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His regular evening ritual begins with Bobby.
Dean quietly enters the bedroom of the hunter and discards his bathrobe on the stool next to the door. Now completely naked he walks over to the bed, pulls back the covers and lets them carelessly fall on the floor before he climbs on the mattress. Kneeling in the centre of the bed he grabs one of the pillows and slowly sinks down on his stomach, with his hips propped up and his ass in the air.
They are living in the other hunter’s house for over a month now and it’s only fair that Dean pays for their stay with the same special little service he offers his father and brother almost every night. It's what John told him to do and who is Dean to go against his father's orders?
Bobby's not here yet but Dean can already hear the heavy steps climbing the stairs to the first floor of the small house. The footsteps reach the bedroom door and Dean spreads his legs, waiting for Bobby to come in and take what he needs.
There is no sound when Bobby enters the room. He never talks. Just pulls down the zipper of his jeans and rips open a condom. Bobby always uses a condom and Dean is grateful for his thoughtfulness. It means he hasn't to clean himself before he continues on his round because neither John nor Sam wants him in their bed with the come of another man leaking out of his ass.
The mattress moves and one moment later cold hands are circling his hips, pulling him back against the hot stiffness of Bobby's erection. Dean prepared himself in the bathroom, first cleaning then stretching his hole by working at first two than three of his fingers inside his ass, twisting and moving until he was loose and compliant enough for Bobby to just slide in.
It hurts nonetheless. Dean closes his eyes and wills himself to feel nothing, to ignore the burning sensation of being ripped apart, the harsh thrusts forcing him to lower his head more and more into submission and the bitter taste of shame already gathering in his mouth.
Thankfully it’s over soon. Bobby comes with a shuddering sigh ghosting over his lips and when he lets go of Dean his nails leave dark-red crescent-shaped bruises on the young hunter’s skin.
Dean waits for Bobby to leave the bed before he slowly gets up and covers himself with his bathrobe. He never looks up, stubbornly avoiding Bobby’s eyes, because looking at Bobby will force Dean to face the truth, will bring him to accept that he's nothing more than a willing body to be used and taken and thrown away as soon as there's no further use for him, a mere tool for his family traded as a payment for Bobby's hospitality.
Dean is no fool. He knows all too well that Bobby loathes himself for being so weak, for being unable to withstand the temptation every time Dean offers himself. It's tearing him apart and he silently pleas for Dean's understanding, his forgiveness.
He longs for an absolution Dean's not willing to give. Denying Bobby is not much but it's all Dean can do to preserve the last shreds of his dignity.
The door closes with a soft thud behind him when he makes his way to the second stop of his evening round.
John is already waiting, lying in the middle of his bed with his legs slightly splayed. One of his hands is stroking up and down his painful hard erection while he uses the other to tease his nipples.
“You're late. I'm waiting, boy.”
His voice sounds angry and so desperate at the same time that Dean knows there’s not much time left to save himself another brutal punishment for making his father wait, for depriving him the pleasure of fucking into the silken heat of Dean's body for too long.
Up to now he failed his father only once but Dean still wears the scars of this incident and the memory alone is enough to make his stomach churn in revulsion and fear.
Ignoring the uneasy feeling in his gut, Dean throws his bathrobe away and hurries over to the bed. In one graceful movement he straddles his father’s hips, rubbing the crack of his ass teasingly against John’s hard length, before he reaches behind him and holding his father's erection in place he steadies the blunt head against his hole and starts to sink down slowly.
That is... at least Dean tries to take it slow but he should have known better. John is impatient, eager to enter the promising warmth of Dean’s body and with a sharp thrust his hips snap upwards, taking Dean completely by surprise.
The young hunter still feels loose from the previous fuck but his father's cock is big, thicker and longer than Bobby's, and soon his muscles quiver helplessly around the burning sensation of being split open and stretched to the limit.
Reflexively ignoring the old familiar pain when his insides stretch to accommodate the feeling of his father’s cock sliding deep inside him, Dean blinks away the tears involuntarily forming in his eyes the moment he finds himself fully seated in John's lap.
“Good boy. You're doing so good, Dean”, his father murmurs as if Dean is nothing more than a pet needing confirmation for doing good, sounding so fucking proud of his well-trained little whore, that Dean nearly chokes on the bile suddenly rising in his throat.
It’s always the same. His father’s praises make everything worse, far more than any bodily abuse ever could, because his father never tells him how much he loves him or how proud he is of his eldest – except when he’s buried balls deep in Dean’s ass.
A sharp thrust and a slap on his thigh gets him out of his reverie and encourages him to move.
Using his hands to steady himself on his father’s chest, Dean shifts and flexes his muscles, eliciting a hungry growl out of John, before he pushes himself up to his knees and slams back down quickly, taking the older hunter in as deep as he can.
There is nothing soft or gentle in the way John uses his son. Their coupling is rough and loveless, while the dark-haired hunter sets a bruising pace, nails biting into soft skin, renewing the numerous bruises colouring Dean's hips and thighs and soon it becomes obvious that John tries his best to erase every memory of the previous fuck, to fuck Bobby right out of Dean and reclaim his ownership over the younger man's body.
When John rolls them around it’s no surprise at all. Now in a better position to hold his son down, John’s rough movements elicit a painful groan out of the younger hunter and all Dean can do is to yield to the rhythm his father forces upon him, harsh thrusts bringing him to the verge of tears over and over again, mercilessly ripping him apart and leaving nothing behind but hurt and the fragments of his shattered soul.
“You're such a good little whore, keeping your body so wonderfully tight for me. It's like fitting into a perfect glove.”
Those words, meant as a praise for Dean, burn like acid in the young hunter’s mind, reminding him once again that they never really notice him – unless they are in need for his service. Every time they fuck Dean can feel another part of himself dying, loosing more and more of himself, mind and soul slowly crumbling under the constant pressure his father and brother are imposing upon him. The demands of his family are killing him but it's all Dean ever will get because fucking is the only thing he's good for.
Suddenly there is a change in John's movements and the first sparks of pleasure cause Dean to moan involuntarily, while his father's thrusts are hitting his prostate over and over again. Dean feels himself getting hard. This is the moment the younger hunter fears the most, when the pain is slowly replaced by lust, because in this moment he has to accept that his family is right – he's nothing more than a slut.
John groans and shudders above him, stilling every movement and then Dean's insides are coated with the burning hot liquid of his father's seed and the relief the young man feels is almost overwhelming.
Waiting for his father to come down from his orgasmic bliss Dean tries to ease himself off the softening length still buried deep inside him, but he should have known better. John growls and calloused hands are gripping his waist to hold him firmly in place.
They stay there for a long time, John hovering over him with an unreadable expression in his eyes and Dean staring at his father with a growing sense of dread forming in his guts, not sure about his father's intentions.
Sometimes there is such a darkness in his father's eyes when they fuck, so much hate and loathing that Dean is sure one day the older man will end everything with a well-aimed bullet to his head. And so the young man holds his breath, not sure if today's the day he will be free, if he should allow himself to hope that all this is finally going to end, but then his father blinks and the moment is gone.
“Don't make a mess”, John commands shortly and pulls out. His cock comes free with a soft plop and Dean, already used to his father's preferences, can do nothing more than to push two of his fingers inside his ass to stop his father's come from leaking out of his abused hole.
John throws Dean a disgusted look when his come starts dripping onto his sheets. Dean's face heats up in shame but his attempts to clench his hole around his fingers are futile – the muscles are too loose, too worn out and there is nothing he can do to keep it inside.
“You're absolutely useless.”
The door closes behind his father and Dean is lying in the middle of the bed, tears of shame and self-hatred on his face and the sticky mess of his father's so called love between his thighs.
END