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writingbyebonioTitle: Training Day [Evil!Sammy Universe]
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eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Six: The Willing Words
[100.Worried]
Dean collapsed down onto the come-covered sheets, his body weak from stress and overuse, his mind slow to fix all the pieces that Sam kept breaking. He hoped Sam would just leave him be for a minute, so he could just breathe and not move, breath and not have to be on call for Sam's wants and Sam's needs. He heard the slide of the sheet above the headboard being pulled down from the wall, but he didn't lift his head to look at whatever was revealed. His energy stores were depleted and his limbs felt like jello from the bliss at the height of his recent orgasm. His body, though, felt somehow shredded, inside and out, like Sam had stolen tiny bits of him while they fucked. And he prayed to any deity still listening that Sam didn't want to use him again tonight.
But then he felt the warmth of his brother's body as Sam stretched out, laying himself entirely on top of him. He felt a sudden urge to scramble away, as if someone were brandishing the flame of a torch in his face, but there was nowhere for him to go and no way to get there. Sam had positioned himself as if to claim him, stealing away his ability to move and barely allowing him room to breathe. All the skin-to-skin contact was too intense, after the harshness of the day, and it made it hard for him to even think. It felt like Sam was imposing himself on every part of his body and his mind.
Sam sniffed at his hair and neck, reminding Dean of the near-wild dogs around Bobby's yard and the way they sized up new mutts on the lot.
"You reek of fear … and sex. You smell like a whore who's been put in his place. … I like it. … I'm going to make sure you're like this all the time. Well-fucked and properly afraid."
Dean tried to breathe through the dense fear flooding into him.
"Remember this, Dean. Because this is us. Always. Me above you. You thinking only about me. Me holding you down. You never getting out from under me. Me using you however and whenever and wherever I like. And you taking any and everything, begging for it, coming from it. This is the way it'll be. Always."
Dean shivered under him, trying not to believe that this was for always, trying not to feel like the despair of his situation was crushing him far more than the weight of his brother on his back. And Sam just lay there, letting Dean know, silently, that he was property, that he was a whore, that he couldn't really fight this, that he'd be hurt he if he even tried, that he just had to take whatever Sam gave.
His hands clenched and unclenched as he waited for Sam to move. It shouldn't have been so hard. Sam wasn't hurting him or using him, he was just- … there … just- … in his space … just- … not letting him have even a minute to live without being reminded that he was trapped from all sides. He just needed a minute, sixty seconds- … thirty seconds, even … to just- … to be- … to try to be even just some small part of himself as he used to be, to try to remember what it was like to have breathing space, real choice, independence, freedom.
But he got nothing.
Sam just lay there, just breathed over him, pressing his heat into Dean's already flushed skin. It was maddening. The heaviness of Sam deepened the ache of his back and his chest, but it also grated over his nerves like sandpaper. He was used to having Sam in his personal space, but with the way Sam was right now and the way he had used him today, it all just felt as prickly as a bed full of spiders. Dean was burning to get away and he was really starting to split at the seams and lose what little composure he still had left.
"Can you just- … give me some space … for a minute … please … sir?"
Sam's voice was silky, his tone amused. "I dunno. I'm kind of comfortable here. I was thinking … maybe we could sleep this way tonight."
Dean felt the tempo of his breath spike up instantly. "Wha- … Please. Just- … a minute, sir … please."
"Well … tell me what you've learned today … and then maybe I'll give you that minute."
Dean fought down the urge to force Sam off of him and earn more punishment. "What I've … learned?"
"Yes, Dean. What has this training day taught you … about being a good whore?"
Sam shifted, still wholly on top of him, but now the downward pressure was more forceful, intentional. Dean craned his neck, head tilting further to the side as he strained not to drown in the pillow, despite the press of Sam's body.
"I mean … if you haven't learned anything … then maybe we need start over from the beginning right now and go through it all again before the sun comes up tomorrow."
He let Sam take his arms and stretch them out before Sam covered them with his own, forcing his hands to still. His breath was coming too fast now, but he couldn't steady it. Because if- … if this was the start of this whole process again, then- … he was going to lose his fucking mind.
"No, I've learned- … things … sir."
"Well then open your mouth, whore, and tell me what you've learned."
Dean shuddered as he reviewed the day in his mind, hoping to find something to say, something Sam wanted to hear. His voice was hesitant as he stumbled through the things he could remember that seemed to be … lessons … or something … from the grueling day.
"Umm …"
Only your mouth.
"I'm not supposed to use my hands … just my mouth … when you want me to … suck your cock. And- …"
Relax your throat.
"I should … relax … so you can … do what you want with me. And- …"
I want to see my whore open for me.
"I should … make sure that you can see … all of me … when I'm kneeling … or … laying down. And- …"
Crawl to me. You were stalling.
"I shouldn't … waste time … when I'm following orders. Umm …"
Feeling sorry for yourself, whore?
"If I'm … on a leash … I should … pay attention. And- …"
It's for my pleasure.
"Whenever I come … it's not really for my pleasure … it's for yours. Uhh …"
I am your whole reason for being.
"Everything I do … should be to please you. And- …"
If you're bad, I have to punish you.
"You'll … punish me … to make me be good. And- …"
Before you do something stupid, let me know.
"And I should … ask for discipline … if I need it. Umm- …"
You'd better learn to talk dirty.
"If you tell me to beg … I should … make it dirty. And- …"
He gulped, out of words.
"And I don't know what else … sir."
He hoped that would be enough. The words tasted like something had rotted in his mouth and felt like a brand publicly stamping him as something unclean. It was fucked up that these were lessons his brother had been trying to teach him today, but- … he'd gotten off on it, hadn't he? He'd begged to be fucked, begged come, right? And when Sam let him, he'd come so hard his whole body had given out, right? So maybe he was just as fucked up as Sam and all the rest of this. Maybe Sam was r- … no … this was not him. He was not a whore and he wasn't- … meant to be a whore. He just had to- … play the whore … for now … until he fixed this. Then, both he and Sam could be who they really were. It might feel like- … and he had to do some things that- … but this wasn't permanent. It wasn't. He'd fix this.
"That's good, Dean. You're learning. But what are the most important things to keep in mind?"
Dean searched his memory, but he just didn't know what Sam was talking about. "I don't know, sir."
"What … when … and where."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to shut down the ripple of hopelessness that slid through him whenever he had to say these words. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere." It almost seemed easier to say now, but that didn't mean he believed it. Because he didn't. There had to be a way out. So- … no … he didn't believe any of it. He didn't.
"Good boy."
Sam said it with a trace of genuine pride and Dean tried to ignore the faint glimmer of some unnamed positive feeling that sprung up inside because he'd apparently done something right, for once.
Then Sam finally slid off of him to stand next to the bed, facing the headboard and Dean's tension eased, but the relief didn't last.
"Come kneel at my feet."
Dean was so tired, so thoroughly fucked-out, so utterly used and beyond any healthy point of distress. But Sam had said the words in such a reverent way, even though Dean knew they were still a command, and it would probably be a bad idea to make Sam think that he only responded well to orders that were barked or colored by pain. So he dragged himself off the bed and down to the floor, turning away from the headboard to kneel at Sam's feet, and he bowed his head as much in exhaustion as submission.
Sam rested a hand on Dean's head, gentle and deliberate, as if bestowing a blessing or honor. "Repeat after me … I will submit completely to my master in all ways."
Dean's breath hitched. He knew he would have to give this, to submit, he knew that, and he'd been doing it all day. But- … he didn't know he'd have to say it, have to actually verbalize his willingness to be owned and used by Sam for the rest of his life.
"Dean … you've done okay today, but it's not enough for your body to be willing. You have to offer yourself … formally … with the Litany of a Slave, because that's what you are and what you'll always be."
Dean's breathing was rapid, but he couldn't open his mouth and say the words.
"If you can't do this … you know your other options."
Dean was chewing his lip, but he nodded dully. Sam would drug him or seriously harm him to get the words out of him anyway and he had already had enough of both of those to last a while. He had to do this, he knew that. But he didn't really do all this emotional stuff, this formal relationship-type commitment junk. More than that, though, he'd never spoken about any supposed matters of the heart with Sam … before … and it felt so wrong that he was on his knees giving himself to a shadow of his brother when he'd never had the strength to just open his mouth and tell his Sam that he needed him, cherished him. He swallowed, an ache spreading outward from the center of his chest, sight blurring with the rain of forbidden grief.
This wasn't the Sam who should know his devotion.
"Dean!" Dean flinched, expecting pain that didn't come. "Last chance to do this the easy way."
"Okay." His voice was barely there, a gust of air with one consonant.
"Okay?"
"Yes … I'll- … I'll do this … sir. I'll … offer myself … to you." It felt sunless, like the road to damnation, but there didn't seem to be roads leading elsewhere anymore.
"Good. So … repeat after me. I will submit completely to my master in all ways."
It sounded like Sam was reading something and maybe even pacing out the rhythm to fall just right, but it didn't really matter one way or the other, right? It was formal and seemed overly planned, but hadn't that been the whole reason for the training process today? To make this whole twisted situation official? To make him understand what he was to Sam now?
Dean knew it was crazy … and that he was all but signing his life away, but- … he just didn't know what else to do. He was weary and aching and outmatched and- … and this was still Sam. He didn't have his Sam right then, but- … there was always a chance. He just had to be patient, keep trying to get through to his brother, keep trying to find a way to fight the darkness in him and in the world. And, really, these were just words.
Pain or drugs or words.
He nodded and his jaw was set tight, but he said it, because he knew he had to.
"I will submit … completely … to my master … in all ways." It was somehow at the same time surreal and jarring to refer to Sam as his master, but if Dean was owned, a slave, then his owner, Sam, would be his master. He knew that, knew Sam owned him, knew Sam thought of him as his property, knew Sam was his master, knew Sam thought of him as his whore. He knew that already. It had only been a few days, but Sam had made sure to at least beat that much into him. Still, Dean thanked any god who still cared for the small mercy of only having to call Sam "sir" instead of having to use the term "master" on any regular basis.
"There is no place, time, or situation in which I may disobey my master without risking punishment."
He'd said it yesterday, closed his eyes and responded to Sam's prompts with always and everywhere. And he'd said it earlier, full of cock and groaning with pain. But this was sober, this was clear-headed, this was a verbal agreement to submit, one that he chose out of multiple options. He knew the other options were pain or drugs, but that didn't make him feel any better.
"There is no place … time … or situation … in which I may … disobey my master … without risking punishment."
"I will accept any punishment my master decides to inflict, earned or not, severe or not."
There would be no appeals process here, no chance to charm his way out of punishment unless he was willing to do just what he'd done today and play the part of the cock-hungry whore. From the patterns and pains of these first few days, Dean could already tell that Sam would be punishing him harshly and often. And he didn't need any rite to tell him that Sam would make him take every moment of groveling and every strike of the whip.
"I will … accept … any punishment … my master decides … to inflict … earned or not … severe or not."
"I will not seek affection from or submit to anyone else without my master's permission."
That was okay, though, right? It would mean he couldn't choose to be with others, but maybe it meant Sam wouldn't really share him. At least … maybe not often … or maybe only when he was bad, like he'd threatened to do earlier. Yeah, that was okay. He couldn't be this for anyone but Sam … he just couldn't.
"I will not seek affection from … or submit to anyone else without my master's permission."
"Everything I own belongs to my master, to do with as he sees fit."
He'd never really owned much anyway and whatever he'd had was always practically family property, so that wasn't so bad, right? He wondered about his car, but … Sam would probably never let him drive it again anyway. It hurt, sure, thinking that he'd never have his hands around the wheel again, but … he hurt more elsewhere. In his back, from the flogging, in his knees, from the kneeling and crawling … and in his heart, from needing a lost brother he didn't know how to find.
"Everything I own belongs to my master … to do with as he sees fit."
"Everything I am, body, mind, heart, and soul, belongs to my master, to be used as he sees fit."
Everything. Fuck. What if- … what if this was- … because- … always and everywhere and everything seemed like- … Fuck. He had nothing, now. Nothing. Not even himself. But he had his m- … he had Sam … kind of … and he would have his Sam again … just as soon as he figured out how to fix this. And he would. … He would. … He wasn't giving up on the idea of getting his Sam back, even if he had to give up everything to get his chance to set things right. Because if he had Sam, he'd have everything he really needed.
"Everything I am … body … mind … heart … … … and soul … belongs to my master … to be used … as he sees fit."
"I will please my master to the best of my ability."
It had never been the case that he didn't want Sam to be happy and it wasn't like he'd never used sex to make Sam smile his way into sleep. This was only different because of who Sam was right then and what Sam wanted from him. But he'd still do what he could. And he had a full-body ache to remind him that Sam wouldn't settle for anything less than his best.
"I will please my master … to the best of my ability."
"I know that from this point forward I exist solely for the pleasure of my master."
He would get his Sam back someday, hopefully soon, but until then, this Sam would make sure that his whole existence was about sex, about making Sam happy with the works of his body. He knew that. He'd seen, today, just how hard it could be, but he'd be okay. He just had to remember that as long as the strength of the pain was survivable, it would be worth it, to get Sammy back. Really … mostly anything would be worth it. It wasn't really a question anymore.
"I know that … from this point forward … I exist solely … for the pleasure … of my master."
"And I accept my master's claim to total ownership of me."
"And I … … … accept … my master's claim … to total ownership … of me."
He was owned. He was property. He belonged wholly to Sam and he had no right to anything.
But he only had a moment to mourn his lost freedom before his thoughts scattered as a large spear of heat shot down through the center of him, from his head to the base of his spine, and he felt another slice of his strength melt away as Sam whispered "yes" over his head. The sensation faded quickly, but it left Dean wondering, rather belatedly, if saying the words aloud was as much a mystical ritual as a symbolic one.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
Back to the Table of Contents
Author:
eboniorchidFull Header for the Series
Chapter Six: The Willing Words
[100.Worried]
Dean collapsed down onto the come-covered sheets, his body weak from stress and overuse, his mind slow to fix all the pieces that Sam kept breaking. He hoped Sam would just leave him be for a minute, so he could just breathe and not move, breath and not have to be on call for Sam's wants and Sam's needs. He heard the slide of the sheet above the headboard being pulled down from the wall, but he didn't lift his head to look at whatever was revealed. His energy stores were depleted and his limbs felt like jello from the bliss at the height of his recent orgasm. His body, though, felt somehow shredded, inside and out, like Sam had stolen tiny bits of him while they fucked. And he prayed to any deity still listening that Sam didn't want to use him again tonight.
But then he felt the warmth of his brother's body as Sam stretched out, laying himself entirely on top of him. He felt a sudden urge to scramble away, as if someone were brandishing the flame of a torch in his face, but there was nowhere for him to go and no way to get there. Sam had positioned himself as if to claim him, stealing away his ability to move and barely allowing him room to breathe. All the skin-to-skin contact was too intense, after the harshness of the day, and it made it hard for him to even think. It felt like Sam was imposing himself on every part of his body and his mind.
Sam sniffed at his hair and neck, reminding Dean of the near-wild dogs around Bobby's yard and the way they sized up new mutts on the lot.
"You reek of fear … and sex. You smell like a whore who's been put in his place. … I like it. … I'm going to make sure you're like this all the time. Well-fucked and properly afraid."
Dean tried to breathe through the dense fear flooding into him.
"Remember this, Dean. Because this is us. Always. Me above you. You thinking only about me. Me holding you down. You never getting out from under me. Me using you however and whenever and wherever I like. And you taking any and everything, begging for it, coming from it. This is the way it'll be. Always."
Dean shivered under him, trying not to believe that this was for always, trying not to feel like the despair of his situation was crushing him far more than the weight of his brother on his back. And Sam just lay there, letting Dean know, silently, that he was property, that he was a whore, that he couldn't really fight this, that he'd be hurt he if he even tried, that he just had to take whatever Sam gave.
His hands clenched and unclenched as he waited for Sam to move. It shouldn't have been so hard. Sam wasn't hurting him or using him, he was just- … there … just- … in his space … just- … not letting him have even a minute to live without being reminded that he was trapped from all sides. He just needed a minute, sixty seconds- … thirty seconds, even … to just- … to be- … to try to be even just some small part of himself as he used to be, to try to remember what it was like to have breathing space, real choice, independence, freedom.
But he got nothing.
Sam just lay there, just breathed over him, pressing his heat into Dean's already flushed skin. It was maddening. The heaviness of Sam deepened the ache of his back and his chest, but it also grated over his nerves like sandpaper. He was used to having Sam in his personal space, but with the way Sam was right now and the way he had used him today, it all just felt as prickly as a bed full of spiders. Dean was burning to get away and he was really starting to split at the seams and lose what little composure he still had left.
"Can you just- … give me some space … for a minute … please … sir?"
Sam's voice was silky, his tone amused. "I dunno. I'm kind of comfortable here. I was thinking … maybe we could sleep this way tonight."
Dean felt the tempo of his breath spike up instantly. "Wha- … Please. Just- … a minute, sir … please."
"Well … tell me what you've learned today … and then maybe I'll give you that minute."
Dean fought down the urge to force Sam off of him and earn more punishment. "What I've … learned?"
"Yes, Dean. What has this training day taught you … about being a good whore?"
Sam shifted, still wholly on top of him, but now the downward pressure was more forceful, intentional. Dean craned his neck, head tilting further to the side as he strained not to drown in the pillow, despite the press of Sam's body.
"I mean … if you haven't learned anything … then maybe we need start over from the beginning right now and go through it all again before the sun comes up tomorrow."
He let Sam take his arms and stretch them out before Sam covered them with his own, forcing his hands to still. His breath was coming too fast now, but he couldn't steady it. Because if- … if this was the start of this whole process again, then- … he was going to lose his fucking mind.
"No, I've learned- … things … sir."
"Well then open your mouth, whore, and tell me what you've learned."
Dean shuddered as he reviewed the day in his mind, hoping to find something to say, something Sam wanted to hear. His voice was hesitant as he stumbled through the things he could remember that seemed to be … lessons … or something … from the grueling day.
"Umm …"
Only your mouth.
"I'm not supposed to use my hands … just my mouth … when you want me to … suck your cock. And- …"
Relax your throat.
"I should … relax … so you can … do what you want with me. And- …"
I want to see my whore open for me.
"I should … make sure that you can see … all of me … when I'm kneeling … or … laying down. And- …"
Crawl to me. You were stalling.
"I shouldn't … waste time … when I'm following orders. Umm …"
Feeling sorry for yourself, whore?
"If I'm … on a leash … I should … pay attention. And- …"
It's for my pleasure.
"Whenever I come … it's not really for my pleasure … it's for yours. Uhh …"
I am your whole reason for being.
"Everything I do … should be to please you. And- …"
If you're bad, I have to punish you.
"You'll … punish me … to make me be good. And- …"
Before you do something stupid, let me know.
"And I should … ask for discipline … if I need it. Umm- …"
You'd better learn to talk dirty.
"If you tell me to beg … I should … make it dirty. And- …"
He gulped, out of words.
"And I don't know what else … sir."
He hoped that would be enough. The words tasted like something had rotted in his mouth and felt like a brand publicly stamping him as something unclean. It was fucked up that these were lessons his brother had been trying to teach him today, but- … he'd gotten off on it, hadn't he? He'd begged to be fucked, begged come, right? And when Sam let him, he'd come so hard his whole body had given out, right? So maybe he was just as fucked up as Sam and all the rest of this. Maybe Sam was r- … no … this was not him. He was not a whore and he wasn't- … meant to be a whore. He just had to- … play the whore … for now … until he fixed this. Then, both he and Sam could be who they really were. It might feel like- … and he had to do some things that- … but this wasn't permanent. It wasn't. He'd fix this.
"That's good, Dean. You're learning. But what are the most important things to keep in mind?"
Dean searched his memory, but he just didn't know what Sam was talking about. "I don't know, sir."
"What … when … and where."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to shut down the ripple of hopelessness that slid through him whenever he had to say these words. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere." It almost seemed easier to say now, but that didn't mean he believed it. Because he didn't. There had to be a way out. So- … no … he didn't believe any of it. He didn't.
"Good boy."
Sam said it with a trace of genuine pride and Dean tried to ignore the faint glimmer of some unnamed positive feeling that sprung up inside because he'd apparently done something right, for once.
Then Sam finally slid off of him to stand next to the bed, facing the headboard and Dean's tension eased, but the relief didn't last.
"Come kneel at my feet."
Dean was so tired, so thoroughly fucked-out, so utterly used and beyond any healthy point of distress. But Sam had said the words in such a reverent way, even though Dean knew they were still a command, and it would probably be a bad idea to make Sam think that he only responded well to orders that were barked or colored by pain. So he dragged himself off the bed and down to the floor, turning away from the headboard to kneel at Sam's feet, and he bowed his head as much in exhaustion as submission.
Sam rested a hand on Dean's head, gentle and deliberate, as if bestowing a blessing or honor. "Repeat after me … I will submit completely to my master in all ways."
Dean's breath hitched. He knew he would have to give this, to submit, he knew that, and he'd been doing it all day. But- … he didn't know he'd have to say it, have to actually verbalize his willingness to be owned and used by Sam for the rest of his life.
"Dean … you've done okay today, but it's not enough for your body to be willing. You have to offer yourself … formally … with the Litany of a Slave, because that's what you are and what you'll always be."
Dean's breathing was rapid, but he couldn't open his mouth and say the words.
"If you can't do this … you know your other options."
Dean was chewing his lip, but he nodded dully. Sam would drug him or seriously harm him to get the words out of him anyway and he had already had enough of both of those to last a while. He had to do this, he knew that. But he didn't really do all this emotional stuff, this formal relationship-type commitment junk. More than that, though, he'd never spoken about any supposed matters of the heart with Sam … before … and it felt so wrong that he was on his knees giving himself to a shadow of his brother when he'd never had the strength to just open his mouth and tell his Sam that he needed him, cherished him. He swallowed, an ache spreading outward from the center of his chest, sight blurring with the rain of forbidden grief.
This wasn't the Sam who should know his devotion.
"Dean!" Dean flinched, expecting pain that didn't come. "Last chance to do this the easy way."
"Okay." His voice was barely there, a gust of air with one consonant.
"Okay?"
"Yes … I'll- … I'll do this … sir. I'll … offer myself … to you." It felt sunless, like the road to damnation, but there didn't seem to be roads leading elsewhere anymore.
"Good. So … repeat after me. I will submit completely to my master in all ways."
It sounded like Sam was reading something and maybe even pacing out the rhythm to fall just right, but it didn't really matter one way or the other, right? It was formal and seemed overly planned, but hadn't that been the whole reason for the training process today? To make this whole twisted situation official? To make him understand what he was to Sam now?
Dean knew it was crazy … and that he was all but signing his life away, but- … he just didn't know what else to do. He was weary and aching and outmatched and- … and this was still Sam. He didn't have his Sam right then, but- … there was always a chance. He just had to be patient, keep trying to get through to his brother, keep trying to find a way to fight the darkness in him and in the world. And, really, these were just words.
Pain or drugs or words.
He nodded and his jaw was set tight, but he said it, because he knew he had to.
"I will submit … completely … to my master … in all ways." It was somehow at the same time surreal and jarring to refer to Sam as his master, but if Dean was owned, a slave, then his owner, Sam, would be his master. He knew that, knew Sam owned him, knew Sam thought of him as his property, knew Sam was his master, knew Sam thought of him as his whore. He knew that already. It had only been a few days, but Sam had made sure to at least beat that much into him. Still, Dean thanked any god who still cared for the small mercy of only having to call Sam "sir" instead of having to use the term "master" on any regular basis.
"There is no place, time, or situation in which I may disobey my master without risking punishment."
He'd said it yesterday, closed his eyes and responded to Sam's prompts with always and everywhere. And he'd said it earlier, full of cock and groaning with pain. But this was sober, this was clear-headed, this was a verbal agreement to submit, one that he chose out of multiple options. He knew the other options were pain or drugs, but that didn't make him feel any better.
"There is no place … time … or situation … in which I may … disobey my master … without risking punishment."
"I will accept any punishment my master decides to inflict, earned or not, severe or not."
There would be no appeals process here, no chance to charm his way out of punishment unless he was willing to do just what he'd done today and play the part of the cock-hungry whore. From the patterns and pains of these first few days, Dean could already tell that Sam would be punishing him harshly and often. And he didn't need any rite to tell him that Sam would make him take every moment of groveling and every strike of the whip.
"I will … accept … any punishment … my master decides … to inflict … earned or not … severe or not."
"I will not seek affection from or submit to anyone else without my master's permission."
That was okay, though, right? It would mean he couldn't choose to be with others, but maybe it meant Sam wouldn't really share him. At least … maybe not often … or maybe only when he was bad, like he'd threatened to do earlier. Yeah, that was okay. He couldn't be this for anyone but Sam … he just couldn't.
"I will not seek affection from … or submit to anyone else without my master's permission."
"Everything I own belongs to my master, to do with as he sees fit."
He'd never really owned much anyway and whatever he'd had was always practically family property, so that wasn't so bad, right? He wondered about his car, but … Sam would probably never let him drive it again anyway. It hurt, sure, thinking that he'd never have his hands around the wheel again, but … he hurt more elsewhere. In his back, from the flogging, in his knees, from the kneeling and crawling … and in his heart, from needing a lost brother he didn't know how to find.
"Everything I own belongs to my master … to do with as he sees fit."
"Everything I am, body, mind, heart, and soul, belongs to my master, to be used as he sees fit."
Everything. Fuck. What if- … what if this was- … because- … always and everywhere and everything seemed like- … Fuck. He had nothing, now. Nothing. Not even himself. But he had his m- … he had Sam … kind of … and he would have his Sam again … just as soon as he figured out how to fix this. And he would. … He would. … He wasn't giving up on the idea of getting his Sam back, even if he had to give up everything to get his chance to set things right. Because if he had Sam, he'd have everything he really needed.
"Everything I am … body … mind … heart … … … and soul … belongs to my master … to be used … as he sees fit."
"I will please my master to the best of my ability."
It had never been the case that he didn't want Sam to be happy and it wasn't like he'd never used sex to make Sam smile his way into sleep. This was only different because of who Sam was right then and what Sam wanted from him. But he'd still do what he could. And he had a full-body ache to remind him that Sam wouldn't settle for anything less than his best.
"I will please my master … to the best of my ability."
"I know that from this point forward I exist solely for the pleasure of my master."
He would get his Sam back someday, hopefully soon, but until then, this Sam would make sure that his whole existence was about sex, about making Sam happy with the works of his body. He knew that. He'd seen, today, just how hard it could be, but he'd be okay. He just had to remember that as long as the strength of the pain was survivable, it would be worth it, to get Sammy back. Really … mostly anything would be worth it. It wasn't really a question anymore.
"I know that … from this point forward … I exist solely … for the pleasure … of my master."
"And I accept my master's claim to total ownership of me."
"And I … … … accept … my master's claim … to total ownership … of me."
He was owned. He was property. He belonged wholly to Sam and he had no right to anything.
But he only had a moment to mourn his lost freedom before his thoughts scattered as a large spear of heat shot down through the center of him, from his head to the base of his spine, and he felt another slice of his strength melt away as Sam whispered "yes" over his head. The sensation faded quickly, but it left Dean wondering, rather belatedly, if saying the words aloud was as much a mystical ritual as a symbolic one.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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Tags:
- !fanfic,
- category: slash,
- challenge: 100moods,
- challenge: 50kinkyways,
- challenge: mini_nanowrimo,
- challenge: nanowrimo,
- character: dean winchester,
- character: sam winchester,
- fandom: supernatural,
- fic series: training day,
- fic universe: spn evil!sammy,
- genre: angst!fic,
- genre: apocalypse!fic,
- genre: au!fic,
- genre: dark!fic,
- genre: future!fic,
- genre: kink!fic,
- genre: plot!fic,
- genre: smut!fic,
- genre: wincest!fic,
- kink: bdsm,
- kink: dubious-consent,
- kink: food,
- kink: impact play,
- kink: manipulation,
- kink: masturbation,
- kink: orgasm control/denial,
- kink: powers,
- kink: voyeurism,
- pairing: sam/dean,
- rating: nc-17,
- type: multi-chapter,
- warning: violence
keep it coming sweetie
Date: 2007-05-28 09:09 pm (UTC)*pet's Dean* because he's obscenely beautiful when he's miserable and in pain.
Re: keep it coming sweetie
Date: 2007-05-31 07:27 pm (UTC)As for Dean's soul, I'm totally on the fence, I don't think the canon writers intend for Dean to be damned necessarily, but in fanon, I could go either way with prodding. This 'verse, though, takes a complex position. And, in the context of "Training Day", especially, you have to think about how reliable a source Sam is and what his agenda might be, either in being truthful or in manipulating the truth. Ya know?