Sam heard girls bragging in class about their older boyfriends.
Bragging about their cars, their permittance into liquor stores, the privacy of their apartments and dorm rooms. It was like a rite of passage, to have a short-lived, questionable relationship with a boy at least five years older than them.
Sam didn’t join those conversations, least of all because he wasn’t a girl and would immediately put them off their pissing contest over whose college-aged boyfriend was best. But he listened in, compared and contrasted, made mental lists that briefly kept his mind off of life back at home.
—
Dean had been gone for a month and a half: off on a hunt with someone who Sam had forgotten the name of, tracking some shapeshifter across the country. He’d insisted on going with him, but Dad was vehement in his refusal. That just left the both of them living in a deeply uncomfortable silence when they weren’t shouting at each other over stupid shit. Sam had no idea why Dad wanted him to stay if he couldn’t stand to be around him.
He was putting his homework away in his bag when Dad came home. The large paper bag under his arm smelled like hot sesame oil and Sam’s stomach grumbled involuntarily. The “thank you” he gave was small, muffled underneath the sound of him shoveling fried rice into his mouth, but it seemed that Dad had heard him.
Sam felt Dad’s eyes on him as he crawled into bed, but assumed he was just looking for something to pick on. He was confident in his assumption.
—
Dad was teaching Sam to maneuver out of a rear naked choke when he started to suspect something was wrong. The way he held Sam against his body, moved his thigh so that Sam slotted closer to him, he felt deeply uncomfortable in his dad’s arms. He freed himself, pointed his knife at his neck, and debated whether he should say anything or not. With the rush he got from Dad telling him how good of a job he’d done, breathless and actually impressed, he decided against it.
His suspicion lingered with him into the next day, a Saturday that Sam planned to spend out. He wanted to find a book at the library, one Dean had read him when he was a kid but didn’t remember the name of. Sam’s plan was derailed when Dad stopped him walking by, grabbing his wrist and holding tight as he tried to walk past the TV.
“Stay for a while. Feels like I barely get to see you.”
Sam sighed and sat down beside him, which was evidently not what he wanted.
“Sit on Daddy’s lap, Sammy.”
The sudden chill to his voice was enough for Sam to comply, but he wasn’t going to comply without a fight. He was tugged into place and he struggled against his dad’s strong grip, his massive hands on both of his wrists now. Sam jerked back repeatedly but still ended up splayed over Dad’s lap, still felt the unmistakable shape of a clothed erection nudging against him.
“What the fuck?” He yelled, hoping someone would hear them through the paper thin walls.
“This’ll go quick if you settle down!”
His pajama pants were down, one of his legs was freed and he was naked from the waist down on his dad’s lap. Bile roiled in the back of his throat.
Sam cried out as Dad unzipped his pants, pulled himself out and dragged the head of his massive cock against his slit. “You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you?”
He tried to pull himself away and felt like he’d been thrown into the pits of Hell when Dad fucked up into him with a disconcerting ease. Sam could practically hear him popping in past his tight entrance, he definitely could feel the sickening stretch of himself around his dad and he shuddered.
Dean had prepared him, but not well enough.
Sam could yell and scream and fight and squirm all he wanted, but Dad forced him up and down on his cock, the look on his face somewhere between demented and empty. He had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to take away from that.
He felt humiliated as he shot his load inside Sam, painted the walls of his vagina white with come that never should have been inside him in the first place. Dad sighed and fell back on the couch, and Sam scrambled off of him and raced to the bathroom. No amount of scrubbing felt like enough, and sooner or later he’d have to come out. Sam would at night, when Dean would call from Wherever the Fuck, USA and update him about the hunt. He swore that he would tell him what Dad had done.
—
The next time Sam heard those girls chattering about their boyfriends, he got a sick, miserable satisfaction in knowing that he had them beat. He wasn’t Sam’s boyfriend, but he was stuck with him and he just had to make the best of it.