whether it is or not. There’s a little stone under Dean’s knee and he shuffles around for a moment to get at least halfway to comfortable on the harsh ground biting at his thinned out jeans. When he looks up, Daniel’s sporting a half-amused expression at Dean’s awkward shuffling and he’s already opening his jeans and getting out his dick for Dean. He’s almost completely hard already, not enormously so but big enough to make Dean swallow and think about the scrawny boy he’d spotted first who’s probably just about half of Daniel’s size. He’s in it now, though, no backsies, and so he replaces Daniel’s hand on his cock with his own and strokes him firm before he gives Daniel a measured glance through his lashes that has Daniel groaning, and opens his mouth for the dirty-pink head of his cock.
It’s salty-bitter and Dean isn’t a big fan, but he suckles on it long enough to feel precome pool on his tongue, then opens his mouth wider to get more dick inside. He’s done this often enough to not flinch at the fullness of his mouth anymore and not gag when Daniel goes into his throat, but it’s still uncomfortable. Dean will probably never get why some chicks are so into wearing their knees out for him or why some gay dudes seem to make it half their personality how deep and how big they can take it. He probably won’t ever get why Sam looks so fucking blissed out when he staggers back to Dean, his mouth swollen in a way that doesn’t just happen from kissing or making out or fucking biting at each other.
When Sam was drunk and 17 and had just given a blowjob to a guy for the first time, he’d told Dean about it. Had been dead embarrassed about it the next morning and refused to acknowledge any of Dean’s super funny jokes and sleazy remarks, but the night before he’d been swaying into Dean’s side, beer- and apparently cock-drunk and proud to have scored and only gagged a few times and those had been worth it, really, Dean, ‘s like the best thing ever, ‘m gonna do it again… And he had done it, gone a bit wild with it until Dean could feel evil comments about it cutting into his tongue while he desperately tried to keep them from biting their way out, really, Sammy, you tryna be a bigger slut than that chick I went off with last week?
He’d managed to keep his mouth shut, thinking about the bullshit about homophobia and sexism Sam would probably throw in his face before running off with that awful hurt look that makes Dean’s heart feel like it’s going to rip itself out of his chest.
Then he went off and sucked a cock of his own to see what Sam was on about. And it just really, really wasn’t what Sam had made it out to be. Not that Dean had really bought it, he was straight after all, only interested in tits and pussy, thank you very much, but he just had to try it when Sam was being like this. He’d wanted to know how Sam did it, which technique he used, if he knew how to make his jaw hurt less and if he liked it when they leaked down his throat before they striped it white in earnest. He didn’t get the answers he wanted from his first dick, just a sore jaw and a dirty, angry feeling in his gut when the guy took his sweet time finishing, and so Dean found himself on his knees in front of a second dick one or two weeks later.
It’d been basically the same, just less exciting since lacking the novelty of it all, and Dean had brushed his teeth twice afterwards and not looked his father in the eyes for three and a half days.
The third guy touched his hair when Dean sucked him into his mouth and then made him take it, fingers twisting brutally in his hair before skimming down to his cheeks and soothing Dean’s gagging with an almost gentle touch, and that stirred something in Dean’s chest that felt like maybe he’d found the correct solution to his question. It made his own dick twitch when the guy went deep enough to pull tears out of his eyes and when he got back to the motel, he finished himself off over the toilet, not thinking in memories but visions and blurry dreams of never-coming futures and Sam and his open mouth stumbling in through the door.
Daniel doesn’t fuck his mouth, let’s him pick his own pace and so Dean has to fuck his mouth on Daniel’s cock himself until he gets the message and grabs Dean’s hair, shoves him down on his cock until he’s almost choking. It’s almost good after that, Dean can see Sam’s eyes blurry with tears, cheeks burning red with a cock ramming between them, splitting his eager mouth, and Dean lets Daniel fuck his throat open.
Daniel comes almost too fast. Sam wouldn’t let a guy off the hook that easy, probably draws it out like hell’s worst tease even when he’s just fucking getting it, made to take it. Dean sucks it all down, lets it run down his throat like the holy water he sloshes down demons’ throats and part of it tastes like bitter penance, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Forgive me, Brother…
He gets on his feet fast after Daniel’s done, swipes the arm of his jacket over his mouth and winces a moment later when the fabric stains wet. Daniel’s reaching out for him, for a kiss or his belt, Dean isn’t quite sure, but he’s done for today anyway. “No, thanks,” he says, voice still rough around a forced smile, and turns on his heel, vanishes into the darkness of the alley, the taste of come still burning brightly in his mouth.
All the way home Dean can feel his dick heavy between his legs. He’s not hard, but he can feel the potential for it wrapping around him, pulling and stroking him with sin-scarred fingers and he knows he’ll be there in an instant when he’s bracing himself over the toilet back in the motel room.
He would be there in an instant if Sam weren’t standing in his way, tall like God’s most stubborn mountain. “Hey, Dean,” he says, voice curling around the words the way it does when he needs to fit accusation and discontent with Dean into the syllables, nasty and unhappy to have been abandoned in the numb motel room with Dean out leaving him for the flashing world.
“Sammy,” Dean replies, voice rough and hopefully conveying that he needs the restroom before he can deal with Sam’s issues with him. He gets ready to shoulder past Sam, but Sam’s body won’t give when Dean’s shoulder catches on his arm.
“Alright, pal?” Dean asks, annoyance painting his tone dirtier now as he jerks his head away from looking at Sam. “Gonna let a guy take a fucking piss?” he adds, crunching down on the letters when Sam still won’t move. He doesn’t like it when Sam gets like this, the quiet kind of annoyed, not the fun, loud one that Dean can stoke up into a big fire that gives them both a few sparks back. This quiet, holding back kind, it gets under Dean’s skin. Gnaws into his bones like hungry ants and tempers with the flow of his blood, makes it full of nervous bubbles.
Finally, he pushes past Sam and manages to fight the urge to turn around and hit him in the chin when Sam huffs in his signature cut-off way like he thinks Dean’s behaving like an asshole or an idiot or both. Which is bull, because if Sam won’t even talk straight about why he’s annoyed with Dean, then it’s certainly not Dean being immature. Even when he technically knows the reason. He just doesn’t have to deal with this when he really needs the restroom now.
Dean’s hard as the steel he bores through the sickly soft flesh of the monsters he kills when his hand slaps against the tiles over the toilet. He can hear Sam stalking around between the two queen beds, up and down, to the door, to the wall, his anger-heavy steps sending small vibrations up Dean’s legs and through his dick. His other hand is already palming himself through the rough denim, squeezing until it’s too painful and then he has his dark cock in his fist, making it fast, making it brutal, staccato strokes to Sam’s stomping feet.
Daniel’s taste is still in his mouth, heavy on his teeth and tongue, and he sucks it out of his flesh with a heaving chest while he gets his dick warm with his hand and imagines it wet. He thinks of dark red and deep pink, of warm hair underneath his palm, soft skin giving under his fingers and his knees are shaking. Outside, Sam’s kicking a chair and salt scrapes down Dean’s throat, hot and itchy like his prickling eyes. His dick aches and jumps in his hand, he’s leaking furiously and he’s wet, so wet, and outside Sam huffs and Dean splatters the toilet and his cramping fingers.
He wipes his fingers over his mouth before he flushes the toilet and licks his own come off his lips before he meets his eyes in the mirror over the sink. The inside of his mouth feels raw and soiled. He should rinse it with soap and toothpaste, but his teeth won’t open and he’s rotten inside anyway.
Sam has come to beat violent fists against the door, “I need to piss, Dean, what the fuck are you doing?” And Dean just splashes his face with cool water and opens the door for him, “here ya go, Sammy,” and takes a bottle of beer to bed.