Fanfic - SPN: Eager - Ch. 1 - Wake

[writingbyebonio]

Title: Eager [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series

Chapter One: Wake

Up.

A formless sound pierced the darkness of Dean's sleep and he rolled away from it, reluctant to leave the comfort of warm, sticky nothingness.

Wait. Sticky?

"I said 'up', Dean. As in 'get up'. Now."

Dean groaned, but tried to wake up, opening one eye, then the other. Sam was standing next to the bed, fully-dressed and looking none too happy. Fuck. He closed his eyes again but dragged himself up to sitting, his hands smoothing down over his face as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Every part of his body felt stuck, glued in some offbeat position, and for a minute he stretched everything that would move, but that wasn't very much.

He tensed when he felt the heat of Sam's hand sliding over his bruised back, even though the motion almost seemed like it was meant to soothe.

"You were jacking off in your sleep." Sam's tone was low, accusatory, and Dean blinked and focused on continuing to breathe.

"And that's my fault why?" He knew he was probably being grumpy and stupid, but seriously? He'd been unconscious when the supposed crime had been committed and really, with the day he'd had yesterday (was it only yesterday?), he was more concerned with why on Earth he'd been voluntarily jacking off at all, even in his sleep.

The press of Sam's hand was no longer gentle then, rubbing deep hot circles into too-sore muscles and too-sensitive skin, and Dean stifled a whimper. His body reacted immediately but ineffectively, chest pressing up and forward as his shoulder blades pulled back, in an effort to cave his skin inward and escape the mounting pain. It was like Sam was forcibly reshaping the tendons and tissues under the heat and weight of his hand, shaping them into something bloody and flat, fit to be carved up and served on a plate.

"I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and remember what you are and what I can do to you."

Dean shifted, even knowing Sam wouldn't let him really get away, but he didn't know what Sam wanted exactly. "I'm … sorry?"

"You should be."

Sam stepped away, moving down along the bed, and Dean nearly let out a sigh of relief, but then Sam snatched at the edge of the covers and yanked them down, exposing him and the remnants of his dream-induced orgasm.

"Kneel where you are. Knees spread. Put your back to the edge of the bed." His voice was flat, but commanding nonetheless.

Dean cracked his jaw and thought about protesting, but he knew it wouldn't go anywhere, especially not when Sam sounded only just this side of seriously irritated, as if Dean had done this just to piss him off. He exhaled and swung his legs up and around until they were tucked under him and he was facing toward the other side of the bed. Sam moved in close, his hand slipping around Dean's arm to brush over the front of Dean's body, tracing a slow line from his Adam's apple, down the center groove of his abdomen to his cock. Dean willed himself to stay still, as if sitting in the presence of a predator who would only notice moving prey. Then Sam stepped back and brought a hand up to rest heavily on Dean's shoulder, a not so friendly warning to remember his place.

"I will punish you for using my property without my permission, so don't think you're getting off lightly. You're not. I'll just do it later, maybe before dinner. You do, however, have punishment leftover from yesterday. … I won't make you take it all at once, but we'll do fifty with the flogger now, fifty tonight, and then you'll only have a hundred left to work off."

Dean remembered counting somewhere past sixty yesterday, before the pain stole away his ability to think beyond whatever would silence the whip. His breath raced in and out of him, but his voice was calm. "Is that how many you gave me yesterday? A hundred?"

"About that, yeah. And you mouthed off again last night, remember? Which is why you owe two hundred now."

Dean nodded as if the fact was just one more thing that was 'good to know'. "Well if you're gonna do this, could you just- … give me all a hundred now?"

He didn't know if he was being brave or stupid, asking for this, but he didn't want to stand around all day thinking about an upcoming punishment.

"No, actually. … You need something to look forward to, whore, something to help you remember the consequences of disrespecting your owner. I hope the ache in your back combined with the knowledge of what's to come will help you think about what not to do today and, I assure you, fifty strokes should be plenty to keep you second-guessing any actions that would put you under my whip again. But … if fifty before breakfast and the promise of more later isn't enough to make you good today, then we can certainly try sixty and sixty tomorrow, or eighty and eighty the day after that."

Dean cringed, shaking a head that felt heavier now than a moment before, as if Sam's words were weights thunking down on him.

"I think you'd turn into a black and blue puddle of tears if I gave you a hundred twice a day, but I'm happy to restrain you through the full amount if that's what you need. After that, though, we'd probably have to move away from the simple leather flogger to something that would give you a good deal of pain much more quickly." Sam gave Dean's shoulder a harsh squeeze and leaned down to bark into Dean's ear. "I just don't have time to whip you bloody every morning, whore!"

Sam straightened up again, his words clipped. "Any other questions?"

Dean swallowed and glanced down at the bed, before returning his gaze, somewhat unfocused, to the room spread out in front of him. His mouth opened to take in air and, perhaps, to say something, to plead for his brother to think this through, to hold back all the needless violence. But what was there to say at this point? Even if there was something that would get Sam to think a little more like he used to, Dean didn't know what that was right then and, really, wouldn't it be better to hold off on saying anything until he at least had a better sense of what might actually work?

"Dean … ?"

He shook his head, knowing his mouth might disagree.

Sam moved away and from the corner of his eye, Dean watched him unlatch the toy box and retrieve the flogger he'd seen the day before, closing and locking the box when he was through. When Sam came back and lifted the whip up in front of Dean's face, Dean shuddered, but knew there wasn't a way around this, only through.

"You know what to do, whore."

Trying not to hear the smug satisfaction in his brother's voice, he worked to remember the ritual, breathing in the scent of sweat, leather, and sex. He kissed the offered item of discipline, even more reverently than the day before, as if the sweetness of his treatment would make the flogger go easy on him today. Then his hands gripped his thighs as Sam stepped back and let the flogger fall.

The first blow shook him with a low grunt and he arched away from the next, having to fight himself back into the position Sam wanted him in. The thick leather felt heavier than he remembered, like punches landed and dragged across every sore spot until his neck could no longer support his head and it dropped down with his groans. His leg muscles began to hurt from the strain that his fingers were putting on them and eventually the crisscross of the flogger's tails just added aches on top of the aches until his body was nearly resigned to the pain. He began to zone out, feeling his breath sync up with the rhythm of Sam's strokes, and he closed his eyes over the water blurring his sight.

It had only been a few days since freedom, but he was already adjusting, his body aware that it was just going to be in pain here, his mind wandering rather than sitting still to watch imaginings of his brother standing over him, eyes locked on his target as his whip arm sliced the air. The discipline was over before any tears fell, as if fifty strokes weren't all that much anymore. How was this situation seeping into his skin already, getting into his head? Every hour may as well have been a day here, the atmosphere and activities seemingly new yet somehow fully entrenched in each of his thoughts and actions.

He tried to hide his long exhale as he heard the soft whoosh of Sam setting the flogger aside, then Sam's hand was back on his shoulder. "This body doesn't belong to you, does it?"

You have nothing. He wasn't facing Sam, but his gaze slid down to the sheets anyway. In his head, he could hear the echo of Sam's voice from all the brutal days before and he still didn't really believe all the insanity that Sam made him say, but he couldn't afford to push his luck right then. He had to say what Sam wanted to hear in order to avoid as much pain as possible and to keep the drug out of his system. "No … it doesn't."

Sam's grip squeezed a little tighter, making his sore back tense. "Do I need to remind you to address me with respect, whore?"

Dean squared his jaw, but pushed the words out. "No … sir."

"Better. Who does it belong to?"

You belong to me. His breath lost its rhythm, patterning after his heart. It wasn't worth the fight, though. "You … sir."

"And why is that?"

I own you. He pulled his shoulders forward, the throb in his back doubling as too many capillaries lay broken and spilling into new bruises. They were just words, though. "Because … I'm your property."

"And what kind of property are you?"

You're a slave and a whore. His whole face seemed to twitch, stress thieving away his control, but his mouth just wouldn't open.

"Dean … what kind of property are you?" Sam's power flashed over him, like some boiling liquid meant to scald his skin, and he gasped, looking down at his restless hands, pink from the blink of unseen heat.

Say it, whore. He didn't believe any of it. "I'm- … a slave, a- … whore."

"Yes. And what are whores for?"

A slave is for service. A whore is for pleasure. "Pleasure … sir." God, he wanted to stop, didn't want to hear this, didn't want to say this.

"And who do you need to please, whore?"

"You … sir." Just- … fuck. He had to fight the intense urge to shrug Sam's hand off of him and pull away from this, because even just that little touch was grounding him in this, making it real, making it true.

"And who am I?"

"My … owner." Brother. Owner. Partner. Owner. Friend. Owner. … Fuck. Everything. He shook his head.

"Did you just shake your head at me, whore? Are you denying who I am to you?"

"No, sir. I was just … trying to clear my head."

"Huh. Lets check that, just in case. … Repeat what you are and who I am to you until I tell you to stop."

Dean swallowed. "I'm … your whore … and you’re … my owner." His head shifted to the left. "I'm your … whore … and you're … my owner." He shifted again, back to the right. "I'm your whore … and you're my … owner. I-"

"Stop! You're still doing it."

As much as he tried, he couldn't stop the occasional subtle movements of his head that were his body's way of doing what his mouth couldn't right then, which was to deny the truth of his words. If he'd had even a bit less restraint he would have already been tearing at his hair, as if that could somehow keep the words out of his head while they swam in his mouth. "I just- … I can't, okay? Just- … not now."

"You can and you will. Or, if you really can't do it right now, I can have one of the guards sit with you all day while you repeat it endlessly for all the hours that I'm away."

He felt something inside him pull tight in a line from his gut to his throat. Maybe he couldn't handle this. He closed his eyes, as if he could shut out the pain by closing off his view of this twisted world. He had to handle this, though. Just- … Sam would be gone to work soon. So … he could do this. He could.

He nodded, breathing deeply, despite the strain it put on his back. "I'm your whore … and you’re my owner. I'm your whore … and you’re my owner. I'm your whore and you're my owner. I'm your whore and you're my owner."

His eyelids blinked rapidly as he continued repeating the phrase until it filled up all the space in his mind, looming and rhythmic. He tried not to care, not to listen to the words he was saying, not to let their meanings seep into him, but it didn't feel much like he was succeeding. The sentence hung in his stomach, unsettling everything, and it was starting to sound less like something false that he was forced to say and more like something true that he was ashamed to say.

"I'm your whore and you're my owner."

"You can stop. That was good. It's starting to roll right off your tongue now. … One of these days someone will ask you who you are and you'll tell them what you are and who owns you … because that's just how important being my whore will be to you." Sam sounded so convinced, his voice airy in the way of people describing their loftiest dreams, as if he was imagining that future day when Dean would be the perfect whore. Then, his hand left Dean's shoulder to trail slowly over the bruises and welts of his back and Dean breathed through the traveling intensity of the ache until Sam moved away. "Get down from the bed and stand up."

Dean pushed himself back, legs straightening to connect his feet with the floor, and he shifted, groaning deep from the ripple of pain that slid over his back as he turned around to look at Sam.

Reaching up to cup the back of Dean's head with one hand, Sam leaned in to kiss him, brief and surprisingly gentle. "You have to learn to be good. That's the only way you can avoid punishment. I'm still going to hurt you whenever I want, but you'll have less pain in your life if you're good. And you like the sex, right? You come all over the place when I let you, so you must like the sex."

Dean shrugged, not meeting Sam's eyes, the hand on his face forcing an intimacy that he couldn't handle right then. "I dunno, okay? I mean … yeah, I come, but … that doesn't mean I want to live like this."

"Well, here's the thing, Dean. There are so many worse ways to live in this world than as my whore. This situation is one that lots of people would kill for. You should be on your knees, kissing my feet every day, thanking me for allowing you to serve me like this. I should wake up to morning blowjobs that I never have to ask for, because you are just that grateful to be my whore."

Dean looked further down, but then he lifted his eyes to his brother's again, shaking his head slowly. "That's just … not who I am, Sam."

"It's who you have to be." Sam nodded, the strength of his conviction evident. "This won't get any easier if you keep refusing to give in. Every time I push and you push back, it just means that I have to push even harder and that's honestly a lot more work than I feel like doing after my real job." Sam's fingers pressed into the back of Dean's skull, not painful, but demanding. "I will put you back on the drug in the end, if that's what it takes. So don't push me. Just give me what I want."

Dean's words blew out, anxious and desperate. "It's not that easy."

"Bullshit. It's not that hard either. Half the time you don't even have to do anything, you just have to let me do what I want. … Your main problem isn't that you hate this, it's that part of you likes this and you hate that part of yourself."

Dean ran the tip of his tongue forcefully against the roof of his mouth, ensuring that his teeth didn't grind together, but only just barely. "I. … Don't. … Like this." He said the words slowly as if somehow that would make Sam understand it better this time than all the times that he'd said it before. "And I don't- …"

"Shhh." Sam put his finger over Dean's lips and Dean blinked at the way Sam leaned into him as if there was a sweet embrace on his mind, his voice soft and sincere, working to help Dean understand. "I want you to give yourself permission to enjoy this. But, even if you think you can't do that right now, you still need to at least try to be the kind of whore that I want you to be."

"I- …"

Sam's finger pressed to Dean's lips again before he could reiterate his claim to some form of sanity here. The look in Sam's eyes, though it wasn't as menacing as it could be, said Dean better have something else to say before he opened his mouth again.

He sighed, frustrated, but Sam moved the silencing finger, and Dean brought a hand up to press over his eyes, then down and away again. "What do you want?"

Sam looked at Dean quizzically, forehead scrunched up. "Figure it out. I think I was pretty clear yesterday, about what I want to see more of and what I want to see less of. What did I say, whore?"

Dean let his eyes slide away from Sam's for a moment as he thought about yesterday. "You said, respect … obedience, and … quality service or something, but- …"

"You don't know what that means."

Dean shrugged a little, not quite shaking his head. "I mean … kind of, but … not really."

"I would hope that respect and obedience, at least, would be obvious, but I guess I could lay things out a bit more for you." Sam took a breath, nodding slightly. "Respectful titles, being sir or master, or owner, in certain cases. Respectful behavior, meaning you don't raise your voice or otherwise get aggressive with me or anyone else, and you let me do what I like with my property."

To Dean, it felt like someone was slowly sinking claws into his heart and turning it like a doorknob inside his chest. Why was it so hard listening to Sam outline the … expectations … that he had for his- … for him?

"Obedience literally just means that you do as your told, preferably without asking stupid questions, which I've seen you do just fine in the past. And, as for the quality of your service …" Something shifted in Sam's eyes and he smiled like saccharin lain over old blood, forcing Dean to fight the rise of his stomach towards his throat. "I want you to learn all the best ways to please me, and I also want you to be … eager … flirty, lusty, slutty." He snickered. "Hell, Dean, I want you to be my whore, but I want you to be yourself. Wrestle up your patented you-know-you-want-me smirk and bring the swagger back. It's what you do. And it's what you should do as my whore."

Dean's exhale exploded out of him and his eyebrows stitched together, incredulous. "It doesn't just come to me at the snap of my fingers, Sam, especially not- …" Dean didn't know what to put there. His shoulders hitched up almost to his ears, before settling again, and he just had to shake his head. Especially not when you're insane and kind of evil? Especially not when I have no rights and no freedom? Especially not when you're just … not Him … but someone else entirely, someone who scares the fuck out of me?!

"Ah … okay, well …" Sam slid one arm around his waist and reached between their bodies with the other to take Dean's limp cock in his hand. Dean was startled by the sudden shift in focus, but didn't move away as Sam leaned down, sliding his lips and tongue over the left side of his neck, skirting the spot, just below the ear, that drove Dean into pleasure mode in far too few seconds.

Dean could already feel the slow rise of his dick heating in the curled palm of Sam's hand and he closed his eyes, grudgingly accepting the attention but all the while wondering if every argument would end in sex here, sex or violence. Suddenly, his breath stopped, the air trapped in his lungs as if his throat was a bottle, recently corked, and he shuddered. Fuck. Sam's mouth was warm and wet, massaging against whatever tangled patch of nerves sat right below the back of his jaw and Dean was fully committed with a groan, his cock filling out fast as he fought not to thrust up in Sam's hand.

Then Sam was kissing and licking his way up from his neck to the crown of his ear. "See, Dean? I know all about you. I know how to make you come so hard it almost hurts. I know what you need. All I want is for you to remember that … and for you to be the eager little slut I know you can be."

Sam's lips slid back down along Dean's jawline, his teeth nipping at skin, no doubt leaving telling marks. Dean's breath was frayed at the edges with the squeeze and languid glide of the fingers surrounding his cock. The roll of pleasure up into him, then down again, following the flow of Sam's movements, was like he remembered almost, like the slow drip of something sweet down his throat. It was enough to keep him more than just interested, but not enough to get him all the way there.

"Please." He wasn't sure if that was a plea to stop or a plea to keep going.

Sam sucked at a patch of Dean's skin, right at his ear, before letting his words out. "Eager, whore. … Tell me something hot and twisted that you'll do to please me if I let you come. … It doesn't have to be big, but I want it to be new, something you haven't done yet."

The tug of Sam's hand tightened, speeding up, and Dean moaned as it felt like the pressure building in his spine was being slowly pulled out through his dick. His eyes rolled closed, then open, then closed again, as he tried to think while he rode out the press of need scaling the ladder of his nerves. "Umm … I dunno … uhh … please just- …"

"Come on, whore, I know you've watched enough porn to have plenty of ideas for things you think I'd like that you've just never tried."

An image came to his mind and he tried to push it away, but the slow stroke of Sam's hand wasn't making thought all that easy and if yesterday was anything to go by, it was something Sam was sure to like, even if it was something that … only a whore would do.

He tried to search for something else to say, but fuck, he just wanted Sam to finish this. So he spoke, but his voice was thready because he wasn't really sure that he wanted to be heard. "I- … I'll eat my come … out of your hand." He shuddered, knowing he should be disgusted, but the thought of Sam's fingers in his mouth made him lick his lips anyway, pressing harder into Sam's hand.

Sam pulled back, his eyebrows rising in surprise, but his smirk only sunk in deeper. "Oh. Well, that's an idea. … You didn't say it very enthusiastically, mind you, and the newness is debatable, but … I like it. … I'd be happy to hand-feed your spunk back to you, whore. And really, I'm probably going to enjoy just about anything that requires come to be in, on, or around your mouth."

Looking up at his brother through the haze of need, flashes of the night before came raining into his vision and he felt his body respond to physical memories of being bent over and fucked, filled until he was begging. It made some little voice in the back of his head spring up, mixing who he used to be with who Sam was now and chiding him for being such a fucking whore, and not just in name anymore. It didn't matter, though, because he was breathing hard and riding up into Sam's stroke as his muscles pulsed, wanting to build the tension higher and higher until it burst out in a wash of come.

"Please- …"

"No." Sam let go of Dean's cock and slid his now free arm around Dean's back to join the other one.

Dean couldn't help but lean in close to Sam, his cock seeking friction in the rub against Sam's jeans as his body throbbed with need.

Sam snickered. "Hump me all you want, whore. You already came once this morning, even if you were asleep at the time, so it's not really an option for you again until tonight, and that's only if you're a good boy."

Dean was sucking in air through his teeth, but he wanted- …god, he wanted this so bad. His body was strung tight, like a marionette yanked up until it could do nothing but head in the direction it had been pulled. His current direction was toward orgasm and he was aching for it, his hand inching its way towards his cock, rules be damned.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." There was no accompanying laugh with Sam's words this time. They were stern and uncompromising.

"Sam- …"

"I suggest you calm down because if you come without my permission again, the next whipping will be for your dick."

Dean stopped moving immediately, frozen. "You're not- …"

"I am. They even make a special little flogger for the really sensitive bits. It's called a ball whip. … There's one in the toy box if you want to see."

"Uhh … no. … No."

"Wuss." Sam chuckled.

"About that? Yeah." That wasn't a dare he'd take in a million years.

"Well, then behave yourself. … We'll work up to it eventually, though, so don't worry, you'll get to see what it's like."

"What?!" Dean's head snapped back, his cock beginning a slow descent.

"Oh come on. You didn't honestly think that we'd never work our way through every toy in that box, did you? It's just pain, Dean. And you've got a pretty high threshold, which will probably move even higher as we play harder. So stop freaking out. You'll be fine." Sam pulled back before Dean could formulate a response and his forearm flashed as he checked his watch, making sure to tug his buttoned cuff down over the timepiece as he let his arm fall again, as if Dean was going to try to steal a look at it. He did, of course, but less because he cared all that much and more because Sam seemed to care rather a lot. "Breakfast is on the table if you're hungry and you'll have free rein of the room for the morning. Someone will bring you up some lunch, and then you should relieve yourself and wash up, because the guards will be in to chain you to the bed. I'll have them use one of the double-cuffs, though, so your wrists will be together to limit your options and they'll only chain you to one post. They should leave you enough slack to sit, stand, or lay down, maybe even walk a tight line for a foot or so from the bed. So, you should be fairly comfortable, compared to the other day."

Dean shuddered, remembering the tug of the chains as Sam used him while the drug throbbed impatiently in his body. "I thought you were gonna … give me some time, ya know … to try to do this without the drug."

"I didn't say anything about the drug, Dean. I said that you'll be chained."

"Why? I'm sure as hell not gonna jack off, if that's what you're worried about."

"I have a chastity device if that really becomes a problem, but, no … that's not my biggest concern right now."

He didn't even want to think about Sam putting his dick into any kind of device, for chastity or any other reason. "So … why the chains then?"

"You're a whore, and you've had a little training, but … you're still awfully confused about what being my personal whore really means. So, I think it would be good for you to have a firm reminder of your status while I'm not here. You'll be in restraints pretty regularly, maybe not every day, but probably a few days a week while I'm in the field, at least until you earn your collar."

"Earn my collar? … You put one on me yesterday." Dean had hoped that it would never happen again, but even if it did, he certainly didn't imagine that it would be anything that he had worked to 'earn'.

"Not really. That was one of the play collars. The real one will be metal of some sort, probably fancier, maybe with my seal or something. We'll see. But it'll be earned … and permanent."

"I don't understand."

"When you're the whore that I want you to be, I'll give you a real slave collar, so anyone who sees you, even those who can't see the mark on your soul, will know that you're owned and that I'm proud to own you. … Right now you're not really much to be proud of."

It was like a push-pin dipped in poison had been pressed into Dean's chest. The pain was just a dot, but then a chilling ache spread out around it. Dean didn't know why Sam's words would hurt like that. They shouldn't. He didn't want to be this, right? So … it shouldn't matter that Sam thought he wasn't much right now. It shouldn't matter at all.

Sam seemed to notice his concern, his eyes softening around the edges as he pulled Dean close again with a hand at the back of his neck. "Don't worry. You'll get there. I'm not going to let you not get there. … You're going to have to work hard, to learn what I like and how to behave in different situations and so on, but I know you can do it. It won't be an overnight kind of thing, but … one day you'll be good enough."

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again. Sam was almost out the door, so he just needed to keep his head a little longer. It was strange, though, this talk of being good enough, because he'd never really been that, not for any woman, not for his dad, and not for his brother. Somehow he always ended up fucking things up, most times in ways he couldn't fix. Pretty much everyone left, just didn't want him around anymore or ended up dead or worse because he couldn't get his shit together. So, there was something tiny inside, gnawing at him, wanting him to be good enough … but not like this.

"I think being bound or restrained will help ground you, help move you closer to being the kind of whore I want. Try to focus your thoughts on what you are. Repeat what you've learned, reread the litany, things like that. … Really, if you hadn't've made me give you two punishments barely split by sleep, then you'd probably be in chains this morning too. I don't want you to get too stiff, though, since you're new to all this. So, take this as free time to run around, stretch, do some exercises, push-ups or something. Maybe you could even do some crunches, but only if they don't leave you screaming." Sam brushed his fingers through Dean's hair and rounded his ear as if the hair was long enough to need to be tucked behind there. "I want my whore in full working order when I get home. … I think we'll play a little tonight. Not sure how just yet, but … we've got lots of new toys to break in, don't we, whore?"

Dean struggled to look away, but Sam's hand held him, made him meet his words head-on.

"Lots of fun stuff to try, huh, whore?"

His voice was soft but it didn't waver. "Yes, sir."

"Now, tell me again, before I leave. What are you?"

He tried to pull out of Sam's grip, the phrases too hard to say when Sam was right there, breathing his air. Sam yanked him back to face him, though, before he'd even moved an inch.

"We went over this. Say the words, whore."

Dean swore that his teeth ached by the time he pried them apart to speak. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."

"It's all true. All of it. Inescapable. So, the best way to live well here is to just stop fighting. Submit. Know that your obedience is pleasing to your owner and accept that this is your life. … I swear, Dean, we'll both be better for it."

"Okay." Dean nodded, but neither of them were fooled by it. He was mostly humoring his supposed owner. It was enough for the moment, though, and he tried not to sigh with relief when Sam finally stepped back and away, reaching out to take the flogger with him.


One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven

Comments

[vesuvianite.livejournal.com]

I was just re-reading the story, and decided to take a second to say how much I like this phrase:

like saccharin lain over old blood

That's just terrific. It really grabs the reader's attention.

[writingbyebonio.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! It's one of my favorite lines in this piece. One of those times when I felt like I was really articulating exactly how I meant something. Glad it worked for you!

[sammygirl26.livejournal.com]

I love your stories so much! It's like EVERYTHING I'm looking for! And I love the way you write for Dean! Amazing work!

[writingbyebonio.livejournal.com]

Thank you so so much! I definitely try to keep Dean himself even as he struggles through all this hardship. Glad you're enjoying it! :D