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Two-Hundred Dollars

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Being short on cash isn’t exactly a new feeling for the Winchesters, but it’s not until very recently that it’s occurred to Sam that there are easier ways to earn it than picking pockets and tabletop hustling. Existing without a soul, without the moral hangups that tend to come as a package deal, has its perks.

The internet, as it turns out, is a wonderful place, and within a few days, he’s able to convince his brother that a skinwalker in Louisiana that needs their attention. He bullshits and evades enough that Dean doesn’t care enough to look at the non-existent articles himself, and Sam assures CanineCrusader73 that they’ll be able to meet up in a couple day’s time without a problem.

“You want to get started tonight?” Dean’s asking while they get settled in their room. Sam knows he’s been getting comfortable again, letting his guard down more and more often no matter how little he’d trusted Sam after initially learning about the state of his soul- or rather, the lack of it- and he knows it’s going to be his brother’s downfall. “See if we can find anyone who’ll talk to us?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam smiles because he knows it helps set Dean at ease, tries to make it soft around the edges the way it used to be. “You kick back, I’ll go find us something to eat. We can get started tomorrow.”

Dean looks almost suspicious, but Sam knows he’s tired. As much as he seems to enjoy it, driving for hours on end can be- and often is- exhausting, and that’s just part of the benefit of making the trek this far south to begin with. Sam’s been planning this carefully for weeks now, and he’s not going to let a single detail go unchecked.

“Yeah, alright,” Dean agrees, finally. Flops down on the bed closest to the door and sighs, stretching out slowly. Sam tries not to be too obvious about the way his eyes linger on his brother’s body. “Just get something edible, alright? None of that rabbit-food crap.”

“Sure.” Sam waves a hand, dismissive, already turning away. “Edible. Got it.”

He doesn’t bother listening to Dean’s grumbling as he steps outside, shuts the door behind him and starts towards the car. He won’t be protesting once it really matters.


“You’re sure he’s not gonna fight?”

As Sam isn’t surprised to find out, CanineCrusader73 is a slightly balding man, early forties, a little heavy- he’s big, walks with confidence all the same. He tells Sam his name is Michael, and the irony isn’t lost on him, but it’s probably a alias, anyways, so he doesn’t think about it too hard.

“I’ll worry about that. Just come in about ten minutes after me, alright?” Sam’s not too worried. Figures the little pills in his pocket, easily dissolved into the beer he’s picked up, will do their job. “I’ll make sure he’s ready for you and, uh- what’s his name?”

“King.” Michael smiles, looks proud. “Just King.”

Sam snorts, shakes his head. Wonders if that’s supposed to be some kind of joke. “Right. Got it. Hang back, and come knock in ten minutes.”

“Will do.”

Sam nods, figures if worse comes to worse and the guy comes in too early, he’ll just have to be a little more forceful with his brother. He doesn’t want to hurt Dean- not permanently; he won’t be of any use on hunts if anything serious happens- but hey, they need money, and he’ll do what he can to get it. “You got the advance?”

Michael looks almost a little surprised, but nods, clears his throat. “Yeah. Fifty now, hundred-fifty when we’re all done.” He digs around in a pocket, producing the bills a moment later. Pauses before handing them over to Sam. “You know… we never did get a chance to explore my, uh- alternate offers.”

Sam frowns. Studies the man’s face for a long moment. “Alternate?”

“It’s two hundred just to have King stud for your bitch, let him practice, let me watch.” Michael shrugs. “But I’ll give you three hundred if you let me film it. Four hundred if I can get his face.”

For a long moment, Sam thinks. They do need money, after all, and Dean’s memories of this will be scattered at best. Wonders idly about how likely they are to encounter anyone who might ID Dean from a video like this.

Smiles slowly.

“I don’t know about that.” Shrugs, hooks his thumbs in his belt loops. “Dean’s awful pretty. I think he’s worth more than that on film. ‘Specially with his face in it.”

Michael’s eyes narrow, dart towards the motel. They’re in the parking lot, and this could be simple, but Sam’s ready to squeeze as much money as he can out of this. He figures he’d be fine with three hundred for the whole package- maybe even less; he’s been half-hard throughout this entire discussion, just thinking about watching his brother get humiliated like this- but they really do need the money, so it’s worth bartering. “How ‘bout I’m the judge of that. You get your bitch ready, and when me and King see him- we’ll negotiate a price. Deal?”

It’s better than a refusal, and Sam shrugs. Ignores Michael’s hand where he’s extended it to shake. “Your loss.”

Doesn’t leave room for any other conversation as he turns away, starts towards their room. “Ten minutes.”

He’s smoothed his expression by the time he lets himself into their motel room, shuts the door behind him and leaves it unlocked. Takes the time to get his shoes and jacket off before heading towards his brother. Dean’s still in his bed, and he’s got the TV on, now, barely glances up when Sam approaches. “Took you long enough. Get something good?”

It’s just fast food takeout, but the beer’s the important part. Sam hums in response, tosses the bag over, cracks Dean’s beer open for him- it takes some sleight of hand to get the pill in without him noticing, but Dean’s pretty much distracted with diving into his food, anyways- before setting it down on the table beside him. “It’ll keep you alive, anyway.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s barely paying him any attention anymore, so Sam allows himself a tiny smile as Dean grabs for the beer, takes a long pull of it without hesitation.

He starts the countdown in his head. Moves to take a seat on the bed opposite his brother. Keeps Dean in the corner of his eye as he waits for the drugs to come into effect. “Anything good on?”

“Is there ever?” Dean snorts. Sounds like he’s rummaging around in his bag. “Dude, c’mon, you didn’t even get me any fries.”

“Didn’t I?” Sam doesn’t look over. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Ass.” An annoyed huff before Dean gets a little quieter, must be working on the burger Sam grabbed him at the last minute.

Sam waits. Watches some jokes fall flat on the sitcom they’ve got on the TV and listens to his brother’s movements as they get slower, more sluggish.

Tries not to smile when Dean speaks again.

“Hey, uh-” Clears his throat. A long pause before he continues. “What’s- that was just a beer, right?”

His speech is slurring and it’s been six minutes. When Sam looks over, Dean can barely keep his eyes open, looks confused. Looks scared.

It’s fucking beautiful, and Sam does smile, that time.

“Yeah. What, you feeling okay?” Injects a mockingly concerned tone into his voice, because he can’t help himself. “A little woozy?”

Dean’s furrowing his brow when Sam gets off his bed, rolls his shoulders in the space between them before moving closer. His muscles tense, but he doesn’t go anywhere, and that’s when the panic seems to take hold of him- eyes wide, darting around. Breathing laboured.

“Sam- Sammy, what’s… what the fuck-”

“It’ll be easier if you don’t struggle.” Sam goes for Dean’s pants, first, unbuttons and unzips them neatly before tugging them down and off his legs. Tosses them aside carelessly, plucks Dean’s socks off one by one. “Just let it happen. Don’t think about it too hard. Not that you’ll be able to, I guess.”

Dean’s shirt is a bit more of a struggle, what with having to get his arms to cooperate, but he manages, and soon enough, he’s left in just his boxer-briefs, already low on his hips from half-hearted struggles, and Sam’s quick to get rid of them, too.

Dean seems like he’s struggling even to speak, now. “Sam, y- what’s-”

Sam doesn’t listen to him. Goes straight to his own bag and finds the brand-new bottle of lube he’s bought special for this occasion before returning to Dean. “Look, I’m gonna do what I can to make sure you don’t get hurt, but you’ve gotta cooperate, Dean, okay? Don’t put up a fight, and it’ll be easier for everyone.”

Dean’s eyes widen at that, and Sam’s already getting his fingers good and lubed up. Michael told him during their meeting that he was responsible for prep, and for anything that happened as a result of the lack thereof, so he figures he should do a good job at this. “You- I- everyone-?”

If he’s got anything else to say, he chokes on the words as Sam spreads his legs wide, one lubed up finger finding his tiny, puckered entrance and pressing inside. Sam’s not here for slow and gentle; he’s on a time limit, and a little rush now will probably save Dean from getting hurt later. “Just relax for me, yeah?”

Not that Dean’s got much of a choice in that matter- the drugs have done their job well, and Sam doesn’t meet much resistance. He’s efficient about it, slips the second finger inside and starts scissoring them apart before long- wishes he could takes his time here, finger his brother open until he cried, and he’s hard now, in his jeans- presses the heel of his unoccupied hand down against the bulge- but he can worry about that later.

Dean’s making breathy little sounds, distressed and wanting and confused, and Sam’s soaking it up, storing away each and every one to remember later. He’s got his third finger inside, glances down- smiles when he sees that Dean’s cock has, apparently, taken an interest in what’s going on.

“Yeah, thought so,” he murmurs, brings his free hand up to trail his fingertips over his brother’s length. “Knew you wanted this, Dean. This just makes it easier without all the thinking. The struggling. You’ll thank me for this later.”

“Fu-fuh-” But Dean can’t finish the word, cuts off into a pitched moan when Sam presses hard into his prostate. Smiles consolingly.

“Soon. Just another minute or two.”

He’s just barely slipped his pinkie finger in, makes a mental note to explore this possibility later when someone knocks on the door, twice, pauses, and twice more. Right on time.

“It’s open.”

Michael opens the door, a padded wooden stand over one shoulder while his free hand’s got a tight grip on a dog’s collar, holding him at his side. “Ready to go?”

It’s the first glimpse Sam’s gotten of King outside of the videos online, and he can’t deny that he’s impressed. He’s a Doberman, tall and fit, ears up at attention. His eyes seem to find Dean immediately- must know a bitch when he sees one- and he jerks towards him, letting out a low growl.

If at all possible, Dean goes even more still under Sam’s hands. His breathing gets faster, and his eyes strain trying to see. “Sa… Sam.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Sam croons, gives his fingers one last twist before slowly tugging them free. Dean’s ass clenches around empty air, and he grins. “You’ll be okay.”

Turns to Michael and his smile drops. Back to business. “You said we’d discuss a price.”

Michael’s eyes are on Dean, too, assessing and hungry in a way that makes Sam want to tear his throat out. But he’s nodding, then, and at least he’s interested. “You were right. Real pretty. How’d you get him so calm?”

“Drugged the bitch. He’s even better when he cries.” Sam ignores the hurt little sound Dean makes somewhere behind him. Raises his eyebrows expectantly. “What’s your price?”

“Five hundred.” A pause. “Seven with his face.”

“One thousand.” Sam doesn’t flinch. “Whole package. Face and all.”

Michael frowns. Glances between King and Dean and Sam. “That’s a lot of money.”

“So’s he.” Tilts his head fractionally. Lets a bit of a smirk creep into place. “You really willing to lose this whole deal ‘cause you can’t cough up three hundred bucks?”

There’s a long moment of silence, but Michael exhales sharply. Doesn’t look too happy, but nods. “Fine. One thousand.” Jerks his head back towards the door. “I need to get my equipment. You want to get him on the stand?”

Sam thinks there’s nothing he’s ever wanted more. “Sure.”

Michael sets the thing down, nearly has to drag King along with him back outside. Sam turns his attention back to his brother, who seems to have calmed down some- but then, maybe those are just the drugs working a little deeper. He can’t bring himself to care either way.

“Don’t worry.” He moves the stand to the center of the room, makes sure there’s room around it before returning to Dean. His brother’s like a ragdoll in his arms, barely manages a soft whimper as he tries to struggle and fails. “Gonna get you set up real nice. Make sure we make a pretty penny for all this. Always said you didn’t like it when I played the tables, so isn’t this better, anyways?”

It’s a little tricky getting Dean strapped down when he’s so physically unresponsive, but Sam manages. The breeding stand is high quality, padded with soft leather, plenty of restraints to make sure the person attached is properly immobilized. Once Dean’s set up- ass up, half slumped on the floor, fingers curling into dirty motel room carpet- Sam just sits back. Admires his work.

“You’re always real fuckin’ pretty, big brother, but I think this takes the cake.”

He’s just taken the time to add a generous amount of lube to Dean’s ass- better safe than sorry and all- when Michael’s return is announced with a low whine from King, and Sam glances up. Smiles when he sees the dog straining to get to Dean, tongue lolling out of his mouth, panting hard. “Someone’s excited.”

“Guess so.” Michael snorts, takes a look at Sam’s setup before nodding his approval. “Guess we’re ready to go. King, stay.”

King stills immediately, though his eyes don’t leave Dean. Sam watches, faintly impressed, as Michael lets go of his collar and gets his camera ready. “You’re gonna have to move unless you want to be in the shot.”

Sam shrugs. Figures he’s got a few ideas that might end up like that, regardless. “Don’t care. Whenever you’re ready.”

The little red light blinks on, and Sam smiles. Settles back to watch.

“King.” Michael’s voice is sharp, commanding, and King sits up, at attention. “Get it.”

There’s no hesitation before King’s bounding over, immediately makes it his business to inspect Dean head to toe. Sniffs him, licks his face, doesn’t seem bothered by the sounds of protest Dean manages to let out. Makes his way farther back, shoves his muzzle in between Dean’s legs, causing him to cry out.

“Good boy,” Michael’s saying, but Sam’s eyes don’t leave his brother. “That’s your bitch, King. Show him. Breed him proper.”

A huff from the dog and then he’s shifting, already moving to mount Dean. Sam’s almost surprised by the speed of it all- the videos he’d watched usually had more lead-up- but he’s a little proud, too, in a way. Maybe his brother’s just a natural-born bitch, because King doesn’t seem to need much convincing.

Dean cries out when King gets on top of him, forelegs squeezing his middle. Already, his hips are working, rutting forward in quick little jabs, not quite meeting his mark.

Sam doesn’t even think about it, already moving forward to help.

“Just guide him,” Michael says from where he’s filming. “He’ll do the rest.”

Sam nods absently, crouches down beside his brother. Smooths a hand down Dean’s side like a hollow echo of comfort before reaching underneath King.

It’s odd, wrapping his fingers around the dog’s cock, hot and heavy in his hand, but he focuses on his goal. Guides King’s next thrust so he finally slips inside, Dean’s ass slick with lube, and that’s when he starts going properly. Sam sits back and just watches, completely in awe.

King is relentless, rutting forward at a desperate, ruthless pace- Sam’s eyes are glued for a long few moments, the slick shine of lube on Dean’s skin, the blur of motion as King works. The dog’s panting hard, drool dripping down to land on Dean’s back, paws scrabbling for some kind of hold and scratching him up, too. It’s a goddamn glorious sight, and slowly, Sam moves, gets up and takes the two steps between where he is and where he needs to be to make eye contact with his brother.

Dean’s eyes are shiny with tears, and his mouth is open, gasping for breath around the moans that are torn from his throat, sound like pleasure-pain personified, lips spit-spiny and Sam feels his cock throb, because there’s no way he can resist this invitation.

Dean’s eyes go wide when Sam unzips his jeans, but he can’t do much. His arms are strapped in place, so drugs or no drugs, he’s helpless. “N- S’mmy, no-”

“Shh.” Sam’s smile is a plastic sort of reassurance, and he’s more focused with freeing his aching cock from the confines of his jeans. “Don’t worry. Gonna take proper care of you, bitch.”

There’s something twisted about it, turning their light-hearted little nicknames into this kind of degradation, but there’s a thrill in it, too- something that’s got Sam aching for more, feels a little drop of precome well up at the thought of it. Licks his lips and gets on his knees in front of Dean. “Gonna make it all better, Dean. Open wide.”

Sam’s always thought Dean’s had a pretty set of lips on him, but they’re fucking gorgeous wrapped around his cock, stretched as he feeds it into Dean’s mouth, groans as he feels the light scrape of teeth, when Dean nearly gags as he hits the back of his throat.

“Jesus Christ.” It’s hard to stay steady with King still pounding into Dean’s ass, but Sam braces himself on the floor and manages. “Put your cocksucking little mouth to good use, Dean. Suck.”

Maybe Dean’s too out of it to fight. Maybe he’s too far-gone to care, or thinks that Sam will grant him some kind of mercy for being obedient. But either way, he does; he sucks, hard and deep, works his tongue along Sam’s cock and it’s barely started but it’s already the best fucking blowjob Sam’s ever had.

He fists one hand in Dean’s hair to keep him steady, panting hard and rocking his hips, just enough to get a rhythm going, enough to have Dean gagging on and off. It only works Sam up more, eyes fluttering half-shut as he struggles to watch, even as he gets almost dizzy with pleasure.

King’s thrusts are becoming wilder, more desperate, and Sam figures he’s probably getting close. Starts talking to Dean without really thinking about it. “Feel that, Dean? S’gonna breed you properly, fill you up with fuckin’ doggy come. Might even fuck you pregnant, big brother. Bet you’d look real pretty all swollen full of his pups.”

Dean chokes around his cock, and he’s crying properly now, tears streaming down his face, sounds like he’s having trouble breathing. Sam can’t really bring himself to care right now, too busy with how close he’s getting. “Fill you up at both ends, bitch, make sure it takes, huh?”

He can’t see it from this angle, but he feels it when King forces his knot into Dean’s ass- his brother cries out, quiet and muffled but there, and it’s so goddamn pleasing that Sam thrusts hard, grins when he hits the back of Dean’s throat.

“Feels good, huh?” he murmurs, and he’s right there, edging near his orgasm, tightens his fingers in Dean’s hair. “Stretching you out. Maybe after he’s done, I’ll fuck you, too. Hell, maybe I’ll be able to fit my whole hand in there. Feel how soft you are inside.”

And that’s what does it, the thought- the mental image of being wrist-deep in Dean’s ass when he’s this soft, this pliant- that sends him over the edge, and he lets out a low “fuck” as he comes. Lets Dean choke on some of it before pulling out, letting the rest of it splatter on Dean’s lips, little beads of white sticking and dripping down as he gasps for air, little hiccuped sobs escaping him.

King seems to be finished, too- must’ve started coming while Sam was lost in his own bliss, because he’s already turning, ass-to-ass with Dean while he waits for his knot to deflate. Sam takes a moment to stand slowly, tucks his cock back into his pants and thinks that he’s probably in heaven.

Michael’s turning off his camera, one hand drifting down to press against the bulge in the front of his pants more than once. Swallows hard as he makes eye contact with Sam before ducking his head. “The, uh- the knot should go down enough in a few minutes-”

“You didn’t mention that part.” Sam had been well-aware of what would happen, but figures the guy’s a little strung out right now, and that makes him vulnerable. “I thought we’d be done here.”

Michael looks confused, then a little panicked. “But- we had a deal, you can’t-”

“One thousand two hundred.” There’s no room for argument in Sam’s voice as he zips up his jeans. Stands tall, stares him down. "You’re lucky I’m not asking for more.”

Michael looks like he wants to argue- seems to rethink it the longer he looks at Sam. Nods and goes into his bag, and then he’s pulling out little packets of bills, held together with elastic bands. “Fine.”

Sam smiles flatly. Takes the bills and stuffs them into his back pocket, careless. “Pleasure doing business with you. And I do mean that.”

His attention’s drawn back to his brother as Dean cries out, and he glances back. Watches King tug himself free, shake himself out- pause to sniff at Dean’s hole and give it a few quick licks, but then Michael’s letting out a sharp whistle and he trots to his owner’s side.

“The video should be up in a few days.” Michael clears his throat, shifts on his feet. “You want to get him unstrapped?”

Sam’s already moving towards his brother, crouches down and carefully undoes his restraints. Scoops Dean up like he’s a child, cradled against his chest. Dean’s barely even conscious, exhaustion and the drugs in his system making for a beautiful combination. “I’ll make sure to look it up.”

Michael nods, moves to pick up the stand before he’s moving towards the door. Sam pays him no mind, all his attention on his brother, humming softly as he carries Dean towards the bathroom.

“You were so good,” he murmurs, as close to real praise as he’s gotten all night. Dean doesn’t really react, curls closer to his chest. Sam figures it’s an instinctive search for comfort, can’t help but smirk. “Did just like you were supposed to, Dean. My good little bitch.”

Doesn’t set Dean down, but finds a cloth, runs it under warm water. Sits on the floor with his brother in his lap and goes to work cleaning him up, wiping come from his lips and his ass. Dean whimpers when the cloth brushes over his abused hole, swollen and red, and Sam hums. “I know. It’s alright. You’ll be fine.”

Heads back to bed when he’s finished, Dean secure and clean and dry in his arms. Lays his brother down and smiles as he whines from the loss of contact. Only stays away long enough to strip down before crawling into bed with him, curls himself around Dean’s back.

When his fingers find Dean’s rim, he’s still loose and relaxed enough to let them slip inside, and Sam smiles into the back of his brother’s neck. Whispers into his hair.

“You’re gonna be so good for me, Dean. So good for us.”

He doesn’t pull his fingers free, works them gently where they are. Dean’s already drifting off, but Sam doesn’t need to sleep. He stays where he is, pressed against his brother- thinks.

Money’s always been tight for them- but with twelve hundred dollars in little packets on the motel room floor, he thinks that maybe, he’s finally found a solution.