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“So, why… are we drivin’ this far away?” Dean asks, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Reports say… there’s some… man, tormenting people, ruining neighbourhoods, disturbing residents at their homes…” You ramble on, flipping through the small pages of your notebook, squinting in the dark Impala.
“Sounds like the son of a bitch is just havin’ a bad day,” Dean responds, glancing over at your notes. “Doesn’t seem like our type of… deal,” he shrugs, using one hand to rub his jaw.
“Well, reports say… he might have superpowers, or some sort,” you shake your head, flipping through more pages. “Super strength, doing damage to things you shouldn’t be doing damage to,” you explain, glancing over at Dean.
He sighs and keeps his eyes on the road, carefully steering Baby through the winding roads in the night. He glances over at you again, reaching over to lightly tap a page, his ring glinting in the moonlight.
“What’s that about?” Dean asks, glancing over and then back at the road.
You scoff. “It says if we were to find him… he’d be at a strip club, probably.”
“Now we’re talking,” he smiles, tapping the steering wheel excitedly. “Super strength, watchin’ ladies strip… doesn’t sound like he’s doin’ much wrong,” Dean shrugs, and he leans on the gas a bit more.
“Yeah… except he’s tormenting people, and being a complete dick, Dean,” you shoot back, but he still has a shit-eating grin on his face, suddenly eager to get to small town. “It says he’s dangerous, calls himself ‘Soldier Boy’.”
“The song?” he asks, looking over at you, and you immediately roll your eyes.
“No… no, ‘Soldier Boy’, like… a soldier?” you glare at Dean, and he’s smirking, purposely making you frustrated with him. What’s new.
“I say we hit the strip clubs,” Dean declares.
The black Impala winds down the long roads, taking the two of you deeper into the small town, and Dean takes those damn glances at you; constant eyes finding your thighs, and he’s glad Sam is off somewhere, probably doing something with Ruby, and doesn’t have him in his ear, telling him how wrong it is to find you attractive.
You had joined in the little trio when you were old enough to—Bobby’s your father, and trusts you with the Winchester boys more than he’d like to admit. And with your passion for hunting, and how damn well you do it, it would almost be blasphemy for them to ignore your skills.
It left you in an odd place: between Sam and Dean. Dean was always flirting with you, even when he’d bring home some blonde bimbo from the bar, shooing you and Sam out of the motel until he was finished. And Sam was Ruby now, occupied beyond belief, doing suspicious things behind the scenes that broke some brotherly bond you couldn’t understand.
And now here you are, doing a case alone, with Dean Winchester. The first one ever.
Baby rolls to a stop, parking along a curb, bright neon lights casting a constant glow onto the car. The sign is bright and loud, and Dean smirks at the name: Lustful Lounge.
Dean is out of the Impala before you, and you’re scrambling behind him, quickly joining his side. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, only to flash the fake FBI badge at the bouncers, and he nudges you to do the same.
Mister and Misses Smith for tonight, completely unrelated. Very, very believable, Dean.
“This is a job, I hope you remember that,” you mumble to him as you walk down the long hallway, with a red tinge to the lighting, and you hear the loud music growing louder.
“Yeah… a job with strippers,” he nudges you again, smiling and fake-smoothing out his hair, before dipping into the small entrance.
There are several stages scattered around; women on poles move, swaying their hips and shaking their breasts, skimpy outfits bejewelled in rhinestones, and it reeks of marijuana, the smell coming from the back, away from the regular customers. Dean looks like a kid in a candy store, and so does Soldier Boy.
He’s lounging in one of the chairs in the VIP section, a blonde woman doing a solo dance for him, and he’s smoking a joint, nodding. Her hips twist, and her long legs bend, and he’s not even bothering to throw cash, merely observing and taking it in for himself.
“Dean,” you nudge him with your elbow when you notice his eyes straying away, focusing on the exotic dancers instead of the task at hand: operation find Soldier Boy, and get him out of there.
You lightly take hold of his hand and groan in frustration, taking him deeper into the strip club, and a VIP sign flashes. Bingo.
Another two flashes of your badges grant you access into the room, and two bouncers hold the odd beaded drapes that hide it, and your eyes widen the minute you see him: Soldier Boy.
You look at Dean and then Soldier Boy: sharp green eyes, the same sculpted nose, soft lips, a smirk that they both have on while looking at the same woman—Soldier Boy’s hair is longer than Dean's, and he’s bigger than him too, and your lips part in awe. Maybe it’s the light playing tricks on you, morphing Soldier Boy’s face. It can’t be.
Dean hasn’t even noticed.
“Who ordered this whore?” Soldier Boy suddenly calls out, his finger pointing directly towards you. “And… her fuckin’ cuck of a boyfriend, too,” he laughs, barely noticing the stark similarities the two have. But Dean does.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean curses the minute his eyes find Soldier Boy, and it’s like he’s staring in a damn mirror, if the mirror ages you about twenty years. “This son of a bitch stole my face!”
You’re too in shock to notice Dean taking steps towards the man lounging on the couch, and he glares at Dean, eyes narrowing at the younger version of himself. He blows a plume of smoke out of his mouth, but purposely towards his twin's face.
“You stole my face, kid,” Soldier Boy retorts, tilting his head to the side. “Been here for hundreds of fuckin’ years, America’s greatest. Ain’t copying some washed-up pussy, and his slut that’s too much of a bitch to come over here.”
Soldier Boy makes that sound that sounds like nails on a chalkboard–it’s like he’s calling a cat over, a gross kissy noise with his lips, and he’s calling you over with a wave of his hand, and you slowly begin to walk over. You feel like you’re more surprised than Dean is.
“No… no, I have been here for just as long as you have,” Dean retorts, pointing at the man lounging, and Soldier Boy laughs. “You’re just some old shapeshifting fucker.”
“Shapeshifting?” Soldier Boy howls, shaking his head. “Is this some fantasy, role-play kinky shit between the two of you?” he uses his blunt to gesture between your bodies. “It’s fuckin’ disgustin’, and you’re not even strippin’ for me,” he calls directly to you.
“What? I’m not a stripper–” you quickly say and shake your head, but Soldier Boy interrupts.
“With that fuckin’ body? A god damn shame you’re not,” he scoffs, and Dean, well, agrees.
“I’ve told her this,” Dean chimes in, nudging you a little and Soldier Boy narrows his eyes.
“How much you payin’ her?” Soldier Boy suddenly asks, gazing between the two of you. “Prostitutes around here don’t usually look that fuckable.”
Soldier Boy eyes you more closely, and it’s weird—not even because of how filthy he’s being, but because of how closely he resembles Dean, who is currently red in the face from anger, or embarrassment.
“I’m not a prostitute, I’m…” you mumble, fishing out your fake FBI card, and he immediately snatches it.
“Ah, a liar and a whore, Miss… Smith,” Soldier Boy mumbles, his eyes raking over the fake name and shitty photo. “Lookin’ like a real doll in the photo though,” he grins, handing back the ID with two fingers, and you snatch it and shove it in the pocket of your jacket.
“Listen,” Dean mumbles, leaning a bit closer to his doppelganger. “We just wanna know what the fuck is goin’ on, okay? If this is some trickster shit, or whatever the hell,” he murmurs, and Soldier Boy is staring at Dean like he’s speaking another language.
“Jesus Christ, this really is some kinky shit,” Soldier Boy barks, reaching over to grab you by the hip. “He payin’ you? He a cuck?” he asks, eyebrows raised, and he casually hooks his arm around your thigh, drawing you to the edge of the leather chair.
“Yes,” you say softly, nodding and gazing down at the man, and you can feel the look on Dean’s face without looking. “We…are… we are looking for a third,” you grin, and Soldier Boy looks at Dean. You’re trying not to laugh.
“She fuckin’ with me?” he asks, and Dean looks at you–you shoot him a death glare, and he does that face, that stupid shit-eating grin, though it’s mixed with dread.
“No,” Dean says through the forced smile. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Soldier Boy keeps his arm hooked around your thigh, and you mentally curse for deciding to wear a short skirt instead of the usual jeans you stick with. He taps his thumb against your bare leg and looks up at you, his jaw clenching.
“Your fantasy is to fuck a guy that looks like your… boyfriend, in front of your boyfriend?” Soldier Boy drawls, bringing his joint to his lips. “That’s fucked… some real slut shit you’re on,” he shakes his head, looking at Dean.
You roll your eyes, and Dean looks like he wants to kill himself; he’s just staring at Soldier Boy and the firm grip he has on your thigh, the awkward position that puts him eye-level with your stomach. He grits his teeth and sighs.
“So, are you gonna… have sex with my girlfriend or what?” Dean speaks up, his words coming out harsh, like he’s forcing them out of his mouth–he is; he wants no part of this.
“‘Course I am,” Soldier Boy shrugs, sliding his hand out from your thigh to firmly pat your ass. “Would’ve fucked her even if she really was just an FBI agent anyway,” he mumbles, gripping the back of your thigh.
You awkwardly squirm on your feet, trying to ignore the woman who is still half-naked, dancing on the pole before the three of you, the bright, neon lights in your eyes, and Soldier Boy is standing on his feet, sighing heavily.
“We’re parked just outside,” you chime in, and Soldier Boy casually wraps his arm around your waist, looking down at you.
“You got some fuckin’ nerve, doin’ this to a fool like him,” he drawls, nodding towards Dean, who is glaring at you and the overly large version of himself. “Can’t blame you though… looks like he wouldn’t know how to fuck a woman if she came with a manual.”
“We look the same,” Dean immediately shoots, his eyebrows furrowed.
You bite your lip, trying your hardest not to laugh at this interaction–Dean is oddly less concerned than you thought. He’s more so convinced that this is some trickster bullshit, and this entire situation has been planned perfectly, just to get the three of you alone, and then he can finally strike and kill the juiced-up man. He doesn’t believe for a second this is a hundred-year-old superhero who just so happened to steal his face, and slap on some facial hair, and maybe fifty pounds of muscle.
The three of you slowly leave the club, and Soldier Boy nods to the few bouncers who seem to have let the criminal off the hook–probably paid them off with the wads of cash he took from the fucking bank. You had read it in the report: rabid man running through the streets, shouting profanities and threatening to do worse. And now his arm is hooked around your waist, heading towards the impala.
Soldier Boy nudges his broad shoulders into the back of Baby, and you sit in the passenger’s seat, your eyes on the road. Dean looks in the rearview mirror, still trying to shake the feeling of having his long-lost twin in the back, who is around twenty years older than he is. He sighs and turns the key to the ignition.
“We doin’ this at a motel? Or do one of you sick fucks wanna do this in your bed?” Soldier Boy chimes, leaning forward, his eyes gazing at the curve of your neck. “Wouldn’t mind either, just wanna make your girlfriend know what it’s like to be fucked by a real man, you know?”
“Motel,” you say softly, nodding, and Soldier Boy clicks his tongue.
“Thought you’d be more of a degenerate,” he shrugs, looking out of the car windows. “Almost feel bad for this kid–he’s gonna watch me defile you,” he says it so plainly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“You’re not gonna–” Dean grits his teeth, and he has to stop himself from blowing up the entire plan.
“Oh, yes I am,” Soldier Boy taunts, nodding. “Gonna force you to watch me fuck her brains out–-doll, what’s your favourite position?” he then switches his attention to you, and you blank.
“She likes missionary, all the romance shit,” Dean plays into it, and you furrow your eyebrows, glaring at him.
“I ain’t do the romance shit, but I can put your legs behind your head,” Soldier Boy shrugs, his head tilting to the side slightly. “You flexible?”
“She is,” Dean speaks up for you, glancing in the rearview mirror, and Soldier Boy is smiling, nodding.
“Is some other kinky shit?” he asks, looking at the side of your face. “He does all the talkin’, and you sit here like a sex doll?”
“No,” you cut in, shooting the criminal a glare, and he lifts his hands in defence.
Silence fills the Impala, a brief break, and you swallow hard, trying to act like this scenario is normal. Somehow, fighting vampires and ghouls makes more sense than having a hundred-year-old soldier in the back, with the face of Dean Winchester, with the sex drive of an animal in heat.
“So, Soldier Boy,” Dean starts, swiping his tongue over his lips. “Where did you come from?”
“Why does that matter?” he asks, leaning back into the seats. “Never gonna see me again after this; you don’t need to know lick about me, or whatever else the fuck you two freaks need to know,” he shoots, his eyes noticing the flickering red motel sign.
You glance at Dean, who is already looking at you, realizing this was a lot harder than you initially had thought. Most vampires and demons, whatever the hell you stumble upon, have thousands of years of lore written down in books and on the internet, and you’ve never come across a gem like this, one that seems to be aware of the fact he’s being hunted, but still taking offers to fuck random women. You swallow hard when Baby rolls into the parking lot.
The three of you head into the motel room, and Soldier Boy makes it a point to slap your ass the second all of you are in the small room, and Dean is seething at the constant remarks–if only Dean knew that he sounds the same sometimes, but usually a bit less… filthy.
Soldier Boy sits on the bed, while you and Dean sit on the two small chairs. His brows are forever furrowed, and his arms are crossed, head cocked to the side, realizing this might not be exactly what he expected: a hookup with a girl, while his twin watches. He clenches his jaw.
“We’re just… gonna set some… boundaries first,” you lightly explain and nod, and Dean lifts his hand, half-covering his mouth, trying not to laugh. “To… make it safe.”
“Safe? Is there some fuckin’ waiver I gotta sign before fuckin’ you?” he asks, those green eyes looking into yours, and you swallow hard, shaking your head. “Usually I pay for the slut, and she shuts the fuck up. Nothin’ about a god damn waiver or rules, or safety.”
Dean rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, his legs parting, and Soldier Boy turns his head, gazing at him. He narrows his eyes at the young version of himself, all while he lifts his hand, waving for you to come over. You look to Dean, who is reciprocating the stare-off, and you stand to your feet, walking towards the Supe.
“Isn’t this better?” Soldier Boy asks, and it’s only after he’s pulled you onto his thigh, forcing you to sit on the thick muscle. “Easier to listen when I have a plaything just waitin’ on my lap, you know? You wouldn't,” he grins and looks at Dean.
The sight has Dean’s fists clenching; you’re sitting on this grown man’s lap, his hand wrapped around your waist, a hand against your stomach, holding you up straight, the other hand slyly sliding down to inch up your skirt. It’s barely noticeable, but Dean notices, and he can’t say a word. This is a part of the plan, yeah?
“Soldier Boy…” Dean mumbles through that fake smile, but he’s interrupted.
“Ben, you can call me that too,” he shrugs lazily, keeping you on his thigh, and you oddly adjust your hips, looking up at the motel ceiling. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the firm limb between your legs, and how it doesn’t feel… like the worst thing in the world.
“Okay, Ben,” Dean starts again sarcastically, hastily rolling his eyes, looking at you and then the larger version of himself. “Can’t be beatin’ around the bush, you have to tell us some stuff before I let you… you know,” he mumbles, gesturing with his hands.
“You sure?” Ben asks, raising his eyebrows. “This bitch is already drippin’ all over my fuckin’ thigh; it doesn’t seem like she needs to know anythin’ else,” he shoots, shaking his head.
Your eyes widen, and you shake your head too. “What? No—”
Dean grimaces and looks down at Ben’s thigh and then up your body; the way your chest is heaving, the flush creeping up your neck, the sweat brimming at your hairline. His forehead wrinkles in disgust, and he realizes this man might not be entirely lying.
It’s not computing properly, the arousal you’re currently feeling; the odd ache between your thighs, the way your back is arching lightly, your thighs squeezing around Ben’s, and Dean is disgusted, completely caught off guard by the interaction, and the turn it’s taking.
“What are you doing to her?” Dean asks, his head tilting to the side, and his sharp eyes are looking at you. “Stop whatever the hell you’re doing!”
“Calm down, kid,” Ben shakes his head, licking his lips. “Not doin’ a thing, she’s just a whore,” he hisses, and you don’t even defend yourself–it’s overwhelming, the sudden lust clouding your head, and your eyes are growing heavy.
“You’re clearly doing something to her!” Dean says, standing on his feet, and Ben lifts his hand, shaking his head.
“Wasn’t this the deal? I fuck her guts, and you watch?” he drawls, raising his eyebrows, his large hand gliding down your waist and to your thigh. “Can even teach you a few things; you probably need it, don’t you?”
“I do not need some son of a bitch to teach me how to fuck women–I do it plenty, and the last thing I need is to watch her get fucked,” he groans out, his hand rubbing over his jaw. “We will leave you alone, never come back–just give her back,” he commands, like it’s an exchange, and not your body.
Ben stares at Dean, thinking. “No.”
“No?” Dean asks, a stitch forming between his brows.
“No,” he says smoothly, adjusting you on his thigh. “What do you think, doll?” He then adds, turning to glance at you.
“No…” You mumble and shake your head, and Dean’s eyes widen at your response, and he turns his head to look at the motel door and then you.
“What the fuck do you mean no!?” he practically shouts, huffing and sitting down in the seat. “This was not the plan–this is not a part of any god damn plan,” Dean rambles on, scratching his neck.
“A plan?” Ben asks, his hand sliding up your thigh casually, sliding right between them, lightly cupping your core. “What plan did you and… him have, huh?” he murmurs, turning to press his nose against your cheek.
Your head lazily tips back on Ben’s shoulder, and Dean furrows his eyebrows, quickly putting two and two together; his hand is up your skirt, and out of his eyesight. There’s only one thing that could be happening right now, and he’s in disbelief.
“Just watch,” Ben tells Dean, and you feel that large, warm palm lightly curl, and you whimper. “See? This how you touch a lady, none of that bullshit I know you do,” he curses, eyes narrowed.
Dean swallows hard and watches, unaware of what to do right now; you’re clearly enjoying yourself, and Ben is too, and he’s not sure what the tank of a man would do if he tried to leave, or better yet, intervene. He looks away.
“You ever make a girl nut?” Ben asks Dean, and he’s lightly rubbing two fingers right through your underwear, focused on your clit. “Or you jus’ leave her the second you do?” he asks, that cocky grin curled into his lips.
“What?” Dean asks, trying to ignore the soft noises slipping out of your mouth and how utterly good you feel right now.
“Look at her,” Ben says, nodding towards you. “Absolutely fucked right now, and I’m just rubbin’ her through her fuckin’ panties. Women are sluts in that way, and you wouldn’t have a fuckin’ clue about it,” he shoots.
Dean’s eyes drift towards you; the way you’re panting softly, squirming against Ben’s thigh, quietly whining and biting your lip, helpless hands trying to pull down your skirt. He clenches his jaw and looks back to Ben–the whole twin thing is still throwing him the fuck off.
“She’s not even in her right mind,” Dean says, pointing to how out of it you are; practically drooling, your head slumped back, lightly grinding into Ben’s hand now.
“Yeah, cause of me,” he rolls his eyes, snorting.
It is cause of him, and there are two reasons behind it; one of them being the sick and twisted Soldier Boy he is; telling you to take a sip of a drink back at the strip club, and you, trying to be the compliant and obedient thing you are, took it, and didn’t know what he had slipped in it. And the second reason being him; charming and good with his hands. The combination is making a filthy situation, and you’re unfortunately basking in the attention.
“Now,” Ben starts, lightly slapping your core. “You’re gonna watch me pound her from the chair,” he grins, and Dean listens to you whimper, your eyes fluttering at the light sting between your thighs.
The room is quiet, and Dean sits there, watching the way Ben manipulates your body; carefully lifting you, placing you down onto the motel bed and onto your back. The reports were definitely right; super strength, easily moving you around, like you’re the plaything and doll he speaks about.
“Actually,” Ben starts, gazing down at you. “Better look over here, c’mere, son,” he taunts, and Dean shakes his head.
“Nope,” he refuses, shaking his head again, looking up at the ceiling.
Ben rolls his eyes and sighs, gazing down at your body; your dress hiked up your thighs, your hair fanned out against the bed, your eyes heavy and your lips parted. There’s an unfortunate part about this whole thing, and it’s that you don’t… hate it.
You’ve always had that silly crush on Dean, and it made you seethe when he’d bring back bimbos from bars and hunts, and you had to sit and listen, sometimes watch when he’d try to stealthily fuck the girls while you slept on the bed over. It’s his turn, and it’s with his damn twin.
Ben carefully slides his hands up your bare thighs, watching you squirm and writhe against the mattress, and Dean can hear the light fuss from you; the whimpers, the tiny whines.
“Missin’ out,” Ben drawls, his large hands parting your legs instead. “Real fuckin’ beauty right here, and I doubt you even fuck her properly,” he calls out.
Dean rolls his eyes, and Ben is cupping you again, watching your head tip back. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, glancing over his shoulder at the awkward male in the room.
“C’mon, what do you do to the poor thing?” Ben asks, lightly slapping your core again. “Gonna probably fuckin’ cum from just this shit—you neglectin’ her?”
“Nobody is being neglected, idiot,” Dean shoots, gazing at the scene before him. “She’s not even my girlfriend!”
Ben howls at the confession, and he looks back down at you, his free hand sliding down to grab your face, aggressively pinching your cheeks.
“So, you’re a lyin’ bitch?” He asks, eyes narrowing. “Could’ve just waited on the corner, probably would’ve taken you home regardless. Instead you gotta make up some bullshit lies—the fuck is wrong with you?”
You whine and shake your head, and he shuts you up by spitting onto your face. The saliva is warm as it drips down between your eyebrows, gliding down the slope of your nose. He grins at the look on your face, looking back over at Dean.
“What is she then, huh?” Ben asks, still holding your cheeks, listening to you whine. “A sister? Oh, you’re real fucked if this is your sister,” he laughs, snorting.
Ben looks back to you and lets go of your cheeks, his hand lightly slapping your face, and you moan at the feeling, your hips lifting. He smirks at how needy you are, but he’s more concerned with the lack of care you’ve apparently received. You’re the neediest thing he’s seen.
A strong hand slides down your body, and his fingers don’t pull down your underwear; no, they rip it off, a loud sound in the motel room and Dean’s eyes widen. There’s the strength of a supe, and it’s being used to rip off your underwear.
“What the fuck—“ Dean says, standing on his feet, and he walks over, and Ben doesn’t seem to have an issue.
“Real man you are, only comin’ over here when you know you get a look at her pussy,” Ben laughs, a hand sliding down to part your legs more, his thick fingers lightly spreading your folds. “C’mon, take a look.”
Dean’s eyes bulge out of his head at the sight; you flopped on the bed, underwear on the floor, your eyes closed, lips parted, looking like you’re in ecstasy, and now, he’s seeing you bare—completely bare. Not just when he accidentally walked in on you changing, but spread open.
“See? Fuckin’ wetter than hell,” Ben laughs, examining between your thighs, licking his lips. “Look at it… leakin’, never seen anythin’ like this,” he shakes his head, turning to Dean.
Dean hesitantly looks, and he swallows hard. Despite his demeanour and the filthy remarks he makes, he’s gentle; you’ve seen the sex before, watched how soft he was with the women, the tender caresses, the sweetness that overtakes the dirty words that he says when he’s just trying to seduce the women. This is completely out of his ballpark, and he’s not sure how to process it.
“Dean,” you mumble, your eyes finding his, and his lips part the words that leave your mouth. His name, not Ben’s.
“Dumb bitch is callin’ for the guy who isn’t fuckin’ her,” Ben scoffs, and he slaps the side of your face again, and you whimper, biting your lip.
Ben reaches down, and he’s unbuckling his leather belt, the soft noise clinking in the motel, and Dean’s eyebrow furrows when he notices what’s happening. He looks to Dean, ticking his head.
“What? That much of a pussy? Can’t look at another man’s cock without gettin’ shy?” Ben asks, working on his own pants, his eyes looking back to you. “Ain’t gay, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he grins, and Dean is taken aback by the guts on this guy.
Ben’s hands slowly pull down his pants, and he’s resting his knee on the bed, his two hands now finding your thighs, spreading you open more, getting a better angle while he nudges his between your legs. He groans the second he runs his cock through your folds, and he looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye.
“Jesus Christ, she’s fuckin’ wet,” Ben hisses, his head tipping back a little, and Dean can feel his body growing warm the longer he stares at you. “She a virgin?”
Dean doesn’t respond; he merely watches, and Ben isn’t bothering with waiting for an answer. He pushes in and watches your eyes immediately squeeze shut, your back arching off the bed, and he laughs, shaking his head.
“Fuckin’ Hell,” Ben groans, burying himself as deep as he can go, breathing out. “Clenchin’ around me like a god damn dream, and you never fuckin’ hit this? God,” he laughs in disbelief, speaking to Dean, who is in disbelief.
Ben stares down at you, watching your body rock with each thrust; your eyes fluttering and your mouth agape, drool trickling down the side of it, spit finding its way out of your lips. He curses, holding your hips as he ruts into you, listening to the mewls.
“Put your fingers in her mouth,” Ben commands Dean, nodding towards you. “Shut her up, don’t gotta be hearin’ that shit the whole time,” he mutters.
Dean hesitates, but he does it, as if he’s being held at gumpoint. He shifts closer to the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the sound of skin on skin, the slapping of Ben’s hips snapping against yours, and the way your body moves with each thrust, the way you’re so blissed out.
Dean slides his two fingers past your lips, and your eyes roll back the second you realize that it’s his, and not Ben’s. You can feel the silver ring by your lips, the rough digits on your tongue, the way he’s lightly gagging you, and his eyes darken the minute he realizes how good this actually feels.
“See? Just an obedient whore,” Ben hums, confusing the relentless movement of his hips, a rough movement. “Can’t believe you had this thing walkin’ around, didn’t even try to do anythin’.”
Dean grits his teeth and deepens his fingers down your throat, listening to the soft of you gagging, the soft choking on his fingers. His lips twitch, and he can feel himself hardening in his jeans, and he glances down, ashamed of himself.
It’s a dream for you; eyes opening to see the same faces looming over you; those familiar green eyes, soft lips parted, and you close your eyes, basking in the feeling instead of resisting it. Whatever drug he has in you has you on cloud nine, and all you can do is suck on Dean’s fingers and take Ben’s cock
“Press on her stomach,” Ben then nods to Dean, and Dean glances down at the way your shirt rides up, that sliver of skin showing. “They love that shit—force her to feel my cock,” he continues, his one hand holding beneath your knee, the other one lightly slapping your other thigh.
Dean’s getting off on it now, too, and he slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, pressing his palm to your lower stomach, applying the pressure that Ben asks, and he nods.
“Push hard,” Ben commands, and Dean is taking orders like it’s his job. “Make her piss herself,” he mumbles, and Dean’s eyes widen, hesitantly looking down at you.
You squirm around, moaning now that your mouth is free; the sounds slip out, and Dean can feel himself getting harder at how drawn out there, how much you’re enjoying this. His eyes glance to you, and he lightly presses harder, awkwardly leaning over. Ben doesn’t seem to care.
“Atta girl,” Ben mumbles, his head tipping back when he feels you clenching harder, focusing on taking him, and holding in your piss now. “Keep pressin’, kid,” he tells Dean, and his eyebrows furrow at the awkward submissive position he’s put in.
Dean rubs the heel of his palm lightly against your lower abdomen, pushing down harder, and he can oddly feel himself enjoying this too; the way you wince and whine, how hard you’re trying to keep yourself composed, all while being focused on too many things at once.
“Gonna piss on my cock, doll?” Ben taunts, cocking his head to the side. “How’s this poor son of a bitch ever gonna see you the same again, huh? Hold it for him, not for me,” he shakes his head, and your head tips back instead, shaking it.
Dean won’t see you the same again, especially because you are pissing yourself, softly crying as you feel it streaming down, onto the bed and right in the midst of it all. Ben chuckles and doesn’t even bother stopping, just landing a cold slap against your face. Dean’s eyes widen.
“Dumb bitch,” Ben grunts, his hand lightly swatting away Dean’s, and he pushes his fist down instead, and you groan, eyes squeezing shut. “Really embarrassin’ yourself, yeah? Pissin’ all over yourself, and now you gotta sit in the car with him afterwards.”
Dean breathes heavier, his hand sliding down to press against the front of his jeans, subtly adjusting himself. And Ben finishes, a loud groan in the motel room, and he watches the way your body tenses up, your toes curling, fingers grasping at the bed sheets, and he’s filling you up, not even bothering to pull out.
“Never pull out,” Ben tells Dean like it’s casual advice. “Make ‘em take your seed, wastin’ it is for boys, not men, bet you use a condom,” he teases, still groaning and hunched over your body, holding your hips now, pressing his fingers into you.
Dean is silent and just watching, feeling him awkwardly leak into his boxers at the sight of you; your body all limp and flush, panting heavily, your eyes closed, absolutely drunk and dumbed out. Ben isn’t thrusting anymore, just keeping himself pressed between your thighs, keeping himself stuffed in there.
“She’s feelin’ it all right now,” Ben groans out, staring down at your blissed-out face. “Girls ever tell you that? That you make ‘em feel full, or do they just ask if you’ve finished yet?” he presses, and Dean is wondering why Ben is so set on humiliating him, too.
“She looks…” Dean mumbles, hovering over you, his hand lightly finding your forehead.
“Fuckin’ hot,” Ben cuts in and nods, licking his lips again. “Feels fuckin’ hot too, tightest pussy I’ve felt in a while–you sure she’s not a virgin?” he asks, and Dean shakes his head.
You whine quietly as the boys bicker over top of you, discussing whether or not your virginity was just taken in front of Dean by his god damn twin. You whine and tip your head back again, your chest puffing out.
“Poor thing, she's never been fucked by a real man,” Ben clicks his tongue, and Dean registers the word: supe. “Really irresponsible of you, you know that? Jus’ filled her guts with more cum than you’ll ever produce in your life,” he laughs, referencing the odd amount of semen this man can produce–it’s for reproduction to carry on these godly genes, and it’s inside of you, stretching and filling you out.
Dean is slightly realizing the gravity of the situation; you, being fucked by the thing they were hunting. If it were a vampire, or any other god damn creature, he would’ve shot and killed the thing by now, and burned its bones, but Ben’s human-like similarities, and… well, the charm, made him forget that you were being plowed by some superhuman, with superhuman abilities.
Neither are sure how you’ll explain this to Sam, not at all. And Dean gulps when Ben looks at him, gesturing to your limp body.
“Now show me what I taught you,” Ben grins. “Or I’ll snap your fuckin’ neck.”