Chapter Text
Dean isn’t sure when the first line shifted.
That’s the lie he tells himself because it’s easier than admitting the truth: there was a first time. A moment that started it all.
Years ago, clicking through porn he thought he knew, and ending up somewhere adjacent, unfamiliar, and impossible to unsee.
His first gay porn site.
His immediate reaction was to close out of the page, but then his eyes caught a few of those thumbnail pictures and words, and all types of masculine bodies. With a gut-churning horror, he realized he got even more excited than before.
It was something he had always been maybe kind of aware of about himself—that his gaze sometimes traveled over the forms of men as well as women, and the occasional flat, hairy chest popped into his imagination, but he always discarded those thoughts easily.
He never really tried anything even remotely sexual with any man before (even when he had his share of opportunities in his early twenties, all freckles and lashes and soft skin around his cocky grin), so finally stumbling upon something like this, men on men in the same positions as any other heterosexual porn thumbnail he’d seen, he felt himself flush down to his toes with heat and embarrassment.
With more hesitation than he could bear at that time, he clicked out of the page, but not before he memorized the website’s address.
And if he may have fixated on the guy in the regular porn he originally set out to relax to, nobody had to know. It was totally fine.
Everyone had a wandering gaze sometimes, didn’t they?
Right.
And when, eventually, a few months later, he was brave enough to intentionally check out the website, soothing the ever-growing nagging in his mind, he had to conclude one simple fact about himself: he was maybe not as straight as he thought—or as his dad would have liked him to be with his monthly mandatory buzzed down short hair to offset his ‘pretty face’ and his body hidden in oversized jackets and flannel layers his father made sure he wore.
But as he started to explore porn that wasn’t strictly heterosexual for the first time in his thirties, it surprisingly went fine.
More than fine, if he was honest with himself.
Truth be told, in his mind, he was way too old to have a crisis by that point. He died many times, he went to hell and came up again, he stopped the apocalypse, and his life was a freaking monster show full of gore and pain, so what was one little sexuality crisis? Piece of a fucking pie.
And even if he would have liked to act up on it, it’s not like his day-to-day life really permitted him anything more than the occasional wank on the road in shady motels while Sam got their food, or hidden in his room in the Bunker when they finally settled down (or on a few occasion on the side of the road in his Baby), or even fewer and fewer hookups across the states as they took on cases.
One thing was certain: he couldn’t really see himself hooking up with a guy without any prior trust. Call him old or even old-school, but there was something weird about the idea of trusting his body with another man, getting down to the nitty-gritty without anything established between them beforehand. The occasional flirting he could do, yes, but anything else? Something made him stop.
He was used to beating up guys, and vice versa, not to kissing or touching them.
So for years, he stayed complacent with his right hand, a copious amount of lube, and his fingers up in his ass if the need arose, new positions he never would have thought he was going to find himself in that made him feel open and wanton and so fucking needy, long showers, and his trusted website.
But the thing that really started it all was the result of one too many beers, laziness, and a gay Asian gangbang porn—fully uncensored. It was a rare find and the only thing why he had clicked on it. Truth be told, he liked his men meatier and buff-looking. He liked his men looking stronger than himself, so Dean could imagine himself being handled, pushed into the mattress, and taken apart by strong, big hands, scratched up by stubble all over his body, and made to see God through rough, gravelly voices which did not remind him of anybody in his life, thank you very much.
But his curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn’t pass up the chance to finally see some uncensored version of Asian porn.
He was stroking himself lazily, not too into what he was seeing, but also relatively fine imagining himself sucking and fucking those guys, but he was too tired to really do anything else, like fingering himself open—which he really, really liked, to his own surprise—so he continued teasing himself, watching the five guys kiss and grope each other. They went into different positions, fucking and sucking each other uncensored, and the video kept on playing.
Then one of them rolled onto his knees, and a bucket was pulled closer. Dean realized the bucket had already been there, but it was so inconspicuous in its presence that he hadn’t really registered it, nor did it make him question why it was there.
Then the guy—a skimpy-looking one, with pool-noodle-sized waist and way too smooth skin—started pissing into it, while the others kept kissing and petting and sloppily sucking each other like nothing out of the ordinary was happening barely two feet away.
And Dean… well. His first shock turned into a loud, surprised moan as heat pooled in his gut, sharp and quick and so out of the blue he almost came watching it unfold. The piss hitting the bucket was almost as loud as another guy’s whimpering being sucked and Dean’s own moaning, and when the guy's stream started to trail off after a good few more seconds indicating he was mostly done, a few drops still leaked from his dick, and instead of shaking it off as any dude would, he smeared it all over his half-hard cock, using the wetness to glide his hand.
The wobble-kneed walk back shouldn’t have been as sexy as Dean’s own whimpers suggested, but watching the guy slowly get himself hard again with a few drops of his own piss did something uncomfortably exciting to his dick.
Then a second guy rolled over to the bucket, knelt there with his dick hard and glistening with lube and spit, and after a few seconds of tense stillness, and to Dean’s astonishment, he started pissing; a steady stream came out regardless of how hard his dick looked. Dean’s stomach swooped down to his fucking kneecaps, his toes curling as he jerked himself faster and faster. He also realized how badly he needed to go, and that one thought almost did him in, because holy fucking shit, he was desperate for a good fuck and orgasm and a much-needed piss.
The guy pissing didn’t hold back his moans as he threw his head back, pointing his dick down to the bucket—a fucking bucket that already had at least one load of piss in it, Jesus fucking Christ—before another guy moved and suddenly the first guy’s wet-looking cock was swallowed down, piss and all, and the moan coming from the one who sucked on it indicated that it must have tasted amazingly filthy.
Dean came so hard his whole body locked up, and he couldn’t even hear his own moans over the boom of his heart exploding in his ears.
When he came down, his jizz was all over his chest, slowly dripping down the small pudge of his belly into the patch of dark curls around his spent, still-twitching cock, and for one fucking wild second, his bladder pinched sharply, and he thought about letting go.
In his own fucking bed.
To piss.
Hell to the fucking no.
He stopped himself from freaking out—and from pissing in his own bed, for fuck’s sake—but he was shaken to his core by everything that had just happened, by this seemingly another new thing about himself, which made him more ashamed than anything before. He lay there getting cold, his own come sticky on his chest, belly, and sides, holding himself back from wetting himself in his own fucking bed on his beloved memory foam in his thirties, aching and blinking in a daze, mortified.
When he finally got up and burned the sticky mess from his skin with scalding hot water, leaning forward against the wall as he watched his pale-yellow piss stream wildly running down his leg and coloring the water at the bottom of the stall, he just kept blinking slowly, while heat pooled low in his guts, and his release—both—set his teeth on edge.
*****
The next day, he opened the same video with slightly trembling fingers, his three beers sitting heavy in his bladder, a low simmer of anticipation burning in his stomach. It had filled him all day and even prompted Sam to comment on his twitchiness, which Dean brushed away as much as he could, while he struggled with his reddening face.
He was curious to see if the surprise of that whole pissing scene was the only reason he’d had that much of a reaction. He figured that it had just taken him off guard while he was already aroused—or at least that’s what he’d tried to tell himself later, when he tossed and turned in his bed, unable to get the picture of the piss-covered dick being sucked while someone else relieved themselves next to the pair out of his mind.
But deep down, it felt like the last time he’d stumbled upon a different type of porn, but this… yeah, this felt wrong.
So knowing what was to come—hopefully not him—he made sure to watch a few minutes of the video first, but not too much, as he didn’t want to get too much into the mood again, barely touching himself while doing so, until he couldn’t wait anymore and skipped ahead to the space just before the first guy rolled over to piss.
And when his cock twitched wildly in his hand, and his belly swooped again, watching the stream of piss coming from a dick, he froze.
His heart went into override as he watched the scene, his cock throbbing in tandem with his pulse, but his hand stayed clamped down, not moving.
When the first guy smeared himself with his piss, he felt himself flush deeply. A low groan slipped past his dry mouth as he licked his lips, watching with a mix of excitement and unease what was unfolding.
He was painfully hard by the time the first guy was being sucked. The second guy finished pissing and started jerking himself, and this was where he’d lost the plot the first time. He watched with a growing need to touch, to come, to piss, as the second guy aligned himself behind the one who was sucking the first guy’s dick and pushed himself inside his perky ass, using his own piss and some more lube to stretch him open. He started fucking him with long, deep strokes, and Dean yearned to feel a dick filling his own ass in that moment like he never did before.
When the fourth and fifth guys stood up and both pissed into the bucket from a few steps back, like they were in a pissing competition, Dean wasn’t even aware of himself anymore.
His hand was flying over his cock, slick with lube, the other hand cupping his balls and teasing along his perineum, his belly heavy and squirming, his breathing loud in his own ears.
And then the first guy who was being sucked leaned back toward the bucket. He closed his eyes just as the two standing men stepped closer, guiding their streams of piss over his face.
Dean watched, enraptured, as a blissed-out expression crossed the guy’s face, wet and dripping, his lips parting as he whined, the stream so close and—
He tipped over the edge.
Or more like he was hurled over it, white spots bursting behind his tightly shut eyes as he tried not to shout, remembering at the last second that he wasn’t the only one in the bunker.
He managed it—barely.
As he came down from his pleasure, he watched the rest of the scene, panting, slowly steadying his breathing.
The first guy didn’t get any piss in his mouth—and when Dean found himself deeply disappointed by that fact, he knew this whole thing wasn’t just a fluke.
And when he saved the video’s link to his password-protected bookmarks folder, he tried not to spiral too much.
He didn’t dare to look into this more for a long time.
*****