A/U: This story will contain mpreg and possibly wincest in later chapters and I feel I should warn you now in case you start it and then hate it later. Though I have been adamantly against the whole idea of mpreg for...well forever, I recently read a really great story that changed my mind and thought I'd take a stab at it myself:). Hope you guys like.

Warnings: Milking - if you don't know what it is, well, look it up?:) - bad words (f-bomb quite a few times I won't lie) and angst as always..

Xx

Sam took a heavy, unforgiving plop down on to the bar stool, more than a little aggravated Dean had dragged him out for the night directly after a particularly grueling hunt with a particularly merciless werewolf.

"Dean I'm pretty sure they're gonna toss as out soon as we try and order something. I mean look at us, man. Red's a good color on you but somethin' tells me they won't appreciate it as blood, covering your shirt." Sam huffed resting onto the bar with his forearms, "Let's just go."

"Sammy shut your trap." Dean snapped pulling his jacket tighter around his chest in attempt to hide the blood Sam had mentioned, "I need a drink dude, quit complaining for once in your damn life." He sighed, only then realizing just how on edge they both seemed to be. All the more reason for a drink, he thought. "Loosen up. You're seventeen, you're supposed to be excited you can be in a bar." Dean encouraged a moment later, giving Sam a halfhearted punch to the shoulder.

Sam just grunted and shrugged away, "Not the first time I've been in a bar, Dean. You made sure of that a long time ago."

"And did I ever hear a thank you?" Sam just shook his head, scoffing. Dean was still getting nowhere with his silent little brother four beers and two whiskey shots later.

God Sam knew exactly how to get under his skin. Dean was so glad this hunt was over, now that the town was rid of the werewolf infestation maybe they could quit snapping at each other – Dean knew how much his brother hated werewolves, to say it'd been putting a strain on things… it was just a mild understatement.

"Fine Sam!" Dean finally broke throwing his hands up in the air, "You win. Go back to the motel, sit in the dark and listen to that fuckin' emo shit for all I care. I'm tired of you killing my buzz." He snipped, fishing through his pockets to whip out the keys and shove them at his brother. When he felt Sam hesitate in snatching them away, he pulled his gaze up and met his brother's, surprised at what he saw there.

Sam looked kind of shocked at the outburst, his eyes wide and innocent and confused, "But I'm-" He looked down at his half full beer, "I'm not done." His voice was so bewildered and high pitched he sounded five years old again whipping out the glazed puppy dog look and everything. Now Dean was confused, "I was just drinkin' like you wanted me to. Jeez, what'd I do." He muttered taking the keys as he began sliding off the bar stool.

"Wait Sam." Dean shook his head as if to clear out the confusion, "I- you said you wanted to go back, and then you just sat there. Thought you were still mad, you know pulling the usual Sam routine: pout, mope, and brood until you get your way?"

Sam just shook his head, "Just drinking man."

He laughed and waved Sam back over, "Well then come here. You don't have to go if you don't want to." Dean chuckled a little again, kind of giddy, and took his turn to be a little shocked. He'd totally misread his brother. The one who apparently wanted to drink tonight. Both things that never happened.

Sam took a ginger seat back in the stool and glanced wearily at Dean, expecting the unexpected as he reclaimed his beer and took a timid gulp. Dean tried to relax into the unusual atmosphere, wanting to somehow encourage Sam to stay - now that he'd almost ruined his chance at actually drinking with his brother for once - without frightening him off.

"You gonna baby that beer all night Samantha or you wanna gently remove that tampon of yours and actually drink with me for once?" Dean quipped with a smirk, half expecting to anger him again but possibly taunt him into finishing the beer he'd been sipping for an hour. Surprisingly though, Sam didn't fume or storm off and to Dean's great appreciation, gave a weak chuckle and raised his brow shrugging in a 'what-the-hell' kinda gesture before downing the rest of his drink in a few swallows. He set the empty glass back down on the bar and Dean waved for two more, both beer and whiskey, before turning back to Sam with a mischievous smirk.

"You're lucky I don't have school tomorrow." Sam muttered, eying the drinks the bartender slipped across the counter.

Two hours later both brothers were sufficiently inebriated and stumbling out of the bar reeking of blood and sweat and lots of alcohol.

"I'm real glad we did this big brother." Sam slurred with a fat goofy grin as he threw an arm over his shorter brother's shoulders. "Real glad."

Dean laughed and slapped Sam on the chest, "Always were a happy drunk."

"I've only been drinkin' like a year!" Sam cried indignantly, "'N I'm not drunk." He slurred lazily, catching his toe in the gravel of the parking lot and nearly face-planting and dragging them both down as Dean doubled over in rumbling, drunken laughter.

The banter went on as they searched for the Impala in the crowded parking lot, stumbling and tripping over each other as they weaved through the crowded lanes.

"Where the hell is she?" Dean muttered stopping and breaking off from Sam as he twirled in a clumsy circle, brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate and keep the world steady in his search.

He was so intently focused on finding his baby he didn't notice when Sam disappeared from behind him in the clutches of a stranger. A cloaked figure who discretely held a dirty rag over his nose and mouth, knocking Sam out almost immediately with the chloroform he sucked in. Ten seconds later, Dean still hadn't realized Sam was gone and he didn't get the chance to before the rag was over his mouth, pulling him into the depths of unconsciousness right along side his brother.

Dean had a lot of difficulty remembering exactly what had happened when he finally came to three hours later. He figured it was the alcohol because the last thing he could recall was drinking with Sam at the bar. As he slowly emerged from the fog in his mind though, a few things began registering: he was freezing and there was a steady ache in his shoulders and groin.

What the fuck.

Then he remembered the rag and the distinct, sickeningly sweet smell of chloroform being the last thing he recognized before he passed out. He snapped his head up from where it had been lolling across his chest and realized with a start that he was vertical, standing. Or…no, chained at his wrists and hanging from the low ceiling, hence the throbbing in his shoulders. And he was almost stark naked, stripped to nothing but his boxers, he then understood the cold.

Natural instinct had him trying to get his feet under him to get the pressure off his shoulders and stand, but with a gentle yank, he realized they too were chained. Spread wide enough apart that the rapid fire growing in his groin suddenly made sense. Whoever these people, or things, were they wanted him as helpless as they could get him.

"Sam?" He tried to yell out, the sound pulling him the rest of the way from the haze as he noticed with a start that the sound had been nothing more than a muffled garble.

Shit.

They'd gagged him too.

"Ah," An oily voice responded, definitely not his brother's, "You're awake. Glad…to see that." A man said from somewhere in the dark room, overly breathy with his words. Dean was immediately fueled with unrelenting rage as he was confronted with the man who'd strung him up; he emerged from the shadows in a corner of the room. His sunken, wrinkled face and awkward lanky frame matched the creepy burr of his voice.

"You're partner…Jean J. Wilson," The man emerged further from the darkness and approached Dean, waving a small card in his hand. Sam's 'ID', he finally recognized: the fake one that'd gotten him into the bar earlier, "He's here. Don't worry." The man drawled in that same breathless hiss and as if on cue lights flickered to life all around them. The flame in the pit of Dean's stomach was fueled when he was greeted with the sight of his brother, in much the same position as Dean hanging from his arms, chained at his ankles and in nothing more than his boxers. He squinted further and noticed a dark red line running down the length of his abs directly below Sam's navel, Dean didn't think he could get any angrier. All he saw was red. But Sam was still unconscious, and Dean couldn't help but be grateful for that.

Dean shook his head vigorously trying to get rid of the gag as his first instinct was to run to his brother and make sure he was alright.

What'd you do to him? Dean thought disgustedly as his eyes squinted and his brow furrowed, conveying his fury to the man still standing before him.

"He's okay." The man seemed to understand the silent question as he sauntered over to Sam who was steadily becoming easier to see through the fog still fading from Dean's mind, "Standard procedure," He said and Dean had no idea what he was talking about, but the man laughed at the private joke. He lifted his hand and rubbed the back on his index finger above the red line that looked to be a stitched up surgical cut.

Ah shit, what the hell kinda crazy have we stepped in now Sammy. The elder brother thought as he growled, telekinetically fighting against the man's touch on his younger brother.

"Don't like that much do ya…Mr. Cox." The man tilted his head to the side as he swept around to face Dean again. It almost made him want to laugh seeing how smug this guy felt trying to rub in the fact that he knew his 'name'. "Jason R. Cox, to be…precise." He huffed excitedly, the guy was really starting to put Dean's nerves on edge.

"Oh, he's awake." A different, surprised voice sounded from the same dark corner this man had appeared from. Dean made note that, if the opportunity came and somehow they broke free, that corner would be their best chance at escape, whatever exit this place had was there.

"Yes, boy. Come in." The elder offered pleasantly, beckoning.

"Wow," The younger man whispered taking a closer look at Dean, "He really is beautiful." He muttered turning to look at Sam, "Oh." He said in what could only be surprise, "God, when you said they were perfect I didn't think you meant it literally." He continued, glancing at the older man a couple times as he approached him, "The muscles alone." Dean rumbled again shaking his head and yanking against the chains as the guy ran his hand over Sam's chest, "I'm sure this one will survive."

Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They needed to get out of here now.

"By the way," The older began, "You disposed of the others, correct?" The younger nodded, returning his attention to Sam. Dean's stomach rolled.

"Good, good." He nodded, "I want that award." The expression on the older man's weathered face darkened in longing.

"And I want that Pulitzer doctor. We'll both get what's coming, don't worry. I have a feeling these two will work." The younger man nodded.

Doctor? Pulitzer? Wasn't that a prize for journalists or something? What's a doctor and a writer doing kidnapping, chaining up and disposing of people? God, this day had gone from totally exhausting to pretty good to really fucking shitty fast enough to make Dean's head spin and he still wasn't finding any way out of the nightmare.

"Well, then, he's awake. Should we start?" The younger man asked, Dean's stomach doing little twists and flips of anxiety at the words.

The doctor nodded, "Make sure he stays out for the next step," He gestured to Sam, "I don't want him screaming all day and night."

"Uh, sir." The man interjected, suddenly very nervous, "I-I'm sorry. We're out of anesthetics. I asked Charlie to get more but he hasn't returned." The doctor's face darkened to a purplish shade of red, "I'm sure he'll stay unconscious for a while though, we hit him pretty hard with the last of it." The younger backtracked in response, trying his best to be reassuring.

"You better hope so." He sneered, panting all breathy again. His voice was making Dean's skin crawl.

Then he disappeared to the shaded corner and rolled out a surgical tray from it. "For you," He began, "This won't be quite as unpleasant." He said staring down Dean with a wicked sneer.

Dean just growled again and tried to back up uselessly. All the sudden a tall blonde sauntered in wearing a big fury knee length coat and tall black stilettos. Dean's jaw might've dropped had they been meeting under different circumstances, the girl was hands down the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. All gentle curves and tan skin and big pouty lips, but as it was, Sam was strung up and unconscious fifteen feet away, his whole body was thrumming in pain and they currently seemed to be surrounded by psychopaths – she was having no effect on him. But she walked right up to him anyway, sparing only a fleeting glance and wink toward the doctor, and stopped only when she was a hair's breadth away from Dean's face.

"We're gonna have fun baby." She whispered in his ear. He fought the urge to swing his head and knock her out, the ingrained rule to never hit women the only thing stopping him.

And then she wasted no time shoving her hand down his boxers and gripping his flaccid cock hard in her dainty hand.

Oh, what the fuck. Dean protested trying to yell through the gag as he thrashed against the uninvited touch. But she just shushed him and squeezed tighter, pulling her fist up around the head to twist.

His body didn't give an inch though, he noted proudly enough. There wasn't so much as a twitch of interest and he remained soft in her hand for a good few minutes before she obviously decided this wasn't going to work. Dean thought maybe he'd staved her off, but that was wishful thinking for a Winchester. Of course she didn't back off, she upped the ante.

She took a careful, graceful step back, trying to be sexy again and brought her manicured hands up to her long fur coat, sliding it down over her shoulders.

Not surprisingly, considering what she'd just been doing, the woman was wearing nothing but red, lace lingerie underneath and was completely comfortable revealing the fact. She tossed the jacket to the floor and it pooled against the hard cement between Dean's spread legs. She knelt down on top of it and tugged on his boxers until they revealed his most coveted, personal possession for the world to see and glanced up at him with what she tried to make look like seductive, heavy lidded eyes. Now he really wanted to knock her out, woman or not.

But again, she wasted not a second in taking him in her practiced mouth and trying to work him to climax, or at least erection. And again, his body refused to respond, not surprisingly.

Was she stupid? He was scared, chained up with a bunch of bat-shit crazy, unpredictable humans and in pain. His shoulders felt like they'd give any minute, and his groin was so severely over-stretched his legs were going numb. There was no way he could be getting pleasure from anything right now except getting the hell out of there. But she kept working none the less for another couple minutes, apparently not easily discouraged.

What the hell did they need his seed for anyway? Dean seethed to himself. This was all too confusing and fucked up for him to process correctly, if at all, and Dean could only hang there, trying to plot some way of escape.

She released him with a huff when she saw this would get her nowhere fast and she stood back up to be level with Dean's eye.

"Alright honey, obviously you've got some serious will power or incredible stamina but don't think 'cause this isn't working," She gestured vaguely to Dean still obscenely exposed, "That we're done." She said dipping back down to her coat as she riffled around in the inside pockets for something. When she finally found whatever it was, she pulled it out and held it between two fingers twisting it around proudly, "There's a will there's a way," She recited with a smile. "But, if I'm right about you – and I'm always right – plan C won't be half as much fun as this woulda been." She finished waving her hand up and down, motioning toward him again. Dean took a moment to investigate the object she held in her hand, not happy when he thought he finally knew what it was. It looked like…fuck he couldn't even think it. It looked big though. Too fuckin' big. She couldn't be serious.

Don't even think about it. He snarled in his head and let out another growl of protest as she stepped closer and pulled out a bottle of lube. No, no, no. Come on. Damn stupid fuckin cunt whore!

"Your gonna wanna relax," She whispered close to his ear as she moved around to his back, sliding her polished nails over his skin, moving them to the hem of his boxers to yank them the rest of the way down. "I'd prep ya babe," She continued as he heard the lid off something pop open behind him, "But I just got my nails done." To add emphasis to her point she clawed down his back making him arch away from the touch, "Honestly think it'd be more unpleasant than if I just…" She paused and Dean heard the slippery squishing sound as the lube was rubbed over the other thing in her hand, "Let you have it. What do ya say?"

God no. Please. He didn't make any sound or move to respond, unwilling to give her the satisfaction. Something made a clicking sound behind him then and started a low hum of vibrations, he guessed she wouldn't be waiting for his go ahead. His eyes widened but he quickly composed himself and swore in that moment that he'd keep silent the rest of the night, no matter what she did to him. He'd be giving no one the satisfaction in this horror show.

"Okay, we'll go slow sweetheart. I know your knew to this, gotta keen eye for virgins." She sang with a mocking laugh next to his ear, "Just breathe," She cooed spreading him as the head of the vibrating thing was pressed against his clenched hole. There was no pause to wait for him to relax, just instructions and frankly she didn't seem to care at all if he listened or not. Obviously she had a job to do and was wasting no time with games.

She pushed on ahead despite his resistance and he threw his head back grinding his teeth against the gag as the quivering thing pushed past the first unbelievably tight, resisting ring of muscle. Every instinct pushed him to cry out, to scream for help, to do something, but he kept his silent promise and didn't make a sound.

And she kept pushing, slowing for nothing, and the vibrations racked through his whole body, seemingly cracking his very foundations to reduce him to a useless pile of dust, helpless to what was happening. The pain, God it was so unlike anything he'd felt before: just relentless, like fire searing his whole body.

"Mm," She hummed, "Told you I was never wrong." She said and Dean barely registered the words as he was focused solely on the task of getting that thing out of him, "How's it feel?" She asked tauntingly as she forcefully shoved in the last bit, finally bottoming out.

It feels like fucking torture you bitch. Dean screamed at her in his head. And it really did, shooting mind splitting pain through his throbbing ass that seemingly ricocheted through his whole body. All the way to his aching muscles and joints, everything pounding painfully in unison with the heavy beat of his heart.

But then the vibrations hit something, something that wasn't painful. Something that forced his muscles to relax against the intrusion and invite in more, hold it securely inside. The woman hummed again in approval noticing Dean succumbing to the sensations. She backed away and moved to his front again once she was reassured that the vibrator would stay, groaning in appreciation at the sight she was greeted with.

A sheen of sweat had already spread along the hard, twitching muscles that covered the length of Dean's body. His head was still tilted back, his nostrils flared in the heavy breathing he tried to control and the veins in his neck and arms were slowly standing up as his blood pumped faster. So beautiful.

She pulled a condom out noticing his hardening length, standing on alert against his trembling abs.

Fuck what the hell's happening? Dean thought blearily as he feebly tried to fight the arousal defying him. She slipped on the rubber and the touch threw off the balance of pain-pleasure for a moment; he lost his fight, crying out as his body tensed.

Then the precarious balance was back, rocking him to the very core and he didn't know what to feel. There was just too much happening at once. Everything hurt, his whole body was on fire - burning, but it was good too. The vibrations that were now settled against something inside him were maddening, it felt so incredible, beginning to twist and morph the pain to only heighten his pleasure. It was overwhelming and exhausting and he couldn't fight it.

His body tensed against the restraints and quivered then relaxed, just to repeat the process again. He was helpless to it. His body was acting all on its own now and those vibrations weren't letting up or becoming less effective.

He was so hard it was quickly becoming painful and he needed to come; he needed it. Which had never happened before and it scared him to no end. He was dependent on it – he'd never felt so powerless to his own body, yet here he was writhing against the chains, begging and moaning a grunting just as he promised he wouldn't.

And then there were voices in the distance, fighting through the mist of his own mind to be understood. He deepened his breath and tried harder to focus.

"…hold him off as long as you can…more we can collect the better…get this right the first time…not wasting these two..."

Dean absorbed from the much longer conversation. It wasn't much and it took him a while to register what they were talking about but eventually he did. If the rubber ring the hooker pulled from her jacket and approached him with wasn't enough to officially tip him off, he didn't think anything would.

Then, just as he felt that rising heat and tension reach a boiling point, signaling his body it was ready to go, she slipped it over his aching cock and left it tight at the base, staving off the release.

He let out a frustrated howl and glared daggers at her as she backed up and looked at him smugly. "We'll leave ya be for a while sugar." She smiled and bent to pick up her coat slipping it back on her delicate frame. "He'll be ready in a couple minutes. Is that everything?" She asked the doctor who was currently tending to Sam – God knows what he was doing to his still unconscious little brother. The doctor nodded to the girl and pulled out a roll of bills from his white overcoat and handed it over to her.

"Thanks for your services sweetheart." He smiled warmly and dismissed her.

"Course sir." And then she was gone, and Dean wanted nothing more than to bash her head into the wall for helping these maniacs.

He was such a trembling writhing mess though, he didn't have long to dwell on the hateful thoughts before a fresh and overpowering wave of pleasure teetering on pain washed through his aching body, shaking him to his bones.

Gosh, he couldn't last much longer. He'd get so close to finally reaching that release, despite the cut off circulation, and then that damn ring felt like it would tighten yanking him back from the edge, staved off once again. He'd never experienced such torment in his life and no one was making a move to get the fucking thing off or take the fucking vibrator out.

Dean was beyond pissed, moaning and huffing and crying out like a damn virgin on prom night so demeaned and ashamed and exposed. And there was nothing he could do.

Another five minutes and the doctor finally left Sam as the younger guy who'd left earlier re-entered the room. And Dean was going crazy, every breath he could manage came out a strangle roar and a string of profanities continuously streamed through his mind, cursing these people over and over.

So, despite the deep hatred festering in his gut, he was actually glad when the two finally came over just needing someone to take this fucking thing off him before he passed out from overstimulation or some crazy shit like that.

"Off. Take…off." Dean tried to order around the gag, huffing each word with a heavy breath but all that came out were muffled snarls. He whimpered and moaned, arching and twisting trying anything to make this stop.

"Alright kid. Take it easy," The younger said slipping a pair of rubber gloves on. Dean ignored the words and kept panting, rumbling and twisting his body to get away from the sensations. It was just too much, his muscles were shot to hell twitching and strained as they were and yet they still kept tensing against the sensations crashing through him. He couldn't take any more. "Here we go." The guy finally continued and he took the ring between his thumb and forefinger obviously not keen to the task as he slipped it off.

Dean felt every move, hypersensitive to every touch and as soon as the ring slipped over the sensitive head of his cock he was coming, shooting his load harder than he ever had before. The cry that accompanied it was barely muffled through the gag as his limbs pulled taut against their restraints and he threw his head back, his whole body arching as it worked him through an overpowering release he'd never been so grateful for.

"Wow," The guy breathed as he took a step back and watched Dean completely crumble and fall limp against the chains once again. He didn't have time to continue his awe before the doctor was pushing him back and removing the condom from Dean's quickly softening cock.

"Oh you did good boy," The doctor said sparing a glance and excited smile at Dean as he carried away the seemingly precious fluids he'd provided. The younger spared a moment to pull out the vibrator, switch it off and join the doctor. Dean wanted to be sick, he thought he might be. Then the two retreated to the medical tray next to Sam and Dean simply didn't have the energy to try and stay awake any longer let alone focus on what they were doing.

The earlier conversation about keeping Sam asleep so he wouldn't be screaming later was not lost on him, but they'd sapped every ounce of energy and now he was entirely at sleep's mercy. His head swiveled, then fell limp against his chest and once again, he was out, completely oblivious to the workings of the doctor and writer who hovered excitedly around his little brother.