Fanfic - SPN: Bury the Hunter (Sam/Dean)
Nov. 19th, 2006 07:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
writingbyebonioTitle: Bury the Hunter [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Prompt: 007. Aroused. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100moods, challenge table here. As well as: 005. Oil. For 50kinkyways, challenge table here.
Word Count: 8565 words exactly.
Rating: NC-17 for language, sexuality, and violence.
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst! Dark! Future. Apocalypse. Manipulation. Non-con. Dubious-con. Wincest. Slash. Graphic m/m sex. Kink/BDSM. Smut. Plot. Violence. Humor. Cliché. AU after "Simon Said". Potential vague spoilers for "Home," "Nightmare," and "In My Time of Dying".
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: Dean's POV. Dean gets a harsh, but very sensual, lesson in letting go of the past and embracing his terrifying future.
Author's Notes: This story follows directly after Owned (NC-17: Sam/Dean). For more info about my Evil!Sammy Universe, including links to all installments, please go here.
"When I leave, I want you to get cleaned up. Really clean. As in everywhere. Then put on your cockring and rub this into you skin - face, body, everywhere."
Sam pushed a bottle of massage-type oil into Dean's palm, which he proceeded to sniff at. It seemed to smell musky and fruity at the same time, not exactly a scent he'd choose for cologne or anything, but it did make him feel a little cocky, sexy. Probably some kind of girlish aromatherapy deal or something. He smirked and quirked his eyebrow questioningly at Sam, but his unvoiced question was blatantly ignored.
"And it's safe for all those hard to reach places too. So, I expect you to be fully oiled up when I get back. While I'm gone, you're not allowed to touch yourself for sexual reasons and you're definitely not allowed to come. If you have trouble completing any of these instructions, just peek your head out the door and ask one of the guards to help you. Or, in the case of the no-touching rule, you can ask them to cuff you to the bed."
"What?! You can't be serious!" Up to this point, Dean had been almost-nodding and eye-rolling along with the instructions in his usual yeah-sure-whatever kind of way. But if Sam thought he would ever request to be locked up, then he had truly lost his frigging nearly-evil mind.
"When, lately, have I been something other than serious, Dean, really?"
"But why would I ask anyone to handcuff me to anything?!"
"Because, Dean." Sam took Dean's face in his rapidly heating hands and his thumbs began to press painfully into Dean's cheekbones. He was clearly frustrated by Dean's attitude and it seemed like he was both trying to get Dean's attention and trying to keep himself from doing the more serious harm that his body was tensing to inflict. "If you don't ask for help and you end up not following all my instructions and rules, I'm going to use you and hurt you until you're much more messy than pretty."
Dean suppressed a shudder, looking away from the dangerous promise in Sam's eyes. He'd already had several painful lessons in obedience, but somehow his mouth just kept getting him in trouble. He needed to learn shut the fuck up around Sam. But it was hard. Sometimes this Sam still just seemed like … Sam.
"I know you had trouble with classes back in the day, but, Dean- Look at me!" He waited until Dean was looking into his eyes again. "I can tell you right now, that this is one test that you do not want to fail. Do you understand?"
Dean nodded, as much as he could in Sam's grip, breathing out the word "yes".
"Good." Sam let go of him, then, and grabbed his bag, heading for the door. At the door, he paused, but didn't turn around. "Ask for help if you need it, Dean. I'm serious. Don't try to be the tough guy here. It's not worth it."
And with that, Sam was gone, door shut tight behind him.
Touching the warm spots, bound to bruise, where Sam's thumbs had been, Dean wondered if Sam's parting words were any indication that Sam still cared about him, even if only a little. Sam had given him a sort of warning, a warning not to get on his wrong side tonight. It wasn't like things would ever not end badly if he rubbed Sam the wrong way, but it sounded like there was some reason he should tread even more lightly tonight. He knew thinking Sam was even still capable of caring about him was kind of a long shot, what with Sam forcing him, abusing him, basically enslaving him, and everything. But he just knew that his Sam was still a part of this new Sam, so he couldn't stop himself from wanting to hold on to a few positive possibilities.
Really, Sam didn't have to warn him at all, so the fact that he had was evidence of some kind of emotional attachment, right? Or maybe Sam would just prefer to not have to wait for his lackeys to clean up the mess after he puréed Dean's organs with his mind.
It was kind of hard for Dean to know what was going on in his brother's head. Sometimes it seemed like Sam punished him because he felt he had to and not necessarily because he just wanted to. But at the same time, he could tell how much Sam got off on hurting him. It was almost like part of Sam didn't like the idea of hurting Dean, but another part of him loved actually doing it.
All the more reason for Dean to stop stalling and do as he'd been told.
Dean had no idea what kind of hours demons might keep while attempting to coordinate an effective apocalypse, so he had no idea how to best organize his time. It could easily be hours before Sam came sweeping back into the room again, but he knew, even this early in their new … relationship … that it was probably best not to waste time doing things that Sam hadn't explicitly put on the list. If Sam showed up in an hour and Dean had done nothing, he would be in for a world of hurt and he was still sore from last night, so punishment for disobedience was not one of his preferred options.
No sense in leaving himself open for disciplinary measures he could just as easily avoid.
Deliberately and forcefully, he shoved away any twisted comparisons his brain tried to make between being a good son to his father and being … whatever he was now … to Sam.
He went to the bathroom and began running himself a bath. He wasn't usually a bath kind of guy - hell, sometimes they'd hardly had enough time or funds to secure a hot shower - but if Sam wanted him "really-clean-as-in-everywhere," whatever the hell that meant, then it would just be easier to let the water seep in naturally.
Walking back out into the main room, Dean figured he should find something to do while he waited for the massive tub to fill. Sam wasn't allowing him any contact with the outside world, except whatever he could see outside the window. The television and phone that were once a part of the suite were removed sometime while he slept that first night after the … change.
What could he even call something like that? The night on the day the world died? The first night of Hell-On-Earth? The first night he slept beside the brother who wasn't really his brother anymore? The whole situation was just so fucked up in every way he could think of and, he realized, it wouldn't make any more sense just because he could find a way to give all the horrific changes catchy titles.
But catchy titles did lead him to think of at least one form of mild entertainment and he approached the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. He was curious, if only because he couldn't remember if that bookshelf had always been there or if Sam had it brought in that night the TV was taken away. Sam was the reader, far more than him, but he could read if he had to.
Like for Hunts.
He grabbed one book, largely at random, because it was thin and green, and, well, he kind of liked green and figured if it didn't work for him, he probably wouldn't know until he was already halfway through the book, which seemed to only be a hundred pages, or so, long. Candide didn't really seem like Hunting material, but neither did any of the other titles and he was not going just sit around for twenty minutes twiddling his thumbs.
Besides, maybe if he read stuff that Sam might read, they could, ya know, talk, or something, which, again, wasn't really his thing, but it might give him a break from being some kind of fuck-hole or pin-cushion for a few hours and that was reason enough to at least try.
Fifteen minutes later, he'd determined that the book really wasn't that bad. It was kind of funny and bizarre, if a little old-worldsy with the language. He almost thought to take it into the bath with him, but on a second review of that idea, he kicked himself for starting to act like this was just some fucking vacation. Sam might be glad he was reading something and could carry on intelligent conversation, but he would definitely be pissed if Dean ended up reading instead of doing what Sam had told him to do.
He set the book down and went to get clean.
After toweling off while the water drained from the bath, Dean wandered out of the bathroom to put on his cockring and do the kinky aromatherapy oil thing that Sam wanted him to do. He tried not to be flippant, but come on, leave it to Sam to go all big bad and still act like a frigging girl.
The oil was smooth enough going on and Dean was flexible enough to get it most places it was supposed to go and maybe a few it wasn't. It made his skin tingle and the smell was starting to go to his head. He felt damn hot, totally fuckable, and totally wanting to fuck. His cock was hard as nails by the time he was through. Flexing in the standing mirror, he decided that maybe Sam wasn't a total girl. He looked and felt fucking great, skin glistening like some goddamned Hollywood stud. And it was like the more he moved, the more he smoothed his hands over his skin, the more turned on he got.
In very little time at all, it felt like his skin was on fire, but a kind of pleasurable fire. A really pleasurable fire. Okay, maybe not fire, maybe it was more as if passion was a living thing and it was brushing all over every bit of his body, inside and out. He'd thought that Sam's instructions were leading up to some kind of special night and now he could see how. He'd never been so fascinated by the feel of his own hands on his body. He closed his eyes and just felt his hand slide over his chest, down over his abs, and stop at dip above his thighs, hand clenching into a fist.
Damn, he wanted to jack right now. He just knew it would feel in-fucking-credible. Damn Sam, with all his fucking rules, as if Dean couldn't be up and ready for Sam to torment after only one little round of alone time.
He didn't do it though.
It was his first official day as Sam's … property … and the night had been rough, with Sam keeping him on the edge of orgasm for what seemed like hours while he repeated the new mantra of their twisted relationship over and over again. He knew it had to be a kind of brainwashing, a kind of hypnotism, to have him repeat it constantly while so sexually aroused and to punish every slip, every hesitation with piercing pain in his chest. But that didn't help Dean feel any better for believing his new status more now than he had the day before. Even so, he remembered how Sam still seemed unsure about how deeply that belief ran.
And if the intensity of his current desires would be used against him like it had last night, Dean had every reason to be seriously concerned that Sam might really get to him, deep, under his skin, in ways he hadn't managed yet. Dean was sure that tonight Sam would take him to the edge of himself and push him until he truly cracked.
Then he was chained to the bed and Sam's hands were on him and he wanted to come so bad it almost hurt.
But then the room flickered back into focus and he was still standing in front of the mirror, with the start of a headache blossoming behind his eyes.
Either he was too horny for his own good or the kinky oil had hallucinogenic properties. He could still feel the lingering traces of Sam's hands on his body and found his hand drifting to his throbbing dick, and thought, just for a minute, that maybe he could jack, just a little, and Sam wouldn't ever really know.
Then he was up against the wall and Sam's body was burning hot against his as talons of power tore into him and he screamed.
But then the room swam back around him and he was on his knees in front of the mirror, doubled over with a mere echo of pain.
And he was still achingly hard.
He was somehow even more aroused, his focus narrowing almost exclusively to his desire to feel the rush like when Sam touched him in his moment of delirium and damn did he want to come. Fuck! He wanted to fuck. He wanted to come. Fuck! He wanted Sam to come home, to touch him like that. Even if Sam wanted to hurt him, that'd be okay if Sammy fucked him good, made him come. Maybe he could like it, learn to like it, like the pain, if Sam would touch him, make his skin pulse with pleasure, if Sam would fuck him, pound over that hot spot for him, make him come real good, make him come. Fuck! He wanted to come so bad. He'd take the pain, just to come.
When he felt the rub of carpet on his dick, he realized that he'd unknowingly closed his eyes and stretched out on the floor, slowly grinding his body down, feeling the friction on his skin. He glanced up and saw himself partially reflected in the mirror, hips grinding down slow like they were meant to tease, lips parted and slick from him licking over them, tan skin flushed pink, eyes half-lidded with want. He looked like a pornstar, or a gigalo.
And that just made him want to come even more, but he shook his head, trying to clear it.
Things were getting way out of control and in a minute, if he didn't do something, he would end up sealing a contract for a night of mind-splitting torture instead of whatever kinky sex Sam had planned. That would be no good. If he was honest with himself, though, he had to acknowledge that his body was quickly overpowering his mind and he might not be able to just will himself not to jack or not to come anymore.
He now understood why Sam had suggested the handcuffs and decided to take that offer as graciously as he could.
The guards were nice enough when he asked, though he felt a confusing mix of shame and desire to have two fairly attractive guys looking at his naked body. They must have known the deal, though, because they tried their best to touch him as little as possible. For that reason, they didn't arrange him on the bed as Sam might have done, but just told him how to sit in the center. Then each of them attached one leather cuff with a D-ring to one of his wrists and threaded a chain through that D-ring which was then attached to the bed post on whatever side was closest to the arm they were securing. The chains were loose enough so that he could either sit up with his back against the headboard or lie down on his back with the top of his head at the headboard, but they were tight enough to keep him from standing or from somehow contorting his body in a way that would allow him to reach his dick with one of his hands. Which was probably good, because, really, in the state he was in, and with his known flexibilities, he didn't trust himself not to try for some kind of crazy human pretzel wanking. This was also reason number seven million and six why he maybe should have let that Fyarl carve out a couple of his ribs.
Fuck, it was twisted that he was so horny he was wishing for more battle scars.
Dean had, of course, tried plenty of kinky things at one point or another, but he'd never been big on actual bondage. It kind of scared him, really, not that he'd ever say that, but it was just too vulnerable a position. Like these guys? These two guards, who were supposed to be both protecting him and keeping him from leaving, could easily take advantage of the situation. They didn't, though, which Dean imagined probably had a lot to do with the strength of Sam's growing powers. When they were walking away, though, Dean realized that he wasn't just feeling relief. He was also feeling disappointment, desire, frustration, that they hadn't touched him. He could feel the pull of his desire for pleasure, for orgasm, and it was so strong, so strong he almost wanted to call them back, ask them to … something, anything.
And that uninhibited desire scared him more than the bindings holding him.
He shouldn't want them like that and he didn’t really want them like that, but he wanted contact, he wanted to come, so badly. Fuck! Whatever that oil was that Sam had him use today, it was messing with his mind, making him want things that he knew he'd never want with a clear head.
This was no good, no good at all.
He knew Sam had to push him sometimes to make him do what Sam wanted, give of himself in exactly the way Sam wanted, but Dean couldn't help that. It was just the way he was built. He just couldn't give in. He had to resist. It was just how he worked, how Winchester men in general seemed to work. And Dean would never be okay with all the ways Sam wanted him to debase himself, by begging and saying he was property and calling Sam "sir" and everything else like that. He hoped and prayed that this mind-altering substance wasn't going to be Sam's solution to Dean's humiliation hang-ups, because he really really didn't want to be a slave to his body like this, didn't want his body to ask for things his mind would rebel against later.
He closed his eyes and tried to quiet the hum of desire vibrating over his skin, but it seemed like even his breathing was movement enough to make him think about touching, and fucking, and coming, and-
"I see you were having trouble keeping your hands off my property."
Dean's eyelids rose as Sam walked to stand next to the bed. He hadn't heard the door either open or close, but this seemed too vivid to be another hallucination.
"I asked for help." It sounded like he had just been fucked into oblivion and it had been years since he last spoke.
"You did." Sam nodded, seeming to approve, and trailed his fingers over Dean's cheek. Dean's breath caught, his hips shifting slightly.
"Was that oil … some kind of … aphrodisiac?"
"Of course. A very strong one at that. It's not even meant for pure humans."
"Why? You can just …" He couldn't get any more words out as Sam's hands brushed over his shoulders and arms. His brain was flooded with need and he wanted to beg for release, for more contact, anything, but then Sam's hands were away from his skin and he could almost breathe again, though his words came out haltingly as his body rode out the remnants of shockwaves in his system. "You … can just … hurt me … and I give you … what you want."
"I want you to surrender willingly."
"That's … never gonna happen, Sam."
"Oh, really?" When Sam slid his hands over Dean's legs, his thumbs brushing over the insides of his thighs, Dean spread his legs, mindlessly offering more access, wanting more contact.
There was a part of him asking why he was doing this, arching into the touch of someone who abused his body for his own pleasure, but there was a louder part that couldn't form anything more coherent than oh god, oh fuck, oh please, oh please, touch me, please, oh god, fuck me, please, anything, I'll do anything, just, please, don't stop.
"What do you want right now, Dean? Do you want me to stop?"
"Oh god please no." It was out of his mouth before he could even begin to think it through, but he was having difficulty thinking in general with all the noise of desire buzzing in his head like a hundred thousand bees.
"What do you want, Dean? Tell me."
Sam's hands were almost massaging his legs, calf muscles up over his knees to his thighs, but never quite high enough to touch his cock, and never low enough to imply that Sam wanted him open for a fuck just yet. But god he wanted it, wanted Sam's cock there. He didn't though, he wanted Sam to stop. Only … he wanted Sam to touch him more.
"Touch me, god yes, like that, just, don't stop, please."
"Don't you want more than that, Dean? I can give you more than that. You want me to fuck you?"
Dean closed his eyes against the sight of Sam looking so hot, so edible, asking Dean if he wanted to be fucked right now. He wanted to be fucked through the floor right now. No … but … yes. He wanted to be fucked until he was coming so hard he'd hardly be able to breathe.
"Oh god, please, yes. Please, fuck me, yes." It was almost like he imagined being possessed must feel like.
The little rational part of himself and his own little Dean personality kept getting shoved out of the way when he had to open his mouth, because his body needed this, needed Sam to touch him, to fuck him, to do whatever as long as there was contact and release. His body would have him agree to things right now that his mind would never agree to, even on the hardest of designer drugs.
"If I'm going to do you a favor and fuck you. I'm going to want you to give me what I want. And I want you to like it. Can you do that for me, Dean?"
Sam left one hand making slow circles on the inside of Dean's thigh, while the other slid up over his abdomen, over his pecs, brushing over the hard nubs of his nipples. And Dean just wanted Sam to keep touching him, but … no … but … yes … wanted those fingers wrapped around his cock, just wanted Sam. He could do whatever, do it easy, make Sam feel good, if Sam would fuck him. Yeah.
"Anything, yes. Please, just fuck me. Please, anything." Not … anything … just fuck me.
"You wanna suck my cock?"
Dean licked his lips, but they didn't taste like Sam yet. He wanted them to taste like Sam.
"Yes, just, fuck yes."
"You wanna rim me?"
Sam leaned in to kiss him, but it was too short. He wanted more, wanted Sam fucking him, moaning into his mouth. Fuck, Sammy liked it down and dirty. He could give him that. Didn't want to … didn't used to … but … it'd be so nastyhot, yeah. Make Sam make all those fucking hot porno sounds he made whenever Dean used his talented tongue on him. Yeah.
"Yes, just, anything."
"You wanna feel my belt on your ass?"
He felt the tight hard tug on his nipple send a shock through his body as Sam pinched him there, breathing over lips but still too far away to kiss. Kinky bastard. He knew Sam would make it really hurt, maybe tear him up, so … no … but … fuck. Sam said he'd fuck him, fuck him deep and hard. He could take a little kink for the fuck of his life. Sammy'd make it good for him. He'd make it real good.
"… god yes, please just-"
"What if I wanted you to put on a show, whore you out to some friends, fuck you on the street like the dirty slut you are?"
Dean threw his head back against the headboard, shaking his head, not trusting his voice. Didn't want that, not, no, just … sounded so hot, though, put on display, people watching him, watching them together, fucking. Sam's hands closed tight around his cock, other fingers sliding down to press just below his sac, and fuck it was too good. All he could do was whisper "yes" and gasp for breath as his hips rose up, muscles tensing incredibly, then relaxing, like some kind of dry orgasm.
His thoughts came more into focus for a moment as he relaxed and he guessed that was the end of the aphrodisiac's hold on him. But then it flared up again and it almost seemed stronger this time, his body even more sensitive, his conscious self slipping further away from him, drowning in the wantneedsexnow.
He didn't want this anymore, wanted it to stop. It was all too much, too strong.
A tear slipped free from his closed eyes and he could feel its travel over his skin. Even that was turning him on. He thought this was a damn fine way to drive someone totally insane. Then Sam wasn't touching him anymore and his mind was so muddled that he couldn't tell if his anger towards his brother was more because he had used that oil on him or because he was denying him the pleasure of his touch.
"Why, Sam?" It was all he could manage.
"I told you. I want you to surrender willingly."
Dean didn't know how he would ever keep his grip on reality if Sam would want him drugged out like this all the time.
"Every day?" His voice was raspy, but the words came out like the whining plea of a child. He was more scared of this than the invisible fists that Sam could drive into his body. It would be worse to have the sexual needs of his body take over his mind entirely and leave him as a true sex slave to his brother, mindlessly begging for abuse in order to get even a moment of pleasure.
"No, Dean. I don't want to have to do this again. I want you to actually surrender willingly. When you're not under the influence of any substances like this one, I want you to offer yourself to me. You'll still have to do whatever I tell you to, but you won't have to lose so much of yourself in the process. If you can't give yourself to me with a clear head, then, yes, this will be your every day, your every waking hour. You'll become the simple pet who lives to please his master. I'd honestly rather have all of you kneel at my feet than only your body, but I won't tolerate your continued imaginings about yourself as a free person. You're not, Dean. You never will be again. There is no escape from this life. You're my personal whore, Dean. You are always and everywhere my property. You belong to me and not to yourself. That's just the way it is. And that's the way it will always be. You can either accept that. Or you can let your mind rot into mush and let your body give me what I want. Do you understand, Dean?"
Dean hated himself for this. For letting things get this far. For not being able to find someway to fight this. For having to give in. For having to kill off pieces of himself in order to survive. For being on the verge of tears because he felt so fucking violated, but he just kept begging for it. For almost, almost, starting to believe that maybe there really was no way out, that maybe he was just an owned thing, that whatever he was before may be gone forever, that he really was just a whore now, and that he would never be anything more than that.
Sure, he understood. It was an understanding that gnawed at his insides and made him want to crawl into a hole and die.
And yet somehow there was still that constant buzz of needneedsexplease.
Sam made no move to touch him, though, just stood by the bed and looked into his eyes. "Do you understand?"
"Yes." He nodded gravely.
"What are you, Dean?"
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Sam's eyes anymore. "I'm your property."
"Where?"
He swallowed, breath coming quick. "Everywhere."
"For how long?"
He couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine. "For always."
"Do you finally believe it, Dean? Do you really see the truth in what I'm telling you?"
"Yes." And he did. Almost.
"Good."
Sam stepped back, seemingly satisfied, and stripped down, not quite in a rush, but not trying to seduce either. Not that it would have taken him much with Dean's mind going fuckhotsexyboy. Dean thought maybe Sam wanted them to go to bed early or something, which would be okay with him after he got this stuff off his skin.
He thought he would go mad trying to continue to have coherent thoughts while there were so many half-formed, but powerful, sexsexsex ideas, needs, desires in his mind. It felt good, everything felt good, when Sam touched him, but it clouded his mind too much, it was too strong. "So, can I … take a shower or something … now?"
Sam laughed. "Of course not. I'm not done with you."
"But I thought-"
"I'm going to use you tonight, with the drug in your system."
"But you said, you wanted me to-"
"Tomorrow, Dean. Tonight, I need you to see what it feels like to be used with this sparking over your skin, muffling your mind. I need you to feel it and know, when you kneel to me tomorrow, that you'd really rather live consciously than in the perpetual state of frustration and bliss that this drug causes. I need you to know what you're giving up."
"I know. I do! It feels great, but it fucks with my head too much, Sam. Please, no. Don't do this."
"See, but as soon as I touch you, you'll say 'please, yes' and you'll beg for any and every thing that I'm willing to give you and do any and every thing that I tell you to. And you'll do it with joy in your heart and a rock hard dick."
"No. I won't."
"Dean, I know you still want to fight, still almost think you can, but you really can't. The drug is far stronger than your willpower can ever be. And so am I. Tonight, right as you are, without even increasing the dosage at all, you would kill for me."
Even as he shook his head, vigorously denying that there was any bit of truth to that statement, he could feel the strength of that part of him driven by the drug on his skin, in his blood. He didn't really know if he'd be able to say no if Sam was touching him, coaxing him on, promising pleasures. He didn't know. And that sent his heart into panic mode.
"No. No. No. No!"
"Shhh, Dean. I'm going to touch you, now, and the drug will take away all that conflict in you, all those tough questions, all those gray areas that are keeping you from the pleasure I can give."
Sam climbed onto the bed settling between Dean's legs, the sensation of Sam's skin brushing past his sending Dean hurtling back into the depths of drug-intensified sexual need. And feeling Sam's fingers run over the skin of his outstretched arms, Dean wanted everything Sam would give him. Sam captured his lips again, slipping his tongue over their curves, breathing hot into Dean's mouth. Dean kissed him back, hard, passionate, aggressive, wanting to taste more of him. But Sam pulled his head back, putting two fingers to Dean's lips.
"I love your enthusiasm, I do. But save it for my cock, slut." He smirked. "Or my ass. If my mouth is on yours, I'm driving. Got it?"
Dean nodded, but he needed more. It was like the more Sam touched him, the more he wanted to feel Sam on him, in him. "Please. More."
Sam's smile was sinister, and it scared him, but it also made his cock ache. "Of course, I'm gonna give you more. Everything you beg me for. I know you want me to fuck you. It'll be so good. You're gonna love it when I fuck you."
And Sam was kissing him again, a hand cradling Dean's head, and Dean was responsive, but pliant, like he hoped Sam wanted. Because he wanted Sam to give him what he needed, give him that good fuck, make him come, like he said he would. But then Dean was crying out into the kiss, Sam's trim nails scraping over his back, his powers helping Sam tear into him. Sam put his forehead to Dean's, still smiling and brought his hand to his mouth to lick traces of Dean's blood from his fingertips before swallowing Dean's lips back into a kiss. The pain and the taste of his own blood on his brother's tongue made Dean's stomach flip, but Sam's hands smoothing over the toned muscles of his sides made Dean want to stay and get fucked more than he wanted to run. He shivered, his body too cool, when Sam kissed over his cheek to lap at his neck, shifting on the bed because he wanted to go lower.
"Slide down, Dean. Lay down for me."
Dean hesitated, gaining some purchase on his mental processes, before Sam's fingers fluttered over his calves, ankles to knees, and he almost forgot what it was he wanted other than Sam, a hard fuck, and a good come.
"Can't get away from me that easily. I want you all the way on your back, slut. I mean, you did want me to fuck you, right?"
"Yes, god yes."
"Then do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it."
Dean nodded, sliding down until he was flat on his back, grimacing as his cuts hit the rough of the sheets. His breath caught when Sam bent to outline the angles and curves of his chest and abs with his tongue, slow, so slow, too damn slow. It was so good, feeling Sam's mouth on him, and he wanted that, more of that, but he wanted the fuck, wanted to ride Sam until they were both breathless. He shifted his hips seeking friction for his cock.
"Please. Please, more."
Sam pulled one of Dean's nipples into his mouth, lapping over it, and sucking on it gently, before biting it, hard, ripping a shout from Dean's throat. He felt Sam's hand wind around his cock as the ripples of pain gradually died down. It hurt, fuck, it hurt, he wanted to say something … but … he loved the glide of Sam's lips and teeth over his skin, even though he knew his eyes were watering when Sam leaned up to kiss his chin.
"I'm still driving, slut. You might want to remember that I own you and don't have give you anything. So you should address me with respect."
Sam's fingers were sliding up and down over Dean's cock, making Dean's hips parallel the motion, traveling up and down, breath coming fast.
"I'm sorry … sir. I just … I dunno if I can take much more."
"You'll take whatever more I want you to take."
Then Sam was kissing on the other side of his neck, slick lips pressing into his collarbone and lower, sliding over his chest to cover his yet unharmed nipple. He tensed for the sting of Sam's teeth, but Sam just mouthed over him, pumping his cock faster, and harder, Dean's pulse reaching a frenzied state.
"Please, please. I can't take anymore. Please, just, fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please!"
"Please what, Dean?" Sam bit down, then, so deep Dean thought he might bleed, thought he might weep, it hurt so bad.
He cried out and begged Sam proper, like he deserved. Because Sam owned him, because Sam hurt him, because Sam would fuck him if he begged the way he liked. "Please … sir. Please, sir, fuck me. Please, sir, please, fuck me."
And Sam was kneeling between his thighs, pulling one of Dean's legs over his shoulder and angling his dick at Dean's oil-slick entrance. "You're sure you want this cock, slut? You're sure you want me to fuck you? 'Cause I'm gonna fuck you 'til I'm done with you."
"Fuck yes. Just please, fuck me, sir. Please, fuck me."
When Sam pressed into him, thick cock stretching him wide, Dean's back arched off the bed, his ass rising to meet Sam's deep strokes. It burned, but it was so good, being so full, so full of Sam's cock, Sam's hands on his sides, Sam's chest against the back of his thigh. If heaven was an act available on Earth it would be sex, sex like this, just like this. Yes, he wanted to come, but he wanted this to go on forever.
"This is what you're really like inside, Dean. This is what you really want. The drug is strong, but it only takes you so far. It only shuts down your inhibitions and heightens your natural desires. You want me. You might even love me, even though you don't like me much right now. But you definitely want me. You want my hands on your body and yours on mine. You want my cock in your mouth, in your ass, fucking you senseless."
Sam was rolling his hips in the most delicious way, his cock rubbing over Dean's hotspot again and again until Dean was writhing and even his fuck me fuck me please yes just like that thoughts lost form and just became purer drives of need and want. He closed his eyes and tried not to just nod mindlessly, agreeing with everything that Sam was saying, but fuck it felt good when he did that right there. And fuck, it was so good. Maybe, maybe he was right. He wasn't, but … maybe. Fuck, so good. He wanted this, though, he wanted it bad, wanted it always, every day, all the time, fuck yes, just like that.
"You've been a slut for me ever since I was old enough to lust after you. You want to be my whore, Dean. You've always wanted to be my whore. Stop fighting what you want. You were made for this, Dean. Look at you, blissed-out and begging for me. You're not a Hunter anymore. This is what you are. This is what you were meant to be."
Sam took Dean's chin in one of his hands and turned him to look at the standing mirror.
"Open your eyes and see that you're a whore. My whore."
Dean groaned, eyelids flicking open and shut and open again, as he watched himself take each of Sam's deliberately slow thrusts. They were an erotic masterpiece in motion together. It was like fucking in stereo, in some kind of feedback loop. It felt fucking incredible, but then he got to watch, really watch, the shift of their hips towards and away from each other and he just wanted to fuck and watch himself be fucked, all night, and all day.
"You know you're my property, don't you Dean?"
"Yes." And I love the way you fuck your property. No. No. But, fuck, it felt so good.
The mirror really put him on display and the show was so fucking hot. He saw how obscene his mouth looked gaping wide to fill his lungs and release all the dirtysexy sounds he always swore he didn't make. His tongue snaked out to wet his lips and he knew he'd look just as hot, just as right, if Sam was fucking his mouth right now, fucking it until his lips were swollen and his throat was sore. Fuck, he wanted to come so bad, come just thinking about Sam fucking his mouth, come with Sam fucking his ass, so deep. Fuck!
"And you know you're my whore?"
"Yes, your whore." Your fucking whore, yes. No. He wasn't, wasn't a whore, wasn't, knew that, but … he loved the fucking, wanted to be fucked like a whore, like that, just like that. Fuck yes.
"You're not a Hunter. You're a whore."
He shook his head, but it was slow. He knew the answer was no, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Just fuck, that's what he wanted, wanted to fuck, wanted to fuck and come.
"You like this better, need this more, don't you, whore?"
"No." Yes, fuck yes. The swift rise and fall of his hips, riding Sam's dick at a brutal pace now, seemed to be saying absolutely yes, always, yes.
"You want me more than you want the Hunt? Want my body, my cock, more than anything? You need your Sammy more than anything, don' you, Dean?"
Fuck, he loved the feel of Sam in him, on him, the smell of Sam, the taste of him. This was what he needed, just this, more than anything. "Yes, god yes."
"You wanna come for your owner? For your master? For me?"
Oh fuck yes. "Yes, please, just need to, yes." Come, need to come, wanna come for you.
"Would you hurt someone for me? If that's what it took for me to keep fucking you, just like this?"
Fuck yes, like this? I'd fuck 'em up, just for this. "Yes." Shouldn't, no, but … fuck, so good. Need this, fucking need this, just like this, yes. Gonna come from this, just this, fuck.
"Would you kill so I'd let you come, Dean? Tell me the truth and I'll let you come, right now."
No, but …please just, need to, want to, come, please just, come, let me come, please, oh god yes, need to, need to, come, please yes. Can't kill, no, but … fucking need to come so bad, so bad.
"I asked you a question, whore. Would you kill for me?"
"No." No, but … maybe … need to come, oh god please, yes, just yes.
"Lies!"
Dean felt Sam's power wrap around his heart, tugging, and it hurt oh god it hurt, but the pain got mixed in with the pleasure, the fuck was still so good, it just had an edge. He liked the edge, loved the fuck, wanted to come so bad, so fucking bad. Need to come, anything, fucking anything, just, come, fuck, please, just need to come so bad.
"Say it, Dean. Tell me you'd kill for me."
"Yes!" Fuck yes, anything, just lemme come, please yes. Not kill, no. "Just, fucking lemme come, please. Fuck yes."
Sam slowed his pace with a smirk and reached down to snap off Dean's cockring and fist his cock. "Well fucking come then!"
And Sam picked up speed again, his hand only sliding over Dean's cock a few times before Dean came, screaming and shooting torrents of milky come between their bodies. His muscles clenched around Sam's cock and he felt Sam still, flooding into him as he shouted his own release.
Sam leaned heavily on him, then, spent, catching his breath. Dean was shivering now, though, his skin far too sensitive, reacting even to the shifts in the air around him as he lay under Sam. Sam eventually withdrew from his body and kneeled up, laughing.
"Damn, you're such a good little slut for me, Dean. I think I might want an encore performance of this tomorrow when you're all sobered up."
He slid off to stand, still snickering, and walked around the bed, releasing the chains attached to Dean's wrist cuffs. Then he reached out to gather Dean up in his arms. Dean felt like he could almost come again already just from being held to Sam's chest, like a sleeping child, as Sam took him into the bathroom. He'd already come so hard, but the sexnowcomenow buzzing was back with a vengeance, so loud it was mentally deafening.
Sam had him take a pill of some sort with a glass of water and left him under the cold spray of the shower while he calmed down. Dean could feel the constant need that had been pounding at the door of his mind slowly become more of a soft scratching, and then nothing. He was still sitting, huddled, in the bathtub, holding his knees to his chest, when Sam came back to turn off the water and check on him.
"How're you feeling?"
Dean couldn't look at him, but he knew he needed to reply. "I'm fine."
"I don't like it when you lie to me, Dean."
Looking at the tiles on the shower wall, Dean tried to bring his scattered thoughts into something coherent enough to get his point across. "You didn't … have to do that."
"Actually, I did. You need to let go of who and what you were before and accept who and what you are now. If I didn't push you tonight, I would've only had to push you harder later. Or kill you. Those tactics you use to keep yourself thinking like you're still a free person, like you're still a Hunter? All they're going to get you here is dead, Dean. Bury the Hunter and be the whore. Or I'll bury it for you, in drugs or blood."
Sam turned and left the bathroom again and Dean fell back into his own thoughts, shivering, now, from the cold. And the fear.
Sam was right. His attitude was going to get him killed. Or worse, he'd end up as some floundering bit of himself lost inside a body driven by the drug, driven solely by a desire for pleasure, with no thought about humiliation or pain or consequences as long as the end result was contact and release.
That, he couldn't live with.
If that was a direction Sam ever chose to take, Dean had no doubt in his mind that if he ever had a minute of clarity in a sea of mindless moments, he would quickly figure a way to kill himself.
If it came to that, he'd just rather be dead. But he really hoped he could avoid that, because he just wasn't quite ready to die.
If he was honest with himself, he knew about his tendency to want to do things his way, especially around Sam, because he'd always been the one in charge, the one with superior skills and know-how, and the one who was always just plain higher up in the food chain. He also knew how hard his ego constantly rebelled against Sam's newly-formed, narrow, and very skewed, understanding of him as having no redeeming qualities except how "pretty" he was and how good of a fuck he was.
Neither his need to do things his way or his strong sense of self were inherently bad or unhelpful in life, but as much as it hurt to admit, both of them were worthless in this situation.
They were less than worthless.
They were dangerous and wholly counter to his continued survival.
And really, he hated the idea of this being the permanent dynamic of his life, but he couldn't currently see any way out of it. From the billows of dark smoke that rose every day from some burning town or another not so far beyond the view of the window, it seemed like humanity was losing this war. But even if there were pockets of resistance, he'd never get to them. He was Sam's property and since Sam was apparently some big-name guy in the whole apocalypse scheme, the likelihood that Dean would be caught and dragged back here was terribly, scarily high. He didn't even want to imagine all the agony that Sam would have in store for him if he ever ran away. Even if Sam killed him, Dean knew it would be a long and brutal process.
What was even out there for him to escape to?
Sam was all he had left in the world and he wasn't ready to give that up yet. But he knew Sam came with conditions, so if he was going to survive and stay with Sam, he needed to shed some of the pieces of his past.
"Come to bed, Dean."
He thought about getting up. Sam was calling to him from the bedroom. When he stood, though, and stepped out of the tub, it felt like he was leaving a ghost of himself there, some part of who he was, still huddled there, trying to find strength in a life's mission that ended days ago and a family ruined long before that.
"Come to bed."
And he went, putting some things behind him, maybe for good, as he slipped under the covers, facing away from his brother.
Spooned around his body, Sam could speak right over his ear. "Do you understand, now, Dean?"
"Yeah." He could hear the resigned exhaustion in his own voice, but he didn't try to soften its roughness, its weakness.
"Tell me."
Dean drew in a shaky breath. He knew what Sam wanted and part of him didn't want to give it to him, but part of him knew it was inevitable. There was even some bit of him that really did believe what Sam was telling him. And it just kept taking up more room in his head and heart with every minute that he spent in this glorified cage as a living toy whose whole life was in Sam's hands.
"Dean." There was a warning in Sam's voice that told Dean to stop thinking and start talking. Or else.
"I'm your property. I'm your … whore."
"Which means you're not …"
"I'm not a Hunter anymore." It was only a whisper, and he knew it would never be completely true, but it was true enough to ache like a punch in the gut. Being a Hunter was all he'd ever known, all he'd ever been. Now he had to push it all away, shut down that part of him. And it felt like there was nothing left inside, like he was nothing.
"I can barely hear you." His tone was mocking. Not that it mattered.
"I'm not a Hunter anymore." His voice was stronger now, but gruff. It was like his throat knew what he was saying and wanted to make sure it sounded like it hurt, because it did.
"No. You're not. What are you?"
"I'm your property."
"And?"
"I'm your whore."
Author:
eboniorchidFandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Prompt: 007. Aroused. For
100moods, challenge table here. As well as: 005. Oil. For 50kinkyways, challenge table here.Word Count: 8565 words exactly.
Rating: NC-17 for language, sexuality, and violence.
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst! Dark! Future. Apocalypse. Manipulation. Non-con. Dubious-con. Wincest. Slash. Graphic m/m sex. Kink/BDSM. Smut. Plot. Violence. Humor. Cliché. AU after "Simon Said". Potential vague spoilers for "Home," "Nightmare," and "In My Time of Dying".
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: Dean's POV. Dean gets a harsh, but very sensual, lesson in letting go of the past and embracing his terrifying future.
Author's Notes: This story follows directly after Owned (NC-17: Sam/Dean). For more info about my Evil!Sammy Universe, including links to all installments, please go here.
"When I leave, I want you to get cleaned up. Really clean. As in everywhere. Then put on your cockring and rub this into you skin - face, body, everywhere."
Sam pushed a bottle of massage-type oil into Dean's palm, which he proceeded to sniff at. It seemed to smell musky and fruity at the same time, not exactly a scent he'd choose for cologne or anything, but it did make him feel a little cocky, sexy. Probably some kind of girlish aromatherapy deal or something. He smirked and quirked his eyebrow questioningly at Sam, but his unvoiced question was blatantly ignored.
"And it's safe for all those hard to reach places too. So, I expect you to be fully oiled up when I get back. While I'm gone, you're not allowed to touch yourself for sexual reasons and you're definitely not allowed to come. If you have trouble completing any of these instructions, just peek your head out the door and ask one of the guards to help you. Or, in the case of the no-touching rule, you can ask them to cuff you to the bed."
"What?! You can't be serious!" Up to this point, Dean had been almost-nodding and eye-rolling along with the instructions in his usual yeah-sure-whatever kind of way. But if Sam thought he would ever request to be locked up, then he had truly lost his frigging nearly-evil mind.
"When, lately, have I been something other than serious, Dean, really?"
"But why would I ask anyone to handcuff me to anything?!"
"Because, Dean." Sam took Dean's face in his rapidly heating hands and his thumbs began to press painfully into Dean's cheekbones. He was clearly frustrated by Dean's attitude and it seemed like he was both trying to get Dean's attention and trying to keep himself from doing the more serious harm that his body was tensing to inflict. "If you don't ask for help and you end up not following all my instructions and rules, I'm going to use you and hurt you until you're much more messy than pretty."
Dean suppressed a shudder, looking away from the dangerous promise in Sam's eyes. He'd already had several painful lessons in obedience, but somehow his mouth just kept getting him in trouble. He needed to learn shut the fuck up around Sam. But it was hard. Sometimes this Sam still just seemed like … Sam.
"I know you had trouble with classes back in the day, but, Dean- Look at me!" He waited until Dean was looking into his eyes again. "I can tell you right now, that this is one test that you do not want to fail. Do you understand?"
Dean nodded, as much as he could in Sam's grip, breathing out the word "yes".
"Good." Sam let go of him, then, and grabbed his bag, heading for the door. At the door, he paused, but didn't turn around. "Ask for help if you need it, Dean. I'm serious. Don't try to be the tough guy here. It's not worth it."
And with that, Sam was gone, door shut tight behind him.
Touching the warm spots, bound to bruise, where Sam's thumbs had been, Dean wondered if Sam's parting words were any indication that Sam still cared about him, even if only a little. Sam had given him a sort of warning, a warning not to get on his wrong side tonight. It wasn't like things would ever not end badly if he rubbed Sam the wrong way, but it sounded like there was some reason he should tread even more lightly tonight. He knew thinking Sam was even still capable of caring about him was kind of a long shot, what with Sam forcing him, abusing him, basically enslaving him, and everything. But he just knew that his Sam was still a part of this new Sam, so he couldn't stop himself from wanting to hold on to a few positive possibilities.
Really, Sam didn't have to warn him at all, so the fact that he had was evidence of some kind of emotional attachment, right? Or maybe Sam would just prefer to not have to wait for his lackeys to clean up the mess after he puréed Dean's organs with his mind.
It was kind of hard for Dean to know what was going on in his brother's head. Sometimes it seemed like Sam punished him because he felt he had to and not necessarily because he just wanted to. But at the same time, he could tell how much Sam got off on hurting him. It was almost like part of Sam didn't like the idea of hurting Dean, but another part of him loved actually doing it.
All the more reason for Dean to stop stalling and do as he'd been told.
Dean had no idea what kind of hours demons might keep while attempting to coordinate an effective apocalypse, so he had no idea how to best organize his time. It could easily be hours before Sam came sweeping back into the room again, but he knew, even this early in their new … relationship … that it was probably best not to waste time doing things that Sam hadn't explicitly put on the list. If Sam showed up in an hour and Dean had done nothing, he would be in for a world of hurt and he was still sore from last night, so punishment for disobedience was not one of his preferred options.
No sense in leaving himself open for disciplinary measures he could just as easily avoid.
Deliberately and forcefully, he shoved away any twisted comparisons his brain tried to make between being a good son to his father and being … whatever he was now … to Sam.
He went to the bathroom and began running himself a bath. He wasn't usually a bath kind of guy - hell, sometimes they'd hardly had enough time or funds to secure a hot shower - but if Sam wanted him "really-clean-as-in-everywhere," whatever the hell that meant, then it would just be easier to let the water seep in naturally.
Walking back out into the main room, Dean figured he should find something to do while he waited for the massive tub to fill. Sam wasn't allowing him any contact with the outside world, except whatever he could see outside the window. The television and phone that were once a part of the suite were removed sometime while he slept that first night after the … change.
What could he even call something like that? The night on the day the world died? The first night of Hell-On-Earth? The first night he slept beside the brother who wasn't really his brother anymore? The whole situation was just so fucked up in every way he could think of and, he realized, it wouldn't make any more sense just because he could find a way to give all the horrific changes catchy titles.
But catchy titles did lead him to think of at least one form of mild entertainment and he approached the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. He was curious, if only because he couldn't remember if that bookshelf had always been there or if Sam had it brought in that night the TV was taken away. Sam was the reader, far more than him, but he could read if he had to.
Like for Hunts.
He grabbed one book, largely at random, because it was thin and green, and, well, he kind of liked green and figured if it didn't work for him, he probably wouldn't know until he was already halfway through the book, which seemed to only be a hundred pages, or so, long. Candide didn't really seem like Hunting material, but neither did any of the other titles and he was not going just sit around for twenty minutes twiddling his thumbs.
Besides, maybe if he read stuff that Sam might read, they could, ya know, talk, or something, which, again, wasn't really his thing, but it might give him a break from being some kind of fuck-hole or pin-cushion for a few hours and that was reason enough to at least try.
Fifteen minutes later, he'd determined that the book really wasn't that bad. It was kind of funny and bizarre, if a little old-worldsy with the language. He almost thought to take it into the bath with him, but on a second review of that idea, he kicked himself for starting to act like this was just some fucking vacation. Sam might be glad he was reading something and could carry on intelligent conversation, but he would definitely be pissed if Dean ended up reading instead of doing what Sam had told him to do.
He set the book down and went to get clean.
After toweling off while the water drained from the bath, Dean wandered out of the bathroom to put on his cockring and do the kinky aromatherapy oil thing that Sam wanted him to do. He tried not to be flippant, but come on, leave it to Sam to go all big bad and still act like a frigging girl.
The oil was smooth enough going on and Dean was flexible enough to get it most places it was supposed to go and maybe a few it wasn't. It made his skin tingle and the smell was starting to go to his head. He felt damn hot, totally fuckable, and totally wanting to fuck. His cock was hard as nails by the time he was through. Flexing in the standing mirror, he decided that maybe Sam wasn't a total girl. He looked and felt fucking great, skin glistening like some goddamned Hollywood stud. And it was like the more he moved, the more he smoothed his hands over his skin, the more turned on he got.
In very little time at all, it felt like his skin was on fire, but a kind of pleasurable fire. A really pleasurable fire. Okay, maybe not fire, maybe it was more as if passion was a living thing and it was brushing all over every bit of his body, inside and out. He'd thought that Sam's instructions were leading up to some kind of special night and now he could see how. He'd never been so fascinated by the feel of his own hands on his body. He closed his eyes and just felt his hand slide over his chest, down over his abs, and stop at dip above his thighs, hand clenching into a fist.
Damn, he wanted to jack right now. He just knew it would feel in-fucking-credible. Damn Sam, with all his fucking rules, as if Dean couldn't be up and ready for Sam to torment after only one little round of alone time.
He didn't do it though.
It was his first official day as Sam's … property … and the night had been rough, with Sam keeping him on the edge of orgasm for what seemed like hours while he repeated the new mantra of their twisted relationship over and over again. He knew it had to be a kind of brainwashing, a kind of hypnotism, to have him repeat it constantly while so sexually aroused and to punish every slip, every hesitation with piercing pain in his chest. But that didn't help Dean feel any better for believing his new status more now than he had the day before. Even so, he remembered how Sam still seemed unsure about how deeply that belief ran.
And if the intensity of his current desires would be used against him like it had last night, Dean had every reason to be seriously concerned that Sam might really get to him, deep, under his skin, in ways he hadn't managed yet. Dean was sure that tonight Sam would take him to the edge of himself and push him until he truly cracked.
Then he was chained to the bed and Sam's hands were on him and he wanted to come so bad it almost hurt.
But then the room flickered back into focus and he was still standing in front of the mirror, with the start of a headache blossoming behind his eyes.
Either he was too horny for his own good or the kinky oil had hallucinogenic properties. He could still feel the lingering traces of Sam's hands on his body and found his hand drifting to his throbbing dick, and thought, just for a minute, that maybe he could jack, just a little, and Sam wouldn't ever really know.
Then he was up against the wall and Sam's body was burning hot against his as talons of power tore into him and he screamed.
But then the room swam back around him and he was on his knees in front of the mirror, doubled over with a mere echo of pain.
And he was still achingly hard.
He was somehow even more aroused, his focus narrowing almost exclusively to his desire to feel the rush like when Sam touched him in his moment of delirium and damn did he want to come. Fuck! He wanted to fuck. He wanted to come. Fuck! He wanted Sam to come home, to touch him like that. Even if Sam wanted to hurt him, that'd be okay if Sammy fucked him good, made him come. Maybe he could like it, learn to like it, like the pain, if Sam would touch him, make his skin pulse with pleasure, if Sam would fuck him, pound over that hot spot for him, make him come real good, make him come. Fuck! He wanted to come so bad. He'd take the pain, just to come.
When he felt the rub of carpet on his dick, he realized that he'd unknowingly closed his eyes and stretched out on the floor, slowly grinding his body down, feeling the friction on his skin. He glanced up and saw himself partially reflected in the mirror, hips grinding down slow like they were meant to tease, lips parted and slick from him licking over them, tan skin flushed pink, eyes half-lidded with want. He looked like a pornstar, or a gigalo.
And that just made him want to come even more, but he shook his head, trying to clear it.
Things were getting way out of control and in a minute, if he didn't do something, he would end up sealing a contract for a night of mind-splitting torture instead of whatever kinky sex Sam had planned. That would be no good. If he was honest with himself, though, he had to acknowledge that his body was quickly overpowering his mind and he might not be able to just will himself not to jack or not to come anymore.
He now understood why Sam had suggested the handcuffs and decided to take that offer as graciously as he could.
The guards were nice enough when he asked, though he felt a confusing mix of shame and desire to have two fairly attractive guys looking at his naked body. They must have known the deal, though, because they tried their best to touch him as little as possible. For that reason, they didn't arrange him on the bed as Sam might have done, but just told him how to sit in the center. Then each of them attached one leather cuff with a D-ring to one of his wrists and threaded a chain through that D-ring which was then attached to the bed post on whatever side was closest to the arm they were securing. The chains were loose enough so that he could either sit up with his back against the headboard or lie down on his back with the top of his head at the headboard, but they were tight enough to keep him from standing or from somehow contorting his body in a way that would allow him to reach his dick with one of his hands. Which was probably good, because, really, in the state he was in, and with his known flexibilities, he didn't trust himself not to try for some kind of crazy human pretzel wanking. This was also reason number seven million and six why he maybe should have let that Fyarl carve out a couple of his ribs.
Fuck, it was twisted that he was so horny he was wishing for more battle scars.
Dean had, of course, tried plenty of kinky things at one point or another, but he'd never been big on actual bondage. It kind of scared him, really, not that he'd ever say that, but it was just too vulnerable a position. Like these guys? These two guards, who were supposed to be both protecting him and keeping him from leaving, could easily take advantage of the situation. They didn't, though, which Dean imagined probably had a lot to do with the strength of Sam's growing powers. When they were walking away, though, Dean realized that he wasn't just feeling relief. He was also feeling disappointment, desire, frustration, that they hadn't touched him. He could feel the pull of his desire for pleasure, for orgasm, and it was so strong, so strong he almost wanted to call them back, ask them to … something, anything.
And that uninhibited desire scared him more than the bindings holding him.
He shouldn't want them like that and he didn’t really want them like that, but he wanted contact, he wanted to come, so badly. Fuck! Whatever that oil was that Sam had him use today, it was messing with his mind, making him want things that he knew he'd never want with a clear head.
This was no good, no good at all.
He knew Sam had to push him sometimes to make him do what Sam wanted, give of himself in exactly the way Sam wanted, but Dean couldn't help that. It was just the way he was built. He just couldn't give in. He had to resist. It was just how he worked, how Winchester men in general seemed to work. And Dean would never be okay with all the ways Sam wanted him to debase himself, by begging and saying he was property and calling Sam "sir" and everything else like that. He hoped and prayed that this mind-altering substance wasn't going to be Sam's solution to Dean's humiliation hang-ups, because he really really didn't want to be a slave to his body like this, didn't want his body to ask for things his mind would rebel against later.
He closed his eyes and tried to quiet the hum of desire vibrating over his skin, but it seemed like even his breathing was movement enough to make him think about touching, and fucking, and coming, and-
"I see you were having trouble keeping your hands off my property."
Dean's eyelids rose as Sam walked to stand next to the bed. He hadn't heard the door either open or close, but this seemed too vivid to be another hallucination.
"I asked for help." It sounded like he had just been fucked into oblivion and it had been years since he last spoke.
"You did." Sam nodded, seeming to approve, and trailed his fingers over Dean's cheek. Dean's breath caught, his hips shifting slightly.
"Was that oil … some kind of … aphrodisiac?"
"Of course. A very strong one at that. It's not even meant for pure humans."
"Why? You can just …" He couldn't get any more words out as Sam's hands brushed over his shoulders and arms. His brain was flooded with need and he wanted to beg for release, for more contact, anything, but then Sam's hands were away from his skin and he could almost breathe again, though his words came out haltingly as his body rode out the remnants of shockwaves in his system. "You … can just … hurt me … and I give you … what you want."
"I want you to surrender willingly."
"That's … never gonna happen, Sam."
"Oh, really?" When Sam slid his hands over Dean's legs, his thumbs brushing over the insides of his thighs, Dean spread his legs, mindlessly offering more access, wanting more contact.
There was a part of him asking why he was doing this, arching into the touch of someone who abused his body for his own pleasure, but there was a louder part that couldn't form anything more coherent than oh god, oh fuck, oh please, oh please, touch me, please, oh god, fuck me, please, anything, I'll do anything, just, please, don't stop.
"What do you want right now, Dean? Do you want me to stop?"
"Oh god please no." It was out of his mouth before he could even begin to think it through, but he was having difficulty thinking in general with all the noise of desire buzzing in his head like a hundred thousand bees.
"What do you want, Dean? Tell me."
Sam's hands were almost massaging his legs, calf muscles up over his knees to his thighs, but never quite high enough to touch his cock, and never low enough to imply that Sam wanted him open for a fuck just yet. But god he wanted it, wanted Sam's cock there. He didn't though, he wanted Sam to stop. Only … he wanted Sam to touch him more.
"Touch me, god yes, like that, just, don't stop, please."
"Don't you want more than that, Dean? I can give you more than that. You want me to fuck you?"
Dean closed his eyes against the sight of Sam looking so hot, so edible, asking Dean if he wanted to be fucked right now. He wanted to be fucked through the floor right now. No … but … yes. He wanted to be fucked until he was coming so hard he'd hardly be able to breathe.
"Oh god, please, yes. Please, fuck me, yes." It was almost like he imagined being possessed must feel like.
The little rational part of himself and his own little Dean personality kept getting shoved out of the way when he had to open his mouth, because his body needed this, needed Sam to touch him, to fuck him, to do whatever as long as there was contact and release. His body would have him agree to things right now that his mind would never agree to, even on the hardest of designer drugs.
"If I'm going to do you a favor and fuck you. I'm going to want you to give me what I want. And I want you to like it. Can you do that for me, Dean?"
Sam left one hand making slow circles on the inside of Dean's thigh, while the other slid up over his abdomen, over his pecs, brushing over the hard nubs of his nipples. And Dean just wanted Sam to keep touching him, but … no … but … yes … wanted those fingers wrapped around his cock, just wanted Sam. He could do whatever, do it easy, make Sam feel good, if Sam would fuck him. Yeah.
"Anything, yes. Please, just fuck me. Please, anything." Not … anything … just fuck me.
"You wanna suck my cock?"
Dean licked his lips, but they didn't taste like Sam yet. He wanted them to taste like Sam.
"Yes, just, fuck yes."
"You wanna rim me?"
Sam leaned in to kiss him, but it was too short. He wanted more, wanted Sam fucking him, moaning into his mouth. Fuck, Sammy liked it down and dirty. He could give him that. Didn't want to … didn't used to … but … it'd be so nastyhot, yeah. Make Sam make all those fucking hot porno sounds he made whenever Dean used his talented tongue on him. Yeah.
"Yes, just, anything."
"You wanna feel my belt on your ass?"
He felt the tight hard tug on his nipple send a shock through his body as Sam pinched him there, breathing over lips but still too far away to kiss. Kinky bastard. He knew Sam would make it really hurt, maybe tear him up, so … no … but … fuck. Sam said he'd fuck him, fuck him deep and hard. He could take a little kink for the fuck of his life. Sammy'd make it good for him. He'd make it real good.
"… god yes, please just-"
"What if I wanted you to put on a show, whore you out to some friends, fuck you on the street like the dirty slut you are?"
Dean threw his head back against the headboard, shaking his head, not trusting his voice. Didn't want that, not, no, just … sounded so hot, though, put on display, people watching him, watching them together, fucking. Sam's hands closed tight around his cock, other fingers sliding down to press just below his sac, and fuck it was too good. All he could do was whisper "yes" and gasp for breath as his hips rose up, muscles tensing incredibly, then relaxing, like some kind of dry orgasm.
His thoughts came more into focus for a moment as he relaxed and he guessed that was the end of the aphrodisiac's hold on him. But then it flared up again and it almost seemed stronger this time, his body even more sensitive, his conscious self slipping further away from him, drowning in the wantneedsexnow.
He didn't want this anymore, wanted it to stop. It was all too much, too strong.
A tear slipped free from his closed eyes and he could feel its travel over his skin. Even that was turning him on. He thought this was a damn fine way to drive someone totally insane. Then Sam wasn't touching him anymore and his mind was so muddled that he couldn't tell if his anger towards his brother was more because he had used that oil on him or because he was denying him the pleasure of his touch.
"Why, Sam?" It was all he could manage.
"I told you. I want you to surrender willingly."
Dean didn't know how he would ever keep his grip on reality if Sam would want him drugged out like this all the time.
"Every day?" His voice was raspy, but the words came out like the whining plea of a child. He was more scared of this than the invisible fists that Sam could drive into his body. It would be worse to have the sexual needs of his body take over his mind entirely and leave him as a true sex slave to his brother, mindlessly begging for abuse in order to get even a moment of pleasure.
"No, Dean. I don't want to have to do this again. I want you to actually surrender willingly. When you're not under the influence of any substances like this one, I want you to offer yourself to me. You'll still have to do whatever I tell you to, but you won't have to lose so much of yourself in the process. If you can't give yourself to me with a clear head, then, yes, this will be your every day, your every waking hour. You'll become the simple pet who lives to please his master. I'd honestly rather have all of you kneel at my feet than only your body, but I won't tolerate your continued imaginings about yourself as a free person. You're not, Dean. You never will be again. There is no escape from this life. You're my personal whore, Dean. You are always and everywhere my property. You belong to me and not to yourself. That's just the way it is. And that's the way it will always be. You can either accept that. Or you can let your mind rot into mush and let your body give me what I want. Do you understand, Dean?"
Dean hated himself for this. For letting things get this far. For not being able to find someway to fight this. For having to give in. For having to kill off pieces of himself in order to survive. For being on the verge of tears because he felt so fucking violated, but he just kept begging for it. For almost, almost, starting to believe that maybe there really was no way out, that maybe he was just an owned thing, that whatever he was before may be gone forever, that he really was just a whore now, and that he would never be anything more than that.
Sure, he understood. It was an understanding that gnawed at his insides and made him want to crawl into a hole and die.
And yet somehow there was still that constant buzz of needneedsexplease.
Sam made no move to touch him, though, just stood by the bed and looked into his eyes. "Do you understand?"
"Yes." He nodded gravely.
"What are you, Dean?"
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Sam's eyes anymore. "I'm your property."
"Where?"
He swallowed, breath coming quick. "Everywhere."
"For how long?"
He couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine. "For always."
"Do you finally believe it, Dean? Do you really see the truth in what I'm telling you?"
"Yes." And he did. Almost.
"Good."
Sam stepped back, seemingly satisfied, and stripped down, not quite in a rush, but not trying to seduce either. Not that it would have taken him much with Dean's mind going fuckhotsexyboy. Dean thought maybe Sam wanted them to go to bed early or something, which would be okay with him after he got this stuff off his skin.
He thought he would go mad trying to continue to have coherent thoughts while there were so many half-formed, but powerful, sexsexsex ideas, needs, desires in his mind. It felt good, everything felt good, when Sam touched him, but it clouded his mind too much, it was too strong. "So, can I … take a shower or something … now?"
Sam laughed. "Of course not. I'm not done with you."
"But I thought-"
"I'm going to use you tonight, with the drug in your system."
"But you said, you wanted me to-"
"Tomorrow, Dean. Tonight, I need you to see what it feels like to be used with this sparking over your skin, muffling your mind. I need you to feel it and know, when you kneel to me tomorrow, that you'd really rather live consciously than in the perpetual state of frustration and bliss that this drug causes. I need you to know what you're giving up."
"I know. I do! It feels great, but it fucks with my head too much, Sam. Please, no. Don't do this."
"See, but as soon as I touch you, you'll say 'please, yes' and you'll beg for any and every thing that I'm willing to give you and do any and every thing that I tell you to. And you'll do it with joy in your heart and a rock hard dick."
"No. I won't."
"Dean, I know you still want to fight, still almost think you can, but you really can't. The drug is far stronger than your willpower can ever be. And so am I. Tonight, right as you are, without even increasing the dosage at all, you would kill for me."
Even as he shook his head, vigorously denying that there was any bit of truth to that statement, he could feel the strength of that part of him driven by the drug on his skin, in his blood. He didn't really know if he'd be able to say no if Sam was touching him, coaxing him on, promising pleasures. He didn't know. And that sent his heart into panic mode.
"No. No. No. No!"
"Shhh, Dean. I'm going to touch you, now, and the drug will take away all that conflict in you, all those tough questions, all those gray areas that are keeping you from the pleasure I can give."
Sam climbed onto the bed settling between Dean's legs, the sensation of Sam's skin brushing past his sending Dean hurtling back into the depths of drug-intensified sexual need. And feeling Sam's fingers run over the skin of his outstretched arms, Dean wanted everything Sam would give him. Sam captured his lips again, slipping his tongue over their curves, breathing hot into Dean's mouth. Dean kissed him back, hard, passionate, aggressive, wanting to taste more of him. But Sam pulled his head back, putting two fingers to Dean's lips.
"I love your enthusiasm, I do. But save it for my cock, slut." He smirked. "Or my ass. If my mouth is on yours, I'm driving. Got it?"
Dean nodded, but he needed more. It was like the more Sam touched him, the more he wanted to feel Sam on him, in him. "Please. More."
Sam's smile was sinister, and it scared him, but it also made his cock ache. "Of course, I'm gonna give you more. Everything you beg me for. I know you want me to fuck you. It'll be so good. You're gonna love it when I fuck you."
And Sam was kissing him again, a hand cradling Dean's head, and Dean was responsive, but pliant, like he hoped Sam wanted. Because he wanted Sam to give him what he needed, give him that good fuck, make him come, like he said he would. But then Dean was crying out into the kiss, Sam's trim nails scraping over his back, his powers helping Sam tear into him. Sam put his forehead to Dean's, still smiling and brought his hand to his mouth to lick traces of Dean's blood from his fingertips before swallowing Dean's lips back into a kiss. The pain and the taste of his own blood on his brother's tongue made Dean's stomach flip, but Sam's hands smoothing over the toned muscles of his sides made Dean want to stay and get fucked more than he wanted to run. He shivered, his body too cool, when Sam kissed over his cheek to lap at his neck, shifting on the bed because he wanted to go lower.
"Slide down, Dean. Lay down for me."
Dean hesitated, gaining some purchase on his mental processes, before Sam's fingers fluttered over his calves, ankles to knees, and he almost forgot what it was he wanted other than Sam, a hard fuck, and a good come.
"Can't get away from me that easily. I want you all the way on your back, slut. I mean, you did want me to fuck you, right?"
"Yes, god yes."
"Then do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it."
Dean nodded, sliding down until he was flat on his back, grimacing as his cuts hit the rough of the sheets. His breath caught when Sam bent to outline the angles and curves of his chest and abs with his tongue, slow, so slow, too damn slow. It was so good, feeling Sam's mouth on him, and he wanted that, more of that, but he wanted the fuck, wanted to ride Sam until they were both breathless. He shifted his hips seeking friction for his cock.
"Please. Please, more."
Sam pulled one of Dean's nipples into his mouth, lapping over it, and sucking on it gently, before biting it, hard, ripping a shout from Dean's throat. He felt Sam's hand wind around his cock as the ripples of pain gradually died down. It hurt, fuck, it hurt, he wanted to say something … but … he loved the glide of Sam's lips and teeth over his skin, even though he knew his eyes were watering when Sam leaned up to kiss his chin.
"I'm still driving, slut. You might want to remember that I own you and don't have give you anything. So you should address me with respect."
Sam's fingers were sliding up and down over Dean's cock, making Dean's hips parallel the motion, traveling up and down, breath coming fast.
"I'm sorry … sir. I just … I dunno if I can take much more."
"You'll take whatever more I want you to take."
Then Sam was kissing on the other side of his neck, slick lips pressing into his collarbone and lower, sliding over his chest to cover his yet unharmed nipple. He tensed for the sting of Sam's teeth, but Sam just mouthed over him, pumping his cock faster, and harder, Dean's pulse reaching a frenzied state.
"Please, please. I can't take anymore. Please, just, fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please!"
"Please what, Dean?" Sam bit down, then, so deep Dean thought he might bleed, thought he might weep, it hurt so bad.
He cried out and begged Sam proper, like he deserved. Because Sam owned him, because Sam hurt him, because Sam would fuck him if he begged the way he liked. "Please … sir. Please, sir, fuck me. Please, sir, please, fuck me."
And Sam was kneeling between his thighs, pulling one of Dean's legs over his shoulder and angling his dick at Dean's oil-slick entrance. "You're sure you want this cock, slut? You're sure you want me to fuck you? 'Cause I'm gonna fuck you 'til I'm done with you."
"Fuck yes. Just please, fuck me, sir. Please, fuck me."
When Sam pressed into him, thick cock stretching him wide, Dean's back arched off the bed, his ass rising to meet Sam's deep strokes. It burned, but it was so good, being so full, so full of Sam's cock, Sam's hands on his sides, Sam's chest against the back of his thigh. If heaven was an act available on Earth it would be sex, sex like this, just like this. Yes, he wanted to come, but he wanted this to go on forever.
"This is what you're really like inside, Dean. This is what you really want. The drug is strong, but it only takes you so far. It only shuts down your inhibitions and heightens your natural desires. You want me. You might even love me, even though you don't like me much right now. But you definitely want me. You want my hands on your body and yours on mine. You want my cock in your mouth, in your ass, fucking you senseless."
Sam was rolling his hips in the most delicious way, his cock rubbing over Dean's hotspot again and again until Dean was writhing and even his fuck me fuck me please yes just like that thoughts lost form and just became purer drives of need and want. He closed his eyes and tried not to just nod mindlessly, agreeing with everything that Sam was saying, but fuck it felt good when he did that right there. And fuck, it was so good. Maybe, maybe he was right. He wasn't, but … maybe. Fuck, so good. He wanted this, though, he wanted it bad, wanted it always, every day, all the time, fuck yes, just like that.
"You've been a slut for me ever since I was old enough to lust after you. You want to be my whore, Dean. You've always wanted to be my whore. Stop fighting what you want. You were made for this, Dean. Look at you, blissed-out and begging for me. You're not a Hunter anymore. This is what you are. This is what you were meant to be."
Sam took Dean's chin in one of his hands and turned him to look at the standing mirror.
"Open your eyes and see that you're a whore. My whore."
Dean groaned, eyelids flicking open and shut and open again, as he watched himself take each of Sam's deliberately slow thrusts. They were an erotic masterpiece in motion together. It was like fucking in stereo, in some kind of feedback loop. It felt fucking incredible, but then he got to watch, really watch, the shift of their hips towards and away from each other and he just wanted to fuck and watch himself be fucked, all night, and all day.
"You know you're my property, don't you Dean?"
"Yes." And I love the way you fuck your property. No. No. But, fuck, it felt so good.
The mirror really put him on display and the show was so fucking hot. He saw how obscene his mouth looked gaping wide to fill his lungs and release all the dirtysexy sounds he always swore he didn't make. His tongue snaked out to wet his lips and he knew he'd look just as hot, just as right, if Sam was fucking his mouth right now, fucking it until his lips were swollen and his throat was sore. Fuck, he wanted to come so bad, come just thinking about Sam fucking his mouth, come with Sam fucking his ass, so deep. Fuck!
"And you know you're my whore?"
"Yes, your whore." Your fucking whore, yes. No. He wasn't, wasn't a whore, wasn't, knew that, but … he loved the fucking, wanted to be fucked like a whore, like that, just like that. Fuck yes.
"You're not a Hunter. You're a whore."
He shook his head, but it was slow. He knew the answer was no, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Just fuck, that's what he wanted, wanted to fuck, wanted to fuck and come.
"You like this better, need this more, don't you, whore?"
"No." Yes, fuck yes. The swift rise and fall of his hips, riding Sam's dick at a brutal pace now, seemed to be saying absolutely yes, always, yes.
"You want me more than you want the Hunt? Want my body, my cock, more than anything? You need your Sammy more than anything, don' you, Dean?"
Fuck, he loved the feel of Sam in him, on him, the smell of Sam, the taste of him. This was what he needed, just this, more than anything. "Yes, god yes."
"You wanna come for your owner? For your master? For me?"
Oh fuck yes. "Yes, please, just need to, yes." Come, need to come, wanna come for you.
"Would you hurt someone for me? If that's what it took for me to keep fucking you, just like this?"
Fuck yes, like this? I'd fuck 'em up, just for this. "Yes." Shouldn't, no, but … fuck, so good. Need this, fucking need this, just like this, yes. Gonna come from this, just this, fuck.
"Would you kill so I'd let you come, Dean? Tell me the truth and I'll let you come, right now."
No, but …please just, need to, want to, come, please just, come, let me come, please, oh god yes, need to, need to, come, please yes. Can't kill, no, but … fucking need to come so bad, so bad.
"I asked you a question, whore. Would you kill for me?"
"No." No, but … maybe … need to come, oh god please, yes, just yes.
"Lies!"
Dean felt Sam's power wrap around his heart, tugging, and it hurt oh god it hurt, but the pain got mixed in with the pleasure, the fuck was still so good, it just had an edge. He liked the edge, loved the fuck, wanted to come so bad, so fucking bad. Need to come, anything, fucking anything, just, come, fuck, please, just need to come so bad.
"Say it, Dean. Tell me you'd kill for me."
"Yes!" Fuck yes, anything, just lemme come, please yes. Not kill, no. "Just, fucking lemme come, please. Fuck yes."
Sam slowed his pace with a smirk and reached down to snap off Dean's cockring and fist his cock. "Well fucking come then!"
And Sam picked up speed again, his hand only sliding over Dean's cock a few times before Dean came, screaming and shooting torrents of milky come between their bodies. His muscles clenched around Sam's cock and he felt Sam still, flooding into him as he shouted his own release.
Sam leaned heavily on him, then, spent, catching his breath. Dean was shivering now, though, his skin far too sensitive, reacting even to the shifts in the air around him as he lay under Sam. Sam eventually withdrew from his body and kneeled up, laughing.
"Damn, you're such a good little slut for me, Dean. I think I might want an encore performance of this tomorrow when you're all sobered up."
He slid off to stand, still snickering, and walked around the bed, releasing the chains attached to Dean's wrist cuffs. Then he reached out to gather Dean up in his arms. Dean felt like he could almost come again already just from being held to Sam's chest, like a sleeping child, as Sam took him into the bathroom. He'd already come so hard, but the sexnowcomenow buzzing was back with a vengeance, so loud it was mentally deafening.
Sam had him take a pill of some sort with a glass of water and left him under the cold spray of the shower while he calmed down. Dean could feel the constant need that had been pounding at the door of his mind slowly become more of a soft scratching, and then nothing. He was still sitting, huddled, in the bathtub, holding his knees to his chest, when Sam came back to turn off the water and check on him.
"How're you feeling?"
Dean couldn't look at him, but he knew he needed to reply. "I'm fine."
"I don't like it when you lie to me, Dean."
Looking at the tiles on the shower wall, Dean tried to bring his scattered thoughts into something coherent enough to get his point across. "You didn't … have to do that."
"Actually, I did. You need to let go of who and what you were before and accept who and what you are now. If I didn't push you tonight, I would've only had to push you harder later. Or kill you. Those tactics you use to keep yourself thinking like you're still a free person, like you're still a Hunter? All they're going to get you here is dead, Dean. Bury the Hunter and be the whore. Or I'll bury it for you, in drugs or blood."
Sam turned and left the bathroom again and Dean fell back into his own thoughts, shivering, now, from the cold. And the fear.
Sam was right. His attitude was going to get him killed. Or worse, he'd end up as some floundering bit of himself lost inside a body driven by the drug, driven solely by a desire for pleasure, with no thought about humiliation or pain or consequences as long as the end result was contact and release.
That, he couldn't live with.
If that was a direction Sam ever chose to take, Dean had no doubt in his mind that if he ever had a minute of clarity in a sea of mindless moments, he would quickly figure a way to kill himself.
If it came to that, he'd just rather be dead. But he really hoped he could avoid that, because he just wasn't quite ready to die.
If he was honest with himself, he knew about his tendency to want to do things his way, especially around Sam, because he'd always been the one in charge, the one with superior skills and know-how, and the one who was always just plain higher up in the food chain. He also knew how hard his ego constantly rebelled against Sam's newly-formed, narrow, and very skewed, understanding of him as having no redeeming qualities except how "pretty" he was and how good of a fuck he was.
Neither his need to do things his way or his strong sense of self were inherently bad or unhelpful in life, but as much as it hurt to admit, both of them were worthless in this situation.
They were less than worthless.
They were dangerous and wholly counter to his continued survival.
And really, he hated the idea of this being the permanent dynamic of his life, but he couldn't currently see any way out of it. From the billows of dark smoke that rose every day from some burning town or another not so far beyond the view of the window, it seemed like humanity was losing this war. But even if there were pockets of resistance, he'd never get to them. He was Sam's property and since Sam was apparently some big-name guy in the whole apocalypse scheme, the likelihood that Dean would be caught and dragged back here was terribly, scarily high. He didn't even want to imagine all the agony that Sam would have in store for him if he ever ran away. Even if Sam killed him, Dean knew it would be a long and brutal process.
What was even out there for him to escape to?
Sam was all he had left in the world and he wasn't ready to give that up yet. But he knew Sam came with conditions, so if he was going to survive and stay with Sam, he needed to shed some of the pieces of his past.
"Come to bed, Dean."
He thought about getting up. Sam was calling to him from the bedroom. When he stood, though, and stepped out of the tub, it felt like he was leaving a ghost of himself there, some part of who he was, still huddled there, trying to find strength in a life's mission that ended days ago and a family ruined long before that.
"Come to bed."
And he went, putting some things behind him, maybe for good, as he slipped under the covers, facing away from his brother.
Spooned around his body, Sam could speak right over his ear. "Do you understand, now, Dean?"
"Yeah." He could hear the resigned exhaustion in his own voice, but he didn't try to soften its roughness, its weakness.
"Tell me."
Dean drew in a shaky breath. He knew what Sam wanted and part of him didn't want to give it to him, but part of him knew it was inevitable. There was even some bit of him that really did believe what Sam was telling him. And it just kept taking up more room in his head and heart with every minute that he spent in this glorified cage as a living toy whose whole life was in Sam's hands.
"Dean." There was a warning in Sam's voice that told Dean to stop thinking and start talking. Or else.
"I'm your property. I'm your … whore."
"Which means you're not …"
"I'm not a Hunter anymore." It was only a whisper, and he knew it would never be completely true, but it was true enough to ache like a punch in the gut. Being a Hunter was all he'd ever known, all he'd ever been. Now he had to push it all away, shut down that part of him. And it felt like there was nothing left inside, like he was nothing.
"I can barely hear you." His tone was mocking. Not that it mattered.
"I'm not a Hunter anymore." His voice was stronger now, but gruff. It was like his throat knew what he was saying and wanted to make sure it sounded like it hurt, because it did.
"No. You're not. What are you?"
"I'm your property."
"And?"
"I'm your whore."
Tags:
- !fanfic,
- category: slash,
- challenge: 100moods,
- challenge: 50kinkyways,
- challenge: mini_nanowrimo,
- challenge: nanowrimo,
- character: dean winchester,
- character: sam winchester,
- fandom: supernatural,
- fic universe: spn evil!sammy,
- genre: angst!fic,
- genre: apocalypse!fic,
- genre: au!fic,
- genre: cliché!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: manipulation,
- kink: non-consent,
- pairing: sam/dean,
- rating: nc-17,
- warning: violence
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 01:40 pm (UTC)Because this hurt it shouldn't be soo hot. .. because it really is hot enough to start an inferno ... oh, hang on, things are supposed to burn in hell aren't they? *grin*
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:20 am (UTC)I'm glad it lit a sexy-fire for you!
Thanks for the comment!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 02:01 pm (UTC)Hope Dean is gonna kill himself someday (though maybe Evil!Sam can revive him and punishing him for trying *_*?), this is too bad even for my sadistic mind ç_ç
Good work!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:21 am (UTC)I don't think Dean'll be getting away that easily any time soon. Poor baby. *pets Dean* And poor you. *pets you*
I'm glad you thought it was good, even if it was too twisted for you.
Thanks for the FB.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 04:20 pm (UTC)It was so fucking hot, you have no idea ! Oh wait, maybe you do ... I just love you, you know ? It was just ...gosh, I have NO WORDS for this
and now i'm never gonna be able to study my maths test for tomorrow :'(
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:23 am (UTC)It's great that you thought it was hot! I definitely think it's hot, but I'm kinda biased, so ... Yay!
Good luck with math!
And thanks for commenting!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 04:51 pm (UTC)Hurt and totally fucked out Dean, always a good combination. That it's Evil Sam doing it just turns up the heat.
Where do you go from here?
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:24 am (UTC)Where do I go? OMG I have so many WIPs in this verse it's crazy. Lots of places to go, baby, don't worry!
Thanks for the comment!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 06:32 pm (UTC)*waves hands around helplessly*
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:26 am (UTC)Are you worried about Dean? Is that why you're Oh-No-ing and running around in circles? I'd like to say you shouldn't be worried about him, but this is only the beginning. *nods* *hugs you*
Thanks for the feedback!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:27 am (UTC)Glad you like the aphrodisiacs! He's so hot when he's all drugged out and horny and confused and anxious and ... yeah ... just hot. *g*
Thanks for commenting, even on the anon.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:29 am (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it. And, of course, that I still own. *nods* Owning is very crucial. *nods more*
*hugs you*
Thanks for the comment yayness, as usual, babe!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 06:33 am (UTC)Thank you so so much! I'm so glad you found it hot'n'angsty enough for you!
And, oh yeah, I totally understand the twisted hotness of Dean saying he's just a whore, because ... yeah ... totally hot.
Thanks for the awesome feedback!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 01:21 am (UTC)I was so right when i said you were re-defining dark - coz dude - wow. Evil!sammy is just so hot, and where he takes Dean in this story is so cruel. And I love the whole exploration of Dean's fear of giving totally to the intensity of his sexual and emotional desire for Sam. Begging!Dean is also a total turn-on.
Don't make me beg for more!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 07:12 am (UTC)Yeah ... about that re-defining dark. Still kinda @_# *confuzzled* about that one, but I'm glad you're finding this intriguing.
I'm glad you think the boys are hot with all the evil and the begging and the turmoil and whatnot.
Then, of course, leave it to you to meta my story with a comment about Dean's internal anxieties surrounding his intense attachment to his brother. *teehee*
You are beyond awesome, hun! No begging needed! There is always more on the way!
Thanks for all the encouragement!
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Date: 2006-11-20 12:28 pm (UTC)*Claws self to ribbons*
Oh the angstyhurtygoodnesspaindeathsex ooooohhhhhhh!!!!
*Squeals into a puddle of ded*
*Hugs you*
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Date: 2006-11-20 05:11 pm (UTC)Your comments are always so action-packed! *teehee*
I'm so glad you enjoyed reading this!
*hugs you back*
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Date: 2006-11-20 12:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-20 05:13 pm (UTC)I'm glad it got you in the mood! *g*
Thanks for such an awesome comment!
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Date: 2006-11-20 10:20 pm (UTC)And wonderful hurt!Dean too. *pets the poor boy*
I love these kind of evil!Sam, oppressed!Dean universes. Great job.
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Date: 2006-11-21 03:58 am (UTC)Aww, thanks. Yeah. He needs petting. *pets Dean some more*
I'm glad you liked it!
Thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2006-12-23 04:32 am (UTC)This sentence "When he stood, though, and stepped out of the tub, it felt like he was leaving a ghost of himself there, some part of who he was, still huddled there, trying to find strength in a life's mission that ended days ago and a family ruined long before that." was the most powerful thing that I have read in a long while.
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Date: 2006-12-23 04:42 am (UTC)And thanks so much for such complimentary words about that line. It's definitely one of my favorites and it's great that it made an impact on you.
Thank you for the awesome feedback!
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Date: 2007-01-22 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-22 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-09 12:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 07:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-03-25 06:59 am (UTC)There's so much to say about this one I hardly know where to start. Actually, this is made a little easier by the fact that I've ALREADY told you how much I love the style and voice, and your poetic lyricism that just drives everything home. To which I could add that the pacing in this is just perfect, and very satisfyingly mirrors the actual action in the story.
Dean's voice. You just...damn, he comes out so clearly through you. His reactions to this humiliating situation feel like something right out of canon, down to his disbelief and snark and humour in the beginning, through the dawning gravity of his situation to the necessity of the choice he needs to make. It's so believable. You give AMAZING Dean.
(And Sam too, lest you think I'm omitting him deliberately. He doesn't show up as often, obviously, but it speaks to his intelligence and what's left in his new self of his love for Dean to recognize the necessity of this aphrodisiac technique to get Dean to submit. Well done.)
The other thing that really struck me in this piece is how we experience the story through a threefold filter: Dean's mind, Dean's eyes, and Dean's skin/senses. ALL THREE of which you bring into incredibly vivid, sharp relief (that mirror feedback loop, for instance? whew. or your descriptions of that drug on his skin and the effect on his mind? guh.), and which play off each other to give this story the impact that...well, inspired a gingerbread man. *sheepish grin*
And, of course, the CRAZY HAWTNESS. Dear lord, woman. And I don't even like non!con or dubious!con! If it weren't yours, I probably wouldn't have read it.
Which really, really would have been my loss. I'm so glad I did. *hugs*
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Date: 2007-03-26 07:56 am (UTC)I really do appreciate your very lovely, detailed feedback. *big hugs*
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Date: 2007-04-02 04:40 am (UTC)Doesn’t change the fact that you’re evil & seriously *bouncing* over what
*Enthusiastically nods* Yes, enjoyed very much, will be happily catching up & send more coherent fb when I do ;-)
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Date: 2007-04-02 09:50 am (UTC)I'm evil? And Amara shared stuff about ... Kansas Badboys? Or was this something else? Either way, I'm glad to hear that however we're killing you is a way you intend to thoroughly enjoy.
And of course, I always appreciate feedback, coherent or not, but thank you very much for this bit of FB. ♥
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-12-16 04:30 am (UTC)I'm friending your fic journal here -pardon any flailing and random spastic comments you may get by morning.
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Date: 2007-12-16 04:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-12-17 04:09 pm (UTC)Dean, and the... and then... guh!
(Words are hard. Incoherent noises FTW.)
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Date: 2008-01-11 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-07 07:48 pm (UTC)I think Dean is submissive on many levels anyway. He did it for John in a soldier/commander way and I think he'd be submissive for Sam in a sexual way if Sam wasn't a demon. So all this confusion in his head really isn't confusion so much as Dean reacting to the current circumstance. So when Dean says things like NO and NO, I thinking just not here, in this room, with the hell on earth thing going on...
Anyway, excellent work, I can't wait for everything else to be posted. I have one other comment, but I'll post it in the story's comments page.
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Date: 2008-01-11 10:36 pm (UTC)As for my question about why readers like this so much, I don't remember the context exactly, but I think I was more intrigued by why people felt that this was somehow hotter and less brutal than most of the other pieces in the After section of the 'verse. Your thoughts about Dean being inclined to submission and submission to Sam are similar to how I think about him, yes, which is a large part of why the whole 'verse is labeled "dubious-consent" as opposed to "non-consent." But, his natural submission doesn't negate the distressing nature of Sam forcing him, whether with something that messes with his mind (drugs/words) or something that messes with his body (pain/pleasure). So, it's hard for me to weight one form of force as less brutal or dark, especially considering the way that Dean can be so deeply broken by both. That's all. But I love writing pieces that have so many different reactions and interpretations, so no worries, I was just curious. Thanks for offering your thoughts. :)
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Date: 2008-03-27 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-13 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-15 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 01:53 pm (UTC)Also? Thanks for reading the 'verse, I'm always glad to have new readers! :)
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Date: 2009-09-22 12:06 pm (UTC)I. Am. So. Glad. I. Found. This♥ i wasn't going to comment until i completed this cuz I hate flooding people with replies but i couldn't help it! too good hon..too goddamn good
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Date: 2009-10-02 05:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-27 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 09:21 am (UTC)