#prostitute!dean

When the man is done, he drops a hundred dollar bill on the floor and leaves the stall. Dean wipes cum away from his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to fight down the nausea building within him. Nausea from this place, from the smell of urine and the salty taste of cum, but also from what he’d just done.

He leans forward over the toilet and throws up, stomach acid the only thing coming up from his empty stomach. He retches a few more times and then grabs the money from the floor and stumbles to the sink. He washes his hands with soap, and then again, then splashes water on his face and rinses out his mouth. A couple guys entering the bathroom give him a sly smirk, picking up from his appearance exactly what he’d been up to. He wants to punch them. But he’s too tired, and he’s too hungry, so he dries his face and leaves.

First he stops at a burger joint nearby and drops ten dollars to buys a burger and fries and milkshake that he inhales so fast that he gets an almost immediate stomachache. But at least he’s full.

Next he stops at the open-late, mom-and-pop grocery store on the way back to the motel. He’s got enough to feed both himself and Sam for a week, probably a bit more, as long as he shops cheap. He grabs a basket and fills up on the usual—mac and cheese, instant ramen, hot dogs, peanut butter and bread. He tries to hold his hand steady as he takes each thing off the shelf, but he can’t stop trembling. He tells himself to stop thinking about it, but the man’s words echo in his head. Filthy faggot. He wants to throw the rest of the money away, never think about it—or how he got it—ever again. But he doesn’t have that luxury. Sam’s depending on him.

When he gets home, he takes a hot shower. The scalding water doesn’t do anything to wash off the feelings of shame clinging to him. What kind of man is he, turning tricks for cash? What would Dad think of him, debasing himself like this?

He rinses his mouth with Listerine, once, twice, three times. It doesn’t erase the memories of the man’s cum, sticky and warm in his mouth. He rests his palms on the edge of the counter and leans against it, taking deep breaths. He needs to pull himself together. Sam’s in the other room and Dean doesn’t want to let him know something’s wrong.

“What’s with the long showers lately?” Sam asks, as soon as Dean walks out of the bathroom. “Are you a girl now or something?”

Dean looks away, feeling like he’s been punched in the gut. Faggot, he hears again in his head. “Shut up,” he says to Sam, trying to keep his voice light, trying to pretend he’d taken it as a joke and not a reminder of what he’d done.

He starts pulling groceries out of the paper bags on the table and Sam comes over to look at what Dean got. “Gross, you couldn’t have gotten anything else?” he whines. “I’m so sick of all this stuff.”

Dean tenses, seeing red for a moment. “Jesus Christ, Sammy!” Dean slams a jar of peanut butter on the table with a loud bang. “Can you just shut the fuck up and be grateful for what I got you? For once in your goddamn life?” He takes a shaky breath, surprised at his outburst.

Sam goes completely silent. “Sorry,” he says softly, barely audible, and he moves away from Dean.

Dean immediately feels guilty, but he doesn’t have the energy to comfort Sam, not tonight. He finishes putting away the groceries and goes to bed feeling full, really full, for the first time in almost a week.

God Almighty, he already felt his cock getting hard in his beeches and was thankful for the drape of his greatcoat to hide his embarrassing state. He was tempted to walk away, but another part of him, devious and whispering temptation, urged him inside. “You’ll find everything you’ve ever been curious about,” it whispered, echoing his older brother’s words that sent him on this errand in the first place.

“Don’t be a prude,” Gabriel had chastised. “Everyone does it. It’s like a right of passage. Our dear old father is the one who took me to my first whore house,” he added with a lascivious grin, lounging across the settee, popping grapes into his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

And he was, which was what made it so shameful. It was true that most peers, the alphas at any rate, were encouraged to sow their wild oats before marriage, but Lord Castiel James Shurley had always been odd. He thought for himself, flouted convention, and had been, until recently, convinced he would go to his marriage bed a virgin, same as whichever omega his parents deemed suitable for him.

Ever since his first rut hit last year (a late bloomer, everyone had said, seeing as he had been all of six and twenty), he could think of little else. Not even his plants could keep his interest anymore and his fellows at the Horticultural Society were starting to worry. He spent more time locked away in his room than his greenhouse.

The front door opened suddenly, a thin omega in a red dress that was barely proper bathed in the light which spilled into the street, red curls falling from the pile atop her head to brush her shoulders. She smirked at him. “Why don’t you come in, love? We don’t bite.”

She chuckled at her own joke, and Castiel felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Well, he was caught now. It was either look a fool for loitering outside only to run away with his tail between his legs (And why did it even matter, he asked himself. He wasn’t likely to run into this woman in the street.) or stop being a coward and take what he wanted, what he had been fantasizing about for months—a warm, tight hole squeezing around his prick, an omega mewling beneath him.

It as base and common, but, oh, how he wanted it.

He walked up the steps and through the door.

~

The inside of Madam Ellen’s was as gauche and ostentatious as Castiel feared it would be: velvet, gold leaf, filigree, sconces shaped like male members, frescos of men and women, alphas and omegas, in flagrante on the walls for the foyer. There were also… noises. Ones he hadn’t been able to hear outside, but once past the doors they rang in his ears, moans, grunting, growls echoed by softer purrs. Things Castiel would have said were reserved for marriage beds, but were making him warm beneath his clothes, his cravat feeling too tight.

“Charlie, take the gentleman’s coat, why don’t you? I thought I taught you better manners than that.”

The woman who spoke descended the staircase with a regal air, dressed fine enough for any Ton ballroom in blue satin adorned in peacock feathers. She was older, perhaps his mother’s age, handsome, and an omega. Obviously the proprietress, by the way the redhead who let him in jumped to follow her order, which surprised him. He wouldn’t have thought an omega would run a house of ill repute such as this, but perhaps it made sense. Who else would an omega trust to keep them safe but one of their own?

He relinquished his greatcoat, along with his gloves, hat and cane, fingers fidgeting with the buttons he of his waistcoat. Madame Ellen reaches the bottom step and held out her hand with a smile that was more than a touch predatory. Still, Castiel raised her hand to his lips because he was a gentleman.

“No need to be frightened, dear boy,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow and leading him father into the house.

“I’m not,” he replied automatically and she smiled again as they passed through a doorway into a sitting room filled with numerous couches. Artfully displayed on a number of them, omegas posed for inspection. Castiel stopped in his tracks, eyes widening, arrested by half clothed limbs.

One omega in particular, seated by the fireplace, golden skin gilded by the fire, stole his breath. He was… stunning. Tall and leanly muscled, with green eyes and light brown hair, he wore nothing but a silk dressing gown from what Castiel could discern. The material split over one of his thighs, leaving his legs bare, long and made smooth and hairless by a process he couldn’t even begin to guess at. It fell off one shoulder, to behalf of his chest visible along with a single, pert nipple. A wine glass filled with ruby colored liquid dangled negligently from his fingertips, eyes trained on the flames before him.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Hmm, good choice,” Madame Ellen murmured, too close to his ear, her scent overpowering, but he didn’t pull away because what if he made her angry? The last thing he wanted now that he’d seen this omega was to be tossed out on his ear. She stepped away, one hand around his arm, the other beckoning the omega. Her lips curled in a sly grin. “Dean, dear. Come. Someone has requested your company.”

~

Castiel had no earthly idea what the room he was led to looked like because once the door shut behind them, Dean shed the robe he wore, tossing it over a chaise lounge pushed against the wall across from the bed, which he only glanced at when Dean laid back against the bedding. Propped on his elbows, everything wasI’m display. He looked like sin incarnate, half lidded eyes and a smile curving his plush lips. The blue silk sheets and velvet bed hangings were sumptuous and the color set off the omega’s skin in a way that made Castiel think they had been chosen specifically for that purpose.

“So,” Dean said, the deep cadence of his voice shocking Castiel, as well as the fact that he was American. He found himself wondering how this man had come to be here. “How would you like me?”

“I don’t know,” he stuttered, fidgeting with one of his cufflinks.

“Don’t be shy.” His voice lowered and he sat forward as though he were sharing a secret, the lean muscles of his abdomen flexing, candle light catching on all the dips and curves of his body. Smile turning coy, he informed Castiel, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing you ask for will shock me.”

“I don’t know what to ask for because I haven’t done anything. Shocking or otherwise.” He hadn’t meant to admit that, but the words tumbled from his lips and it was too late now to take them back.

Dean sat back, stunned, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “No shit?” The omega’s green eyes ran slowly up and down his body, making Castiel blush. “Been a while since I was with a virgin. Probably since I was one myself,” he added with a wry twist of his lips. Then he stood, walked toward Castiel, his movements I’m yes with sensual grace, and began tugging on the knot of Castiel’s cravat. “Well, that just means I get to ruin you for everyone else.”

Cas believed Dean could do it, too, as he slowly, efficiently, stripped Castiel of all his layers. He seemed pleased with what he saw, licking his lips when he uncovered Castiel’s cock, pupils widening. Dean ducked his head to run his lips along Castiel’s chin.

“I should have asked before, but what’s your name?”

“Cas,” he said even though only his family ever called him that.

Dean hummed, tongue licking up his neck. “I’m going to take care of you, alpha.”

Lord above, that went straight to his cock. He had been imagining making an omega scream his name by the end of the night, foolish seeing as he had no prior experience to call upon, but he thought it was going to be the other way around. 

~

Silk gripped between his fingers, Castiel groaned, stars filling his vision. He was on his back on the bed while Dean rode him as skillfully as a jockey at the Ascot. It was better than he had ever dreamed. The omega’s channel was hot and wet, squeezing him so tightly it bordered in pain. The scent of his sweat and the slick running down his thighs filled the room, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head when Dean clenched impossibly tighter.

Dean caressed Castiel’s chest, thumbs plucking at his nipples, then leaned down to kiss him, nipping at bottom lip. “Are you going to knot me, alpha? I can feel it, Cas. It’s so big.”

“Oh, God,” were the only words he could get past his lips. He untangled his fingers from the sheets and curled them around the omega’s hips.

His breath bathed Castiel’s ear with his next words, so softly spoken, but they were like ice water through his veins, reminding him of what this was. “It’s extra.”

“Anything,” he choked out, groaning, hips snapping up, chasing his release. He would give Dean anything, anything he wanted. He didn’t think he could live without this, without him.

Dean straightened, breath catching, and held on while Castiel thrust into him. His nails dug into Castiel’s skin. He thought Dean might have drawn blood but he didn’t care enough to look or to tell Dean to stop.

He was transfixed by the sight of Dean succumbing to pleasure. Eyes closed, head tipped back, he stroked himself with one hand, panting through parted lips. He was perfection.

Castiel’s knot swelled even more, making it harder to push inside. The noises their bodies made was a symphony Cas had never heard before: skin against skin, the squelch of slick being forced out of the omega’s channel. Frustrated when his knot pulled free of Dean’s sheath, the omega’s body resisting its entrance, he dug his fingers into Dean’s hips and tugged him down when he drove up. Dean shouted, spend painting Castiel’s chest, milking his knot.

Dean collapsed against his chest, hips rolling to pull the rest of his release from him, not that he thought he would stop anytime soon regardless.

“How was that?”

Dean’s question had Castiel barking a laugh. He ran his hands up and down the omega’s back, over the swell of his generous backside. “I want you to be my courtesan.”

Dean stilled. Slowly, his head lifted from Castiel’s shoulder. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. We’ve only just met.”

“I’ve always known what I wanted,” he told Dean, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. He confessed, “Truthfully, I don’t think I could stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”

“I did say I would ruin you for anyone else.” Dean spoke the words softly, voice filled with melancholy.

Castiel traced Dean’s cheek. “I will have to marry. One day. And were it a more perfect world…” He trailed off, not willing to say the words aloud. They would only serve to make them both sad. “I have more money than I could spend in two lifetimes. Let me spend it on you. You would have the freedom to do what you wanted when we aren’t together, run your own household, revive a monthly stipend.”

Dean studied him, fingers tracing idle patterns in the skin of his chest. “What happens when you decide you don’t want me anymore?”

The question was pragmatic for someone in Dean’s position, but it broke Cas’s heart. Conscious of his knot which had yet to abate, he sat up carefully so as not to jostle Dean too much and hurt him, and wrapped the omega in his arms. He couldn’t see that happening, but all he said was, “Everything will be yours to keep. I put the house in your name. You’ll have your own accounts.”

Dean looked away, biting his lip as he contemplated Castiel’s offer. “You are the best lay I’ve had in years,” he mused and tossed Castiel a cheeky smirk.

The alpha growled, rolling them over, trapping Dean beneath him. Dean’s laugh morphed into a moan when Castiel started circling his hips. “Is that a yes?”