pirosn!sex ficlet 2
This is an equally short ficlet-sequel to my prison!sex S&D drabble Black and Blue.
How Dean would deal with an aftermath?
Title: Blank
Rating: R
Pairings: no sex in this ficlet (please, don't run away yet!)
Warnings: implied non-con
Wordcount: 325
beta: inlaterdays. /smishes/
Notes: if you read Black and Blue before, this will make more sense.
Dean walks out of the infirmary after three days. He’s had four stitches on his forehead. It will take a few more days before he can see with his left eye again.
He’s walking straight, he’s the hot news item, isn’t he? In the canteen, those who think he’s got what was coming, grin but know better than to look his way. The majority just keeps on munching like a herd of sheep.
He is starved after the infirmary’s glue-like grub, but he gags as he forces down lukewarm mashed potatoes. The insides of his mouth feel raw, used. The split corners of his lips sting when he takes a gulp of watered-down orange juice.
He’s ready for the worst, even for murder, when he senses someone coming up to him from behind.
“Hey, man.”
Sam sits down opposite him. There’s a fading bruise on his cheek, lower lip chafed raw.
“What does Deacon say?” Dean asks first, contemplating the canteen’s spotted window.
“He said he’s sorry you got beaten up. Place like this, shit happens.” Sam speaks in a low voice through his teeth, watchful eyes almost black as he studies Dean. Dean twirls his fork between his fingers, exhales slowly under the scrutiny.
“Boulder’s got pink-slipped.”
Like that changes anything.
The bruise on his neck is burning where Boulder’s fastened his belt buckle. At every tug, Dean opens his mouth, can’t see straight, can’t breath through blood-clogged nose. Boulder knew how to keep a bitch in line, Ace guffawed as they lined their three dicks in front of his face.
Sam reaches out to clean Dean’s plate, his sleeve brushes against Dean’s hand.
“Don’t touch me.” Dean says in a stranger’s voice.
Ace and Tucker are still in solitary when they pull out that Great Escape act.
Dean hardly packs enough strength to punch Deacon in the jaw.
Deacon held him up while he retched spunk and blood, “I’ll keep it covered, son.”
I have an unexplicable habit of naming my fics starting with a letter "B". (Beer, Bubbly, Bourbon, Black and Blue, now Blank....)
Anyway. Bad? Good? This might turn into a series, I warn you. If I manage to keep them as short.
How Dean would deal with an aftermath?
Title: Blank
Rating: R
Pairings: no sex in this ficlet (please, don't run away yet!)
Warnings: implied non-con
Wordcount: 325
beta: inlaterdays. /smishes/
Notes: if you read Black and Blue before, this will make more sense.
Dean walks out of the infirmary after three days. He’s had four stitches on his forehead. It will take a few more days before he can see with his left eye again.
He’s walking straight, he’s the hot news item, isn’t he? In the canteen, those who think he’s got what was coming, grin but know better than to look his way. The majority just keeps on munching like a herd of sheep.
He is starved after the infirmary’s glue-like grub, but he gags as he forces down lukewarm mashed potatoes. The insides of his mouth feel raw, used. The split corners of his lips sting when he takes a gulp of watered-down orange juice.
He’s ready for the worst, even for murder, when he senses someone coming up to him from behind.
“Hey, man.”
Sam sits down opposite him. There’s a fading bruise on his cheek, lower lip chafed raw.
“What does Deacon say?” Dean asks first, contemplating the canteen’s spotted window.
“He said he’s sorry you got beaten up. Place like this, shit happens.” Sam speaks in a low voice through his teeth, watchful eyes almost black as he studies Dean. Dean twirls his fork between his fingers, exhales slowly under the scrutiny.
“Boulder’s got pink-slipped.”
Like that changes anything.
The bruise on his neck is burning where Boulder’s fastened his belt buckle. At every tug, Dean opens his mouth, can’t see straight, can’t breath through blood-clogged nose. Boulder knew how to keep a bitch in line, Ace guffawed as they lined their three dicks in front of his face.
Sam reaches out to clean Dean’s plate, his sleeve brushes against Dean’s hand.
“Don’t touch me.” Dean says in a stranger’s voice.
Ace and Tucker are still in solitary when they pull out that Great Escape act.
Dean hardly packs enough strength to punch Deacon in the jaw.
Deacon held him up while he retched spunk and blood, “I’ll keep it covered, son.”
I have an unexplicable habit of naming my fics starting with a letter "B". (Beer, Bubbly, Bourbon, Black and Blue, now Blank....)
Anyway. Bad? Good? This might turn into a series, I warn you. If I manage to keep them as short.