In Sweat and Blood, Part 2 - Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: In Sweat and Blood, Part Two
Pairings: John/OFC, John/OFC/OMC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam/OFC
Other Characters: Brief appearances by Bobby, Ellen and Pastor Jim
Rating: WAY NC-17
Word Count:11,191 (total)
Summary: There are monsters that have no names. They’re not written about, they exist in the shadows and even hunters do not know the ways to vanquish them. When John Winchester encounters such a monster he finds that beauty and lust are only the beginning.
Warnings: Please read the pairings and understand that this fic will include Daddy!cest. There is also non-con and dub-con here. There is use of drugs and alcohol. There is m/f, m/m, m/f/m and m/m/m sex. There is blood play. Please do not read if such things bother you.
A/Ns: Written for johnsgillygirl who bought me in this last go round over at Sweet Charity. This is an expansion on the very short piece “Almost” I posted in March. The idea behind the “bad guy” here is that it is an unknown type of vampire/succubus creature. I leave it unnamed and undescribed for the most part so that the reader can use their imagination.
Everything is slow and it doesn’t make any sense. His father is still naked, and he’s hard. He’s sitting in the chair staring at Dean and Dean is…drugged. Naked. He should be worried, but he can’t process the reality enough.
Sam. Sam would come. He shakes his head at the thought. Sam wouldn’t know what to do. Dean can see where this is going. It’s hot in the room. Sticky. He’s sweating. His father shifts, moves, stands. Dean wants to run, wants to lock himself in the bathroom.
His father’s hand is on his skin, hot as it slides through sweat and surprisingly gentle. “Easy, Dean. I’m going to make it feel good.”
Dean’s body is heavy and he can’t make it move, but he doesn’t have to, his father is moving it for him, rolling him onto his stomach, touching him, caressing him. Dean’s breathing comes in pants and gasps. “Dad…don’t…please.”
“Shh…it’s okay, Dean. It’s all okay.”
That big hand soothes down Dean’s back and over his naked ass. Dean wants to pull away, wants to plead, beg his father to snap out of it…whatever it is…but he can’t really move, and the words get caught in his throat. Kisses, John’s lips are on his skin, down his back, over the rounds of Dean’s ass.
He whispers “Christo” but nothing changes, his father’s tongue slides over flesh that his father’s tongue should never see. When it swipes through his crack and up to his hole, Dean shivers. “Dad…stop…”
But he doesn’t stop, his tongue pushing in, and Dean’s body is so gone on the drugs there’s no resistance. He squeezes his eyes shut, presses his face into the pillow and prays Sam doesn’t come back until it’s over. Tongue gives way to fingers and Dean trembles, trying to make his body respond to his need to get away.
White lightning. His breath hitches and his fingers twitch against the bedspread as his father’s fingers press in relentlessly against a spot inside him that makes his cock swell and his vision swim. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want the way his body reacts to his father’s touch, but it does.
The bed dips, shifts and his father is over him, hot and hard and hovering. Dean’s mouth opens to beg, but he ends up biting into the pillow, burying his scream into it as his father presses into him, laying over him. He pushes Dean into the mattress as he straddles Dean’s ass, his cock buried inside him, pulsing against virgin territory.
His fingers pet over Dean’s shoulder, his voice whispers rough words that don’t register as Dean tries to adjust, tries not to panic. His cock drags across the bedspread as his father moves inside him and he knows he’s going to come despite everything, knows it and can’t stop it.
His face is wet, the pillow under him damp, and still his father fucks into him…over and over…and as his thrusts get harder, his father’s words gone to grunting, Dean feels the heat rush from his stomach, into his cock and out, smearing over his stomach as the movement pushes him across the bed.
His ass is screaming in pain long before the heat of his father’s come fills him, and it’s as if his ass sucks the heat into him, filling his belly. His father’s hand is in his hair, and the dark is hovering. There’s a gentle kiss, on his head, another needle, blankets…and Dean’s vision goes before his eyes are closed.
There are voices…vague light. Dean aches, he’s sweating, feverish. Nightmares chase him even as he opens his eyes. Nightmares of his father possessed.
Sam. It’s Sam. At the door. His father is blocking most of the light, and Sam’s outside. Dean tries to sit up, but the room spins. “Your brother’s sick. Bobby needs the books.”
“You’re letting me drive the Impala all the way to Bobby’s. Alone.” Sam’s voice is incredulous.
“You’re sixteen, Sam. You have your license. I need to take care of Dean.”
There’s panic in his chest that Dean doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t want Sam to leave. John’s handing out the keys. “Take your time. Keep it under the speed limit. We’ll be here when you get back.”
And Sam is gone. The door is closed. His father is close, leaning over, touching his face with hands that seem too hot, too much. Dean shivers and pulls away. “Easy Dean…you’re burning up.”
“Dad?” His voice is scratchy and strange. The bed moves as John sits beside him, holding a glass.
“Drink this.”
Dean opens his mouth and tastes alcohol, strong, burning into him. “All of it Dean.”
He doesn’t understand why his father is giving him alcohol, or why it burns so much, or why he’s naked under the piles of blankets or why the room is so hot. His father’s hand is on his chest and Dean can feel the sweat well on his skin. “Shh…easy…”
His father’s eyes are soft brown, but there’s a fire in their depths. He leans in, kisses Dean’s forehead, his eyes. It’s gentle, yet something in his touch is disturbing. His lips touch Dean’s and Dean gasps. His body jerks, his cock suddenly hard…and he shifts, trying to hide it, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks. His father’s kiss deepens, his tongue slides across Dean’s lips and his hand…god…his hand. Dean stiffens as John’s hand closes around his cock, jerking him slowly.
“It’s okay Dean…relax. Let go.”
He’s pretty sure that’s the last thing he should be doing. His dream comes back in a rush, though he’s not convinced it was a dream anymore. The feeling of his father inside him, coming and lulling him to sleep…and now Sam is gone and he’s alone…and his father is jerking him off…and it’s so wrong, but he can’t seem to stop it.
He yells as he comes hard, filling his father’s fist. Dean watches in disbelief as John raises that fist and licks it clean. “Dad-“
“Drink Dean.” John’s lifting the glass again.
“I don’t want it, Dad. Please.”
John’s eyes are tender as he runs a hand down Dean’s sweaty cheek. “It’s okay.”
The glass is on his lips and Dean’s mouth opens, takes it, swallows the fire and gasps around it…and it’s more than alcohol he realizes belatedly. His body is slack and unresponsive, the fever burns inside his skin, in his head, and he wants…wants what he should never want.
He watches his father rise, slowly removing his clothing, shedding as if he is some sort of serpent. The room is close and sticky, even as John peels away the blankets and sheets, leaving Dean exposed, his slick skin oozing sweat. Dean’s eyes track John in the near dark, pick out the curved round of his ass, the sharp relief of hips, the sway of a fully hard cock.
There’s a glint of half-light on metal and Dean’s eyes skip away from his father’s cock, his tongue slides along his lips as he spots the knife in his father’s hands. The blade is long, sharp. It’s Dean’s knife, perfectly balanced…wicked beauty…and in his father’s hands it sings to life.
Dean can feel his body arching, as if the knife turns him on, as if he wants to feel the blade on his flesh. John moves closer, the knife mesmerizing, even as he sets it aside and reaches for ropes Dean hadn’t seen before. Dean can’t look away, even as his hands are bound and pulled above his head, tied down, restrained.
John’s hand skims down, over his heaving chest, across his belly. It skirts around his cock, which has begun to stir again, and down his leg, bending and pulling until Dean is spread wide. Dean’s panting as John moves to the other side, repeats the process and leaves Dean bound and spread, naked and hard.
His hand invades then, moving to the open hole under Dean, still tender from the last fucking, still open…the muscles loose from the drugs and the drink. Dean gasps as his father’s fingers penetrate into him, gasps and clenches his ass as much as he can…but the muscles aren’t responsive anywhere but in his cock. John moves between his spread legs, positions his cock and shoves inside. His cock is big and fills Dean completely and Dean wants to yell, wants to fight and more than anything wants his father to move…to make it feel good.
His father whispers his name and Dean opens his eyes, watching the blade dance over him. The cold flat of the metal runs over his nipple, up over hot skin to his neck. The edge presses into skin and for a moment, Dean thinks his father means to kill him. He holds the knife there and pulls out, until only the very tip of his cock is inside Dean…and Dean keens, wants it back, wants to feel the fullness…and yet he knows it’s wrong. He stretches, tries to pull his head away from the knife, but it follows, then John thrusts inward…crashing against Dean’s prostate, filling him and Dean yells out.
He yells again as the knife slices into his chest and his father’s mouth closes over the wound. He sucks in mouthfuls of blood and thrusts his cock in deeper. “Dad…” Dean’s eyes roll closed, the sucking sensation making his cock weep.
Vampire. His dad’s been turned. His hips hitch into his father’s stroke, his cock trapped between them. But that isn’t right…not exactly…his father’s teeth worry at the wound, milking more blood from it while his cock moves inside Dean in counterpoint. John roars as he comes, as his come floods Dean and when he lifts up there is blood across his face, smeared over one cheek and staining his teeth.
He takes Dean’s cock in one bloody hand, stroking it until Dean is close to orgasm, then swoops down, licking the blood and pre-come and sucking until Dean explodes. John keeps sucking long after the orgasm stops and Dean strains at the ropes, begging in a hoarse voice until the dark swallows him.
It’s almost like watching someone else, except he knows that’s his hand wielding the knife, and he tastes the blood on his tongue. He should feel remorse, regret, but all he feels is hunger, need, desire…Dean’s blood is delicious in his mouth, his come hot and satisfying…even his sweat adds to the taste, to the need to devour him.
John wants in ways he’s never known…wants his son’s submission, his acceptance of this…this…thing, this dark desire, this burning blackness that has invaded him. He wants Dean to want him, to want this. He wants Dean.
He looks down to where their bodies are joined. Dean’s head tosses on the pillow, his torso marked and bloody. There’s come across the bloody marks and John smears it into him, guiding it into the wounds. Dean groans, his cock hard again. He wants it too.
He knows it wasn’t always like this, but he can’t remember why or when it happened, how long they’ve been here, in the dark heat of the room. He knows Dean is close, knows he’s taken almost all that he can from him in sweat and blood and come. He needs to build it now, build the need, the desire…make Dean want to let go.
John raises the glass and presses on Dean’s chin. “Drink Dean, and I’ll cut you loose.”
Dean’s eyes open, their green dark and filled with crazed lust. His throat starts working before the liquid reaches him, and he swallows quickly, his face flushing as the fire burns. John lifts the knife and cuts the ropes holding Dean’s hands, then moves his cock inside him. Dean grips the pillow, arches as much as he can with the weight of John on top of him and John pushes harder, deeper, fucks into Dean with abandon until he’s coming, filling Dean yet again…knowing his body would pull it into him, work at turning him too.
John lays across Dean’s body, all spent and pale, his mouth moving over skin, up to his throat. “Just let go Dean…It will be so good. I promise.”
The room is still…quiet…warm…he doesn’t move, can’t move, doesn’t want to move…only wants to come…wants to stop fighting…isn’t sure what he’s fighting or why. His body hurts from the battle…hurts and stinks…and his cock is hard…it’s been hard for hours and his father won’t let him come…though his father has filled his mouth and his ass and come across his skin…so many times…and it isn’t real…and yet it is.
His father’s voice whispers and it’s like the knife, slicing into him, marking him, taking away the reasons to fight. It’s so soft Dean can’t make out the words, but they make him want to give in…give up…let go…
The dark isn’t natural…it hovers over him, inside him…it wants him…it’s the dark that’s taken his father…that’s brought them here to this…it cups his hard cock, makes him cry out with need and desperate desire…it fills his belly, invades him from his father’s come, his spit, his sweat.
He’s no longer bound, and he lies on the bed, curling around himself, his cock, his need. Relief requires only reaching out, reaching for him, abandoning himself to the dark…taking what his father offers.
Almost blindly, Dean gropes, finds his father’s hand and uses it to pull himself up. He is crazed with need as his lips search out his father’s, as he opens his mouth to his father’s tongue. His cock hurts and his body feels stretched and taut. He brings John’s hand to his cock, closes it around him and fucks into it, rutting into his father’s hand.
“That’s it Dean…give it to me.” John whispers and Dean fucks harder, coming and coming again, before pushing John back onto the bed and swallowing his cock. As his father’s come fills his mouth, Dean falls back, swallowing the dark into himself.
He’s alone when he wakes. His father is gone, the room quiet. Dean stretches, hissing as the pain registers. His ass screams, his cock is red and limp; and his body is marked. He inches his way across the bed, puts his feet on the floor. The last few days are hazy, surreal…yet his body knows something has happened. He rises, shuffles into the bathroom, stares blearily at his reflection.
There are cuts and bruises and bite marks decorating his torso, his thighs, even his ass. He smells like sex and sweat and his skin feels like he hasn’t showered in a week of grave digging. His face is scruffy with whiskers. The only place that doesn’t hurt is his ankle and he looks down to find the bruising there nearly gone.
He wonders idly how long he’s been lying in that bed, sick with fever…pauses as he wonders why he he’d smell like sex if he was sick with fever, but brushes it off as the water starts to warm up.
Dean gasps as the water runs over him, over healing wounds and sore muscles, and he can’t remember why he’s so cut up, but figures that maybe that’s because of the fever.
His dick stings as the water touches it, like he’s fucked his way through a cheerleading squad or something. He touches it and something uncoils in his belly, something dark and needy. It rumbles and quakes inside him.
He’s hungry. Hungry for something he can’t name.
He hears his name. Sam. Sam’s voice. His cock hardens in his hand, and that’s normal enough that it doesn’t give him pause. He shoves his head back under the water and rinses off, turns the water off and steps out. “Bathroom Sammy. Gimme a minute,” he calls, toweling off.
Sam’s opening curtains when he comes into the room. “Christ Dean, it’s like 95 degrees in here.” He’s opening the window when Dean grabs him and pulls him into an embrace, pressing their lips together.
Sam struggles, more out of surprise than distress. They’ve done this before. It’s been a while, and Dean was the one to stop it last time…but now he wants more than what Sam’s giving him.
They stumble backwards until Sam’s against the window, the heater under his legs. He yells and lurches forward because the heater’s on full blast and the metal is hot, even through his jeans. “Fuck, Dean. What the hell?”
Sam pushes him off and sweeps his eyes over his brother. “What happened to you?” He shakes his head and pulls the curtains closed, because Dean is naked and standing in the middle of the room. “Put some clothes on.” Sam grumbles, peeling off his jacket.
“Where you been, Sammy? I missed you.” Dean moves closer, but Sam pulls away.
“What the fuck, Dean? Dad could come in.”
“Dad won’t care.” Dean’s not entirely sure why he’s so certain, but he knows he needs to get Sam out of some of those clothes. “I want to taste you Sam.”
Sam rolls his eyes, crosses to the heater to turn it off. “Right…cause that worked so well last time.”
Dean remembers the taste, the sweet taste of his brother’s mouth…like watermelon candy. He remembers getting hard and wanting and realizing it wasn’t fair to Sam…that Sam deserved something normal.
“Forget all that and come here.” Dean pitches his voice just so, sees the way it affects Sam, cuts through some of his resistance. He knows Sam wants it; Sam had been the first one to cross that line, to kiss him in the dark woods after a hunt. Sam turns, stops, stares.
Dean crosses to him. They stand eye to eye now, and it won’t be long before Sam is bigger. Dean touches, hands on hands, on arms, on shoulders…he holds Sam’s face, tilts his head.
“Dean.” Sam whispers and it’s sweet and soft and Dean licks his lips, licks salt and sin before he closes over the sugar and sweet of Sam. He can’t help but groan into Sam’s mouth.
Sam’s hands aren’t touching, his body is stiff and only his mouth seems to be giving in to what Dean wants, but Dean knows how to bring him along, knows how to kiss and touch so that Sam melts against the heat of it, into the need. They’d come so close that last time, months before. They’d been nearly naked and hard and both of them groaning with the need when they’d heard the truck and stopped and pulled away, Sam to pretend he was sleeping, Dean into a cold shower…but now there was nothing to stop them…there was only this fiery hunger burning away inside him that he knew would only be slaked by the taste of Sam on his tongue.
“Dean…wait…give me a sec.” Sam mumbles as Dean tears at his clothes.
Dean shakes his head. “No Sammy…need it…need you…touch me.” Dean is breathing heavy as he gets Sam’s shirt up, his mouth closing over Sam’s nipple while his hands continue pushing at the cotton.
Sam pulls the shirt off and tosses it, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, pushing him away, but Dean only moves his mouth back to Sam’s. Their chests are bare, pressing together and it sends electric shocks through him. Sam’s cock is hardening under his jeans, Dean can feel it pressed against his thigh and he shifts so that he can press into it.
Sam moans, his hands moving now to his zipper. “What about Dad?” Sam asks breathlessly. Dean backs to the bed, watching Sam shed his jeans.
Dean shakes his head. “Don’t care. Come here.” He’s on the bed, and it smells like come and sweat and fuck if that doesn’t just make him harder. He has a flash of his father on top of him, fucking him and his cock twitches, leaking pre-come.
Sam comes to the bed, and Dean pulls him in, kissing him possessively, rolling him down to the bed. He runs hands greedy over his brother’s skin. There isn’t enough salt, not enough sweat as Dean kisses his way down, his hands moving Sam’s legs out and away. Sam’s hands hover near his own cock, as if he isn’t sure what’s happening but when Dean’s mouth closes over it, Sam’s voice makes a sound he’s never heard before and Sam’s hands fall to the mattress.
Dean’s desperate for the taste, the hunger ripping at him, the desire fueling the frantic pace as he’s sucking up and licking around and Sam’s yelling, his hands fisting in the soiled sheets. His hips are off the bed, his ass clenched tight, and Dean sucks hard and deep. He’s rewarded by the first salty splash on his tongue and Sam’s low growl and Dean rides him down to the mattress, sucks him clean until Sam’s pushing him away.
Dean’s panting as he crawls up his brother’s body, kisses him with the taste of come. The syringe is in his hand before he recognizes what he’s doing…the needle slipping into Sam’s skin while Dean’s tongue plunders his mouth and Sam’s eyes widen even as his body falls slack.
He tosses the needle aside and moves so that his cock is pressed against his brother’s ass. He’s not asleep, and Sam’s head moves lightly against the dirty pillow as Dean presses in, lifts Sam’s legs up and to the sides, watches as his cock slowly penetrates Sam’s ass…there’s no lube and it must burn, but Sam can’t say anything, his mouth moving numbly as Dean pulls out and then back in and he’s nearly coming already.
Dean licks his lips. “It’s okay Sammy…just relax….let me make you feel good.” He closes his eyes and lets go, lets the sensation carry him, filling his brother’s ass with come before collapsing forward. Sam’s warm beneath him, but not warm enough, not nearly enough.
Title: In Sweat and Blood, Part Two
Pairings: John/OFC, John/OFC/OMC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam/OFC
Other Characters: Brief appearances by Bobby, Ellen and Pastor Jim
Rating: WAY NC-17
Word Count:11,191 (total)
Summary: There are monsters that have no names. They’re not written about, they exist in the shadows and even hunters do not know the ways to vanquish them. When John Winchester encounters such a monster he finds that beauty and lust are only the beginning.
Warnings: Please read the pairings and understand that this fic will include Daddy!cest. There is also non-con and dub-con here. There is use of drugs and alcohol. There is m/f, m/m, m/f/m and m/m/m sex. There is blood play. Please do not read if such things bother you.
A/Ns: Written for johnsgillygirl who bought me in this last go round over at Sweet Charity. This is an expansion on the very short piece “Almost” I posted in March. The idea behind the “bad guy” here is that it is an unknown type of vampire/succubus creature. I leave it unnamed and undescribed for the most part so that the reader can use their imagination.
Everything is slow and it doesn’t make any sense. His father is still naked, and he’s hard. He’s sitting in the chair staring at Dean and Dean is…drugged. Naked. He should be worried, but he can’t process the reality enough.
Sam. Sam would come. He shakes his head at the thought. Sam wouldn’t know what to do. Dean can see where this is going. It’s hot in the room. Sticky. He’s sweating. His father shifts, moves, stands. Dean wants to run, wants to lock himself in the bathroom.
His father’s hand is on his skin, hot as it slides through sweat and surprisingly gentle. “Easy, Dean. I’m going to make it feel good.”
Dean’s body is heavy and he can’t make it move, but he doesn’t have to, his father is moving it for him, rolling him onto his stomach, touching him, caressing him. Dean’s breathing comes in pants and gasps. “Dad…don’t…please.”
“Shh…it’s okay, Dean. It’s all okay.”
That big hand soothes down Dean’s back and over his naked ass. Dean wants to pull away, wants to plead, beg his father to snap out of it…whatever it is…but he can’t really move, and the words get caught in his throat. Kisses, John’s lips are on his skin, down his back, over the rounds of Dean’s ass.
He whispers “Christo” but nothing changes, his father’s tongue slides over flesh that his father’s tongue should never see. When it swipes through his crack and up to his hole, Dean shivers. “Dad…stop…”
But he doesn’t stop, his tongue pushing in, and Dean’s body is so gone on the drugs there’s no resistance. He squeezes his eyes shut, presses his face into the pillow and prays Sam doesn’t come back until it’s over. Tongue gives way to fingers and Dean trembles, trying to make his body respond to his need to get away.
White lightning. His breath hitches and his fingers twitch against the bedspread as his father’s fingers press in relentlessly against a spot inside him that makes his cock swell and his vision swim. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want the way his body reacts to his father’s touch, but it does.
The bed dips, shifts and his father is over him, hot and hard and hovering. Dean’s mouth opens to beg, but he ends up biting into the pillow, burying his scream into it as his father presses into him, laying over him. He pushes Dean into the mattress as he straddles Dean’s ass, his cock buried inside him, pulsing against virgin territory.
His fingers pet over Dean’s shoulder, his voice whispers rough words that don’t register as Dean tries to adjust, tries not to panic. His cock drags across the bedspread as his father moves inside him and he knows he’s going to come despite everything, knows it and can’t stop it.
His face is wet, the pillow under him damp, and still his father fucks into him…over and over…and as his thrusts get harder, his father’s words gone to grunting, Dean feels the heat rush from his stomach, into his cock and out, smearing over his stomach as the movement pushes him across the bed.
His ass is screaming in pain long before the heat of his father’s come fills him, and it’s as if his ass sucks the heat into him, filling his belly. His father’s hand is in his hair, and the dark is hovering. There’s a gentle kiss, on his head, another needle, blankets…and Dean’s vision goes before his eyes are closed.
There are voices…vague light. Dean aches, he’s sweating, feverish. Nightmares chase him even as he opens his eyes. Nightmares of his father possessed.
Sam. It’s Sam. At the door. His father is blocking most of the light, and Sam’s outside. Dean tries to sit up, but the room spins. “Your brother’s sick. Bobby needs the books.”
“You’re letting me drive the Impala all the way to Bobby’s. Alone.” Sam’s voice is incredulous.
“You’re sixteen, Sam. You have your license. I need to take care of Dean.”
There’s panic in his chest that Dean doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t want Sam to leave. John’s handing out the keys. “Take your time. Keep it under the speed limit. We’ll be here when you get back.”
And Sam is gone. The door is closed. His father is close, leaning over, touching his face with hands that seem too hot, too much. Dean shivers and pulls away. “Easy Dean…you’re burning up.”
“Dad?” His voice is scratchy and strange. The bed moves as John sits beside him, holding a glass.
“Drink this.”
Dean opens his mouth and tastes alcohol, strong, burning into him. “All of it Dean.”
He doesn’t understand why his father is giving him alcohol, or why it burns so much, or why he’s naked under the piles of blankets or why the room is so hot. His father’s hand is on his chest and Dean can feel the sweat well on his skin. “Shh…easy…”
His father’s eyes are soft brown, but there’s a fire in their depths. He leans in, kisses Dean’s forehead, his eyes. It’s gentle, yet something in his touch is disturbing. His lips touch Dean’s and Dean gasps. His body jerks, his cock suddenly hard…and he shifts, trying to hide it, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks. His father’s kiss deepens, his tongue slides across Dean’s lips and his hand…god…his hand. Dean stiffens as John’s hand closes around his cock, jerking him slowly.
“It’s okay Dean…relax. Let go.”
He’s pretty sure that’s the last thing he should be doing. His dream comes back in a rush, though he’s not convinced it was a dream anymore. The feeling of his father inside him, coming and lulling him to sleep…and now Sam is gone and he’s alone…and his father is jerking him off…and it’s so wrong, but he can’t seem to stop it.
He yells as he comes hard, filling his father’s fist. Dean watches in disbelief as John raises that fist and licks it clean. “Dad-“
“Drink Dean.” John’s lifting the glass again.
“I don’t want it, Dad. Please.”
John’s eyes are tender as he runs a hand down Dean’s sweaty cheek. “It’s okay.”
The glass is on his lips and Dean’s mouth opens, takes it, swallows the fire and gasps around it…and it’s more than alcohol he realizes belatedly. His body is slack and unresponsive, the fever burns inside his skin, in his head, and he wants…wants what he should never want.
He watches his father rise, slowly removing his clothing, shedding as if he is some sort of serpent. The room is close and sticky, even as John peels away the blankets and sheets, leaving Dean exposed, his slick skin oozing sweat. Dean’s eyes track John in the near dark, pick out the curved round of his ass, the sharp relief of hips, the sway of a fully hard cock.
There’s a glint of half-light on metal and Dean’s eyes skip away from his father’s cock, his tongue slides along his lips as he spots the knife in his father’s hands. The blade is long, sharp. It’s Dean’s knife, perfectly balanced…wicked beauty…and in his father’s hands it sings to life.
Dean can feel his body arching, as if the knife turns him on, as if he wants to feel the blade on his flesh. John moves closer, the knife mesmerizing, even as he sets it aside and reaches for ropes Dean hadn’t seen before. Dean can’t look away, even as his hands are bound and pulled above his head, tied down, restrained.
John’s hand skims down, over his heaving chest, across his belly. It skirts around his cock, which has begun to stir again, and down his leg, bending and pulling until Dean is spread wide. Dean’s panting as John moves to the other side, repeats the process and leaves Dean bound and spread, naked and hard.
His hand invades then, moving to the open hole under Dean, still tender from the last fucking, still open…the muscles loose from the drugs and the drink. Dean gasps as his father’s fingers penetrate into him, gasps and clenches his ass as much as he can…but the muscles aren’t responsive anywhere but in his cock. John moves between his spread legs, positions his cock and shoves inside. His cock is big and fills Dean completely and Dean wants to yell, wants to fight and more than anything wants his father to move…to make it feel good.
His father whispers his name and Dean opens his eyes, watching the blade dance over him. The cold flat of the metal runs over his nipple, up over hot skin to his neck. The edge presses into skin and for a moment, Dean thinks his father means to kill him. He holds the knife there and pulls out, until only the very tip of his cock is inside Dean…and Dean keens, wants it back, wants to feel the fullness…and yet he knows it’s wrong. He stretches, tries to pull his head away from the knife, but it follows, then John thrusts inward…crashing against Dean’s prostate, filling him and Dean yells out.
He yells again as the knife slices into his chest and his father’s mouth closes over the wound. He sucks in mouthfuls of blood and thrusts his cock in deeper. “Dad…” Dean’s eyes roll closed, the sucking sensation making his cock weep.
Vampire. His dad’s been turned. His hips hitch into his father’s stroke, his cock trapped between them. But that isn’t right…not exactly…his father’s teeth worry at the wound, milking more blood from it while his cock moves inside Dean in counterpoint. John roars as he comes, as his come floods Dean and when he lifts up there is blood across his face, smeared over one cheek and staining his teeth.
He takes Dean’s cock in one bloody hand, stroking it until Dean is close to orgasm, then swoops down, licking the blood and pre-come and sucking until Dean explodes. John keeps sucking long after the orgasm stops and Dean strains at the ropes, begging in a hoarse voice until the dark swallows him.
It’s almost like watching someone else, except he knows that’s his hand wielding the knife, and he tastes the blood on his tongue. He should feel remorse, regret, but all he feels is hunger, need, desire…Dean’s blood is delicious in his mouth, his come hot and satisfying…even his sweat adds to the taste, to the need to devour him.
John wants in ways he’s never known…wants his son’s submission, his acceptance of this…this…thing, this dark desire, this burning blackness that has invaded him. He wants Dean to want him, to want this. He wants Dean.
He looks down to where their bodies are joined. Dean’s head tosses on the pillow, his torso marked and bloody. There’s come across the bloody marks and John smears it into him, guiding it into the wounds. Dean groans, his cock hard again. He wants it too.
He knows it wasn’t always like this, but he can’t remember why or when it happened, how long they’ve been here, in the dark heat of the room. He knows Dean is close, knows he’s taken almost all that he can from him in sweat and blood and come. He needs to build it now, build the need, the desire…make Dean want to let go.
John raises the glass and presses on Dean’s chin. “Drink Dean, and I’ll cut you loose.”
Dean’s eyes open, their green dark and filled with crazed lust. His throat starts working before the liquid reaches him, and he swallows quickly, his face flushing as the fire burns. John lifts the knife and cuts the ropes holding Dean’s hands, then moves his cock inside him. Dean grips the pillow, arches as much as he can with the weight of John on top of him and John pushes harder, deeper, fucks into Dean with abandon until he’s coming, filling Dean yet again…knowing his body would pull it into him, work at turning him too.
John lays across Dean’s body, all spent and pale, his mouth moving over skin, up to his throat. “Just let go Dean…It will be so good. I promise.”
The room is still…quiet…warm…he doesn’t move, can’t move, doesn’t want to move…only wants to come…wants to stop fighting…isn’t sure what he’s fighting or why. His body hurts from the battle…hurts and stinks…and his cock is hard…it’s been hard for hours and his father won’t let him come…though his father has filled his mouth and his ass and come across his skin…so many times…and it isn’t real…and yet it is.
His father’s voice whispers and it’s like the knife, slicing into him, marking him, taking away the reasons to fight. It’s so soft Dean can’t make out the words, but they make him want to give in…give up…let go…
The dark isn’t natural…it hovers over him, inside him…it wants him…it’s the dark that’s taken his father…that’s brought them here to this…it cups his hard cock, makes him cry out with need and desperate desire…it fills his belly, invades him from his father’s come, his spit, his sweat.
He’s no longer bound, and he lies on the bed, curling around himself, his cock, his need. Relief requires only reaching out, reaching for him, abandoning himself to the dark…taking what his father offers.
Almost blindly, Dean gropes, finds his father’s hand and uses it to pull himself up. He is crazed with need as his lips search out his father’s, as he opens his mouth to his father’s tongue. His cock hurts and his body feels stretched and taut. He brings John’s hand to his cock, closes it around him and fucks into it, rutting into his father’s hand.
“That’s it Dean…give it to me.” John whispers and Dean fucks harder, coming and coming again, before pushing John back onto the bed and swallowing his cock. As his father’s come fills his mouth, Dean falls back, swallowing the dark into himself.
He’s alone when he wakes. His father is gone, the room quiet. Dean stretches, hissing as the pain registers. His ass screams, his cock is red and limp; and his body is marked. He inches his way across the bed, puts his feet on the floor. The last few days are hazy, surreal…yet his body knows something has happened. He rises, shuffles into the bathroom, stares blearily at his reflection.
There are cuts and bruises and bite marks decorating his torso, his thighs, even his ass. He smells like sex and sweat and his skin feels like he hasn’t showered in a week of grave digging. His face is scruffy with whiskers. The only place that doesn’t hurt is his ankle and he looks down to find the bruising there nearly gone.
He wonders idly how long he’s been lying in that bed, sick with fever…pauses as he wonders why he he’d smell like sex if he was sick with fever, but brushes it off as the water starts to warm up.
Dean gasps as the water runs over him, over healing wounds and sore muscles, and he can’t remember why he’s so cut up, but figures that maybe that’s because of the fever.
His dick stings as the water touches it, like he’s fucked his way through a cheerleading squad or something. He touches it and something uncoils in his belly, something dark and needy. It rumbles and quakes inside him.
He’s hungry. Hungry for something he can’t name.
He hears his name. Sam. Sam’s voice. His cock hardens in his hand, and that’s normal enough that it doesn’t give him pause. He shoves his head back under the water and rinses off, turns the water off and steps out. “Bathroom Sammy. Gimme a minute,” he calls, toweling off.
Sam’s opening curtains when he comes into the room. “Christ Dean, it’s like 95 degrees in here.” He’s opening the window when Dean grabs him and pulls him into an embrace, pressing their lips together.
Sam struggles, more out of surprise than distress. They’ve done this before. It’s been a while, and Dean was the one to stop it last time…but now he wants more than what Sam’s giving him.
They stumble backwards until Sam’s against the window, the heater under his legs. He yells and lurches forward because the heater’s on full blast and the metal is hot, even through his jeans. “Fuck, Dean. What the hell?”
Sam pushes him off and sweeps his eyes over his brother. “What happened to you?” He shakes his head and pulls the curtains closed, because Dean is naked and standing in the middle of the room. “Put some clothes on.” Sam grumbles, peeling off his jacket.
“Where you been, Sammy? I missed you.” Dean moves closer, but Sam pulls away.
“What the fuck, Dean? Dad could come in.”
“Dad won’t care.” Dean’s not entirely sure why he’s so certain, but he knows he needs to get Sam out of some of those clothes. “I want to taste you Sam.”
Sam rolls his eyes, crosses to the heater to turn it off. “Right…cause that worked so well last time.”
Dean remembers the taste, the sweet taste of his brother’s mouth…like watermelon candy. He remembers getting hard and wanting and realizing it wasn’t fair to Sam…that Sam deserved something normal.
“Forget all that and come here.” Dean pitches his voice just so, sees the way it affects Sam, cuts through some of his resistance. He knows Sam wants it; Sam had been the first one to cross that line, to kiss him in the dark woods after a hunt. Sam turns, stops, stares.
Dean crosses to him. They stand eye to eye now, and it won’t be long before Sam is bigger. Dean touches, hands on hands, on arms, on shoulders…he holds Sam’s face, tilts his head.
“Dean.” Sam whispers and it’s sweet and soft and Dean licks his lips, licks salt and sin before he closes over the sugar and sweet of Sam. He can’t help but groan into Sam’s mouth.
Sam’s hands aren’t touching, his body is stiff and only his mouth seems to be giving in to what Dean wants, but Dean knows how to bring him along, knows how to kiss and touch so that Sam melts against the heat of it, into the need. They’d come so close that last time, months before. They’d been nearly naked and hard and both of them groaning with the need when they’d heard the truck and stopped and pulled away, Sam to pretend he was sleeping, Dean into a cold shower…but now there was nothing to stop them…there was only this fiery hunger burning away inside him that he knew would only be slaked by the taste of Sam on his tongue.
“Dean…wait…give me a sec.” Sam mumbles as Dean tears at his clothes.
Dean shakes his head. “No Sammy…need it…need you…touch me.” Dean is breathing heavy as he gets Sam’s shirt up, his mouth closing over Sam’s nipple while his hands continue pushing at the cotton.
Sam pulls the shirt off and tosses it, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, pushing him away, but Dean only moves his mouth back to Sam’s. Their chests are bare, pressing together and it sends electric shocks through him. Sam’s cock is hardening under his jeans, Dean can feel it pressed against his thigh and he shifts so that he can press into it.
Sam moans, his hands moving now to his zipper. “What about Dad?” Sam asks breathlessly. Dean backs to the bed, watching Sam shed his jeans.
Dean shakes his head. “Don’t care. Come here.” He’s on the bed, and it smells like come and sweat and fuck if that doesn’t just make him harder. He has a flash of his father on top of him, fucking him and his cock twitches, leaking pre-come.
Sam comes to the bed, and Dean pulls him in, kissing him possessively, rolling him down to the bed. He runs hands greedy over his brother’s skin. There isn’t enough salt, not enough sweat as Dean kisses his way down, his hands moving Sam’s legs out and away. Sam’s hands hover near his own cock, as if he isn’t sure what’s happening but when Dean’s mouth closes over it, Sam’s voice makes a sound he’s never heard before and Sam’s hands fall to the mattress.
Dean’s desperate for the taste, the hunger ripping at him, the desire fueling the frantic pace as he’s sucking up and licking around and Sam’s yelling, his hands fisting in the soiled sheets. His hips are off the bed, his ass clenched tight, and Dean sucks hard and deep. He’s rewarded by the first salty splash on his tongue and Sam’s low growl and Dean rides him down to the mattress, sucks him clean until Sam’s pushing him away.
Dean’s panting as he crawls up his brother’s body, kisses him with the taste of come. The syringe is in his hand before he recognizes what he’s doing…the needle slipping into Sam’s skin while Dean’s tongue plunders his mouth and Sam’s eyes widen even as his body falls slack.
He tosses the needle aside and moves so that his cock is pressed against his brother’s ass. He’s not asleep, and Sam’s head moves lightly against the dirty pillow as Dean presses in, lifts Sam’s legs up and to the sides, watches as his cock slowly penetrates Sam’s ass…there’s no lube and it must burn, but Sam can’t say anything, his mouth moving numbly as Dean pulls out and then back in and he’s nearly coming already.
Dean licks his lips. “It’s okay Sammy…just relax….let me make you feel good.” He closes his eyes and lets go, lets the sensation carry him, filling his brother’s ass with come before collapsing forward. Sam’s warm beneath him, but not warm enough, not nearly enough.