In Sweat and Blood, Part 3- Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: In Sweat and Blood, Part Three
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.
“Sammy, Sammy drink this.”
Sam’s not completely awake, but there’s a glass in his face, on his lip and Dean’s pouring some liquid into him. It burns like alcohol but tastes like…like blood or something. Sam sputters, but it keeps coming and he has to swallow.
It’s like sin, liquid and hot and tempting. He wants more once he’s swallowed, even after Dean pulls it away and Dean’s laughing, petting…Sam’s skin is alive with the need for touch, for more…for Dean.
“Dean.” It’s a groan, a moan…a whine that makes Dean chuckle again, their bodies sliding against one another in the sticky heat. “Dean.”
“Right here, Sammy, right here…gonna make you feel so good.”
Dean’s tongue is on him…moving over his flesh and Sam’s cock wants to feel it, strains up for it. Dean responds by rolling him over, so that his cock is trapped against the damp sheet and Dean’s tongue maps out the line of his spine. Sam relaxes more as Dean’s hands rumble over his back and down to his ass. That tongue marks its way through Sam’s crack and up to his hole, licking and laving and the pressing inside him and Sam stiffens a little.
Dean’s chuckle is sinister and slow, his hands searing against bare flesh. “Easy, Sammy…easy…”
Sam spots the glass and reaches for it, swallowing more of the fire, damnation in a glass. Dean’s moving rising over him, pressing into him and Sam thinks it should hurt more than it does, but there’s no pain…not until something slices into his back…but Dean’s kisses away the sting, licks and sucks on the skin and that should be disgusting, but Sam finds it only turns him on more.
He knows something isn’t right, but then, he’s laying naked under his brother, and he’s wanted this since he knew what this was…and he can’t fight the way he’s craved his brother’s touch…and so Dean has a blood kink, that doesn’t surprise him after everything they’ve been through.
Dean’s tongue slides through the cut and Sam whimpers a little. It doesn’t hurt, not really…it stings and it burns and it’s almost as though the saliva he leaves behind is alive, but then Dean’s thrusting and grunting and Sam’s cock strains at the linen under him, wanting more.
He stiffens when the door opens, when bright light is blocked by heavy shadow and his father’s voice rumbles across the floor. Dean pauses, buried deep inside Sam and the door closes, their father moving closer, his hand fisting in Sam’s hair and turning his face up.
He expects anger, disgust…not the pure lust he finds. “Dad?”
But John’s hand leaves him and moves to Dean…Dean who’s still buried balls deep inside Sam, Dean whose body is heavy on top of him and Sam blinks as their mouths connect, as they kiss with tongues and teeth and groaning.
He wants to move, to get away, but he’s trapped by the alcohol, by the drugs, by Dean’s body. “You taste good, Sammy.” John says and when he bends toward Sam’s face he can see blood on his father’s lips…blood that came from Dean’s mouth.
“Dad?” Sam says it again, reaches for him. John kisses over Sam’s palm, sucks at the skin on his wrist.
“It’s okay, Sammy….it’s okay.”
Sam isn’t sure okay is the right word when his father’s zipper sounds and Dean’s movement pushes him closer to his father’s cock and it’s hard and smells musky. John shuffles closer, runs a thick thumb over Sam’s lips, pressing on the lower lip until Sam opens his mouth.
Sam thinks he must be dreaming, though he can’t make out whether it’s a nightmare or not…because Dean is everything he’s wanted…and maybe if it has to come with this…but now his father’s cock is on his tongue and Sam wants to shake his head, wants to get away.
Dean is fucking into him, slow and steady, licking at the wound. John is holding his head and fucking into his mouth and Sam can’t breathe, can’t think past the immediate moment, past the way his cock really shouldn’t be so hard, shouldn’t want to come so badly…not like this…but he does…he does and when Dean cuts him a second time, Sam comes, hot and sticky on his stomach, smeared into the bed as Dean thrusts and sucks and comes inside him.
And he’s still there, still on top of him, still inside him while their father holds Sam’s head and spews come into the back of his throat where Sam has no choice but to swallow…and it feels like the alcohol did, like it’s alive and burning into him, fingers moving through his stomach…and Sam has a few moments to wonder what has gotten them before the dark swells and swallows him.
“He’s strong.” It’s Dean’s voice. Sam can feel him on the bed, sitting close, his hand casually on Sam’s thigh.
“Always has been.” That was his father. On his other side. Sam wants to open his eyes, wants to plead with them.
He knows. It won’t matter. The darkness is already building inside him. He feels it with every touch of their tongues, in each drop of sweat, every ounce of come they empty into him.
Sam shifts and brings their attention back to him. He opens his eyes, finds his father’s face in the dark. The stench in the room is strong and Sam feels slick with the heat. His hands are bound, like they have been for hours, over his head. His father’s face is concerned, his hand gentle. “We don’t want to hurt you, Sammy.”
Sam licks his lips, looks to his brother. Dean’s hand slides over his hip, up onto his stomach. “It’s so much easier when you stop fighting Sam.”
Sam shakes his head. “No…no Dean…don’t do this…we can figure it out.”
John’s smile is sad. He has a syringe in his hand. “It’s okay, Sam. Let us make it feel good.”
“Dad! No.” Sam pulls away, rolls his body toward Dean, but it only offers the flesh of his ass up to his father. The needle plunges into him and Sam’s resistance is melting. “Fuck. Dad…please…Dad…” His voice trails away, and he can’t figure out how to make the sounds again.
John’s hand pets over his skin, stroking through the sweat. “Shh…Sam …everything is going to feel so good. I promise.”
Sam is so caught up in John that he doesn’t see the knife in his brother’s hand, not until it moved over his stomach and down to his thigh. Two swift movements and they both bend to suckle at new wounds while Sam’s cock responds by hardening and begging for attention.
Dean lifts his face, and makes soft sounds that Sam supposes are meant to calm him. “We only want you to be with us, Sam….forever…like this. The three of us, together forever.”
He bends back to his…feeding…and Sam can’t hold his head up anymore. The heat is oppressive, pushing at him, pulling him down and he doesn’t want to, but he thinks maybe it’s just easier to let it.
With his eyes closed he can almost forget…lose himself in the soft murmur…in the warm slide of skin…almost…
The room is still…quiet…warm…he doesn’t move, other than to bite the pillow, groaning into its damp, dirty linen. His body is loose, laying long over sheets that have seen better days and he doesn’t want to dwell on what stains them…he’s not certain he could move if he had to…or that he could even want to…
And there’s something wrong with that…but he can’t think to figure out what that is.
He’s vaguely aware of breathing…a tiny thing…it stirs the hair on his arm. He’s more aware of the blanket of warmth surrounding him…covering him…moving into him…slow, like they have all the time in the world…He’s lost track of the words…soft in his ear…low and constant…but he knows the rhythm…the pattern…the lull as he lets go a little more.
There’s tenderness in this…in the way hands caress over muscles so spent they lie like liquid beneath his skin…in the please…in the leisurely slip of one body into another…in the fingers that brush his hair away from his sweaty face…in Dean rocking slowly against him, his eyes closed, his breathing only vaguely softer than his words.
Tenderness is what lulls him…brings him to almost…lets him feel the way the dirty sheets hold his cock and rub against it, rub into it…lets him drift on love you and need this…lets him almost forget that this hadn’t been a choice…that his hands are bound above him…that somewhere in the dark of the room there’s another watching…lets him feel Sammy and each gentle stroke, every pulsing pause of his brother’s touch in his deepest core…
Almost…right there…to the brink…the edge of everything…wondering if this is the time they will let him fall over it…if he can…will…wondering how long this has gone on…how much longer they’ll keep him like this…quivering with need for it…
Heat spreads through him, the air is cooler, the bed moves…if he opens his eyes he might see them…but he keeps them closed…moves against the sheets…empty…alone…wants it…he can hear them…can feel Dean as if he’s still there inside him…soft touches…hands pulling him back…away from it…soft chuckles as he moans, cries…more tears to keep the pillow wet…and he’s left at almost…almost…
On some level he knows what they’re doing…how they’re pushing him to wanting it, to falling…turning…because he wants it…some part of him wants it so bad he can taste it, along with the taste of come and sweat and blood and alcohol. Hours…maybe days they’ve been here, like this…keeping him on the edge.
They bleed him, sweat him…they lick up all his fluids like they carry life. They touch him, they touch each other. They fuck him. They fuck each other. He knows it even when he can’t see. He can hear them, rutting like animals on the floor or against the wall.
He’s so close he thinks he might be able to come if he could just touch himself, if he could focus his thoughts on his need…but each time he tries he’s reminded that his body isn’t his…that it’s slack and bound and with each movement the dark gathering in his stomach stretches outward. It’s inside him, so much inside him he isn’t always sure of where he ends and it begins.
There are words now…voices, and he thinks some of them might be his. They sound like please and let go and want and the heat of hands move over him, over his skin, fingering wounds and pressing a little more blood from them…tongues, teeth…he gasps for air, struggles to free his hands so he can touch, so he can pull them to him and find relief.
“He’s ready.” John’s voice is a rumble, low and it shoots into Sam’s cock. Four hands move over his arms and up to the ropes holding him. The knife sings and he’s free, his hands sore, but moving and he grabs Dean first, kissing frantically, pulling his face closer. Then John, pushing their mouths together, wanting, craving, unable to stop himself.
Dean shifts so that he is under Sam, his cock sliding easily into Sam’s used hole, but it isn’t enough…isn’t nearly enough. Sam rocks on him, his hands dragging at John’s naked form, pulling him, reaching for his cock and guiding it down to join Dean’s. His mouth is moving, words and moans and whimpers he can’t control as his father’s cock moves in as Dean’s pulls out.
It burns and Sam screams, though no sound comes as they move together and he holds his father’s shoulder and John kisses him, fucking his tongue into Sam’s mouth. John’s hand closes around Sam’s cock, and he’s coming before John even strokes him fully, coming and coming and he feels like he might never stop, like he’s bleeding out through his cock, surrendering his life for the relief.
When it finally stops, he’s sated and empty and little more than a rag doll between them, grunting as they punish his ass and fill it yet again, Dean first, and John following close behind.
Sam’s exhausted, spent. They settle him into the bed, cover him with blankets, kiss his forehead.
“Sleep baby.” Dean whispers and they’re gone. He’s alone with the dark he let inside him, and it fills him up, takes over all that they took away…and he turns into whatever they’ve become as he closes his eyes and sleeps.
They’re waiting for him when he wakes, sitting wrapped up in each other’s arms, watching him. He’s aware of the changes inside him, but he isn’t completely changed. He feels them under his skin, feels the want for them…but he’s still Sam, still who he was before. It seems odd somehow.
He crawls out of the cocoon of blankets and sheets, stained with bodily fluids from all three of them and moves to where they’re sitting, watching. He’s sure there’s something they should be doing, knows he needs to shower the days off his skin, but he slips into his father’s lap first, seeks out his mouth, kisses him deep and long, then does the same to Dean.
“Get cleaned up. We need to hit the road.” His father taps his ass as he rises. Dean stands to start packing. It’s so normal and surreal…and Sam smiles to himself as he moves into the bathroom.
He can track their movement, feels them touch, tastes their kisses. The shower is hot and comforting. He’s hungry, but it isn’t desperate, not yet. There’d be time enough for feeding.
By the time he’s done and dressed, Dean and their father have the truck and the Impala packed and ready to go. The room reeks of the secrets they’ve created. Dean comes to him, kisses him, pulls their bodies tight together. He cuts his own wrist and holds it up to Sam’s mouth and he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question, just closes his mouth over the wound and tastes his brother.
It’s enough to stave off the growing hunger. Dean’s cock is hard when Sam pulls away.
“Time enough for that later, boys.” John calls from the door. “Let’s hit it.”
Nothing really changes. They leave the dirty motel and head south, then west. Wind up in Colorado in two days and take out a ghost haunting a girls’ dorm. They hole up in some dive motel in the middle of nowhere and spend three days in bed.
Dean keeps the heat on in the Impala, even though it’s nearly ninety degrees as they head into Texas. Their skin is salty and damp. Sam spots a bar and they pull in. He’s thirsty, hungry. He wants.
They separate as they enter the dark confines. It’s little more than a room with a few tables and a bar. The jukebox is old and probably worth more than the entire place, including the alcohol.
Sam watches Dean sidle up to the bar, making eyes at the female bartender. His father aims for a table in the back. Sam heads for the jukebox, flicking his eyes over the girl at the nearest table. There’s no way she’s old enough to drink, eighteen…maybe…with dark eyes that are deep inside her beer and brown hair that slid down to cover her face. Sam could nearly taste her.
As he focuses on her, he feels Dean’s eyes, his father’s smile. Sam licks his lips. She’s hot and he wants her. She looks up as she feels him hovering, a flicker of a smile that disappears under whatever sadness has her here in this place pretending to drink. “You look lost.” Sam offers. She looks away.
“I’m…fine,” she responds.
Sam moves away, drops some money in the jukebox and picks songs randomly. “Dance with me.” He holds his hand out to her as the music stops and she looks up at him as if she doesn’t understand, but her hand is in his and he’s got her on her feet, moving them close together.
He can almost taste her tears and it makes the hunger stronger. “It’s okay…I’m going to make you feel so good.” Sam whispers in her ear. When he kisses her, she stiffens, but doesn’t pull away and when he turns her toward the back door, Dean is there with a glass. Sam knows now what is in it, knows that Dean’s bled into the whiskey, that his father’s spit into it…and it will work its magic and she’ll follow anywhere he takes her.
She spills a little, but as soon as she swallows, she belongs to him, her kiss frantic and needy and Sam lifts her…just lifts her and takes her into the dark behind the bar. She doesn’t notice right away that the others are there, that it’s Dean’s hands pulling Sam’s cock free or guiding into her. She’s focused on Sam, on his cock filling her on his lips pulling on hers.
Sam pushes her into the wall, nips at her neck. He can almost taste her…almost…and he can’t stop himself from biting, and she moans, yells as he draws blood.
Dean slips in behind her and Sam can feel him filling her other hole. His hands expose her breasts and Sam’s mouth closes over one nipple. She writhes between them and Dean’s mouth is sucking at the wound Sam’s made. Sam bites, drawing blood from the tender skin of her breast.
She whimpers, tries to move, but she’s held between them, impaled on them and their father is there, pulling her face to his, sucking her tongue into his mouth. She shudders as she comes, then comes again and Sam grunts, comes, slides out. Dean follows, filling her ass with his own orgasm and she falls to the ground.
John sinks behind her, licks her, sucks the juices out of her sopping cunt and ass…until she’s shuddering, shaking, coming all over again. He shares the taste of her, first with Dean, then with Sam and they leave her there, in the dirt, her skirt hitched up and her naked ass in the air.
He’s pretty sure they should look for help. Tell someone. At least in the moments when he’s alone. John Winchester isn’t alone often. In the truck, on the road. The boys are behind him, in the Impala. Following his lead. Just like always.
They still hunt. They kill things. Save people.
Then they hole up in the dark and heat and they fuck until they can’t move. Sometimes they bring someone along for the ride, like that girl in Texas. Sometimes they need to feed…fresh, unsoiled, untainted bodily fluids.
He knows it’s wrong, but in the heat he can’t help himself. It should bother him the way Sammy goes after the blood, the way he gives in to the need before either of them. Sam brings them. Sam hunts them.
Dean likes tears and sweat. He likes to make them cry, lick them. His desire for the blood is strong too, second only to Sam’s.
John’s own taste runs to come…and it doesn’t matter if it’s male or female. He needs it like he needs air. He needs help, and he knows it. He isn’t sure he can hold on to that need enough to save them…but he’s ready to try.
So he leads them, takes them to someone who can help. He hasn’t been to the Roadhouse in years. Not since Bill died. Not since he had to tell Ellen her husband wasn’t coming home. But she’d know what this was. She could help them.
He knows it’s a mistake the minute the door closes behind them. Sam and Dean spread out into the empty room, Ellen smiles at him from the bar and his cock twitches. His mind fills with images of having her stretched out on the bar, his face buried in her pussy.
He licks his lips and moves toward her, smiling. The boys have come together across the room, too close, too involved in each other. Someone is going to notice.
Ellen’s got a shot of whiskey down before he reaches her and he imagines it’s a shot of something else as he downs it.
“Long time.”
He nods, glances at the boys. Sam’s got his hands on Dean’s hips. Dean’s got his head on Sam’s shoulder. They’re watching him. “Need something.” John manages.
Her eyebrow raises, her eyes flick to Sam and Dean. “Those your boys?”
John nods. “Pretty, aren’t they?” He can’t stop himself, licks his lips. The hunger is strong…for her…for them…
She looks at him funny then, and he knows she’s going to figure it out. “They okay?”
John shakes his head a little. “Something got ‘em. Don’t know what.”
She refills his whiskey and he relaxes a little. He wants to taste her. “They look…”
“Hot.” John finishes for her. He wants them almost as much as he wants her…maybe more…”It’s hot.”
He leans closer, inhales the scent of her. “I think they’re sleeping together,” he whispers, and he can feel her shock, her revulsion. If she only knew.
Her eyes skip over to the boys again and he can tell from her reaction that they’re kissing. It makes him ache with need. “I think you better go.” Ellen says, her eyes coming back to his.
He shakes his head. “Can’t…need…” He licks his lips again, tasting whiskey and come. “Hungry.”
He knows then he’ll never escape it, that taking her will bring the end…and he wants it anyway…wants to pull her over the bar and strip her naked, lay her out, drink her juices, fill her with his own…he moans with the need of it, feels an echo from his boys, and they’re close. He turns, and Sam is there, his face needy, his mouth open and John kisses him.
The boy tastes like his brother, tastes like sin and sex and John’s cock is hard. He hears Ellen leaving, feels Dean sliding in between his spread legs…There’s the sound of a gun, the pump of a shotgun.
He turns them, pushes his boys away. He wants them safe, wants them free…wants them desperately.
They hesitate, and the shot rings out, taking a chunk of ceiling. John stands, blocks them from her view. He holds out his hands. He can feel them running, the roar of the Impala. He’s still hard and he wants nothing more than to follow them, but he came here for help…even if that help is a bullet between his eyes.
He’s a monster.
It’s the first thought in his head when he comes to. A monster who raped his children. A monster that turned them into monsters.
He opens his eyes. He’s hungry. He wants.
He’s tied down. The room is cold. Icy. He’s not alone.
“He’s awake.”
Ellen is nearby, and Bobby and Pastor Jim. “Take it easy, John. We’re here to help.” Jim says.
“Help?” John asks, his voice deep and dark.
Bobby steps closer, nodding. “We’ll get it out of you, then we’ll go find the boys.”
“My boys.” John’s cock responds, despite the cold, despite his own revulsion.
“We need to get it colder.” Jim says and John realizes that while he’s nearly naked they’re wearing winter coats and gloves.
Ellen leans over him, her brown eyes warm with concern. “It’s going to get bad before it gets good.”
He’s alone then, alone in the cold with the hunger burning inside him.
It’s days alone in the cold. White light surrounds him. They feed him holy water and sacramental bread. They don’t touch him.
He’s a monster.
The thought beats around in his head. He sees Dean in his mind, hears him pleading with him. Feels the needs that pushed him to do it anyway, to make his son like him.
There’s no sense of time, only cold and need and the shaking as the darkness tries to keep its hold on him.
“We found them.” It’s Bobby this time. He doesn’t come close, offers John water at the end of a pole. “They got away, John, but we won’t give up.”
He dreams of Sam and Dean on the road, with that hunger, that need inside them…and he knows no one will have to find them. They will come for him.
Sam and Dean will come and find them and no one here is ready for what they are now, for what they’ve become together.
Sam didn’t need the dark to want his brother. Sam wanted Dean all along. And John had given Dean to him…broke him, filled him with dark, turned him into the monster…bound them together in this…
And now…Sam was the dark and Dean had become his shadow.
Title: In Sweat and Blood, Part Three
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.
“Sammy, Sammy drink this.”
Sam’s not completely awake, but there’s a glass in his face, on his lip and Dean’s pouring some liquid into him. It burns like alcohol but tastes like…like blood or something. Sam sputters, but it keeps coming and he has to swallow.
It’s like sin, liquid and hot and tempting. He wants more once he’s swallowed, even after Dean pulls it away and Dean’s laughing, petting…Sam’s skin is alive with the need for touch, for more…for Dean.
“Dean.” It’s a groan, a moan…a whine that makes Dean chuckle again, their bodies sliding against one another in the sticky heat. “Dean.”
“Right here, Sammy, right here…gonna make you feel so good.”
Dean’s tongue is on him…moving over his flesh and Sam’s cock wants to feel it, strains up for it. Dean responds by rolling him over, so that his cock is trapped against the damp sheet and Dean’s tongue maps out the line of his spine. Sam relaxes more as Dean’s hands rumble over his back and down to his ass. That tongue marks its way through Sam’s crack and up to his hole, licking and laving and the pressing inside him and Sam stiffens a little.
Dean’s chuckle is sinister and slow, his hands searing against bare flesh. “Easy, Sammy…easy…”
Sam spots the glass and reaches for it, swallowing more of the fire, damnation in a glass. Dean’s moving rising over him, pressing into him and Sam thinks it should hurt more than it does, but there’s no pain…not until something slices into his back…but Dean’s kisses away the sting, licks and sucks on the skin and that should be disgusting, but Sam finds it only turns him on more.
He knows something isn’t right, but then, he’s laying naked under his brother, and he’s wanted this since he knew what this was…and he can’t fight the way he’s craved his brother’s touch…and so Dean has a blood kink, that doesn’t surprise him after everything they’ve been through.
Dean’s tongue slides through the cut and Sam whimpers a little. It doesn’t hurt, not really…it stings and it burns and it’s almost as though the saliva he leaves behind is alive, but then Dean’s thrusting and grunting and Sam’s cock strains at the linen under him, wanting more.
He stiffens when the door opens, when bright light is blocked by heavy shadow and his father’s voice rumbles across the floor. Dean pauses, buried deep inside Sam and the door closes, their father moving closer, his hand fisting in Sam’s hair and turning his face up.
He expects anger, disgust…not the pure lust he finds. “Dad?”
But John’s hand leaves him and moves to Dean…Dean who’s still buried balls deep inside Sam, Dean whose body is heavy on top of him and Sam blinks as their mouths connect, as they kiss with tongues and teeth and groaning.
He wants to move, to get away, but he’s trapped by the alcohol, by the drugs, by Dean’s body. “You taste good, Sammy.” John says and when he bends toward Sam’s face he can see blood on his father’s lips…blood that came from Dean’s mouth.
“Dad?” Sam says it again, reaches for him. John kisses over Sam’s palm, sucks at the skin on his wrist.
“It’s okay, Sammy….it’s okay.”
Sam isn’t sure okay is the right word when his father’s zipper sounds and Dean’s movement pushes him closer to his father’s cock and it’s hard and smells musky. John shuffles closer, runs a thick thumb over Sam’s lips, pressing on the lower lip until Sam opens his mouth.
Sam thinks he must be dreaming, though he can’t make out whether it’s a nightmare or not…because Dean is everything he’s wanted…and maybe if it has to come with this…but now his father’s cock is on his tongue and Sam wants to shake his head, wants to get away.
Dean is fucking into him, slow and steady, licking at the wound. John is holding his head and fucking into his mouth and Sam can’t breathe, can’t think past the immediate moment, past the way his cock really shouldn’t be so hard, shouldn’t want to come so badly…not like this…but he does…he does and when Dean cuts him a second time, Sam comes, hot and sticky on his stomach, smeared into the bed as Dean thrusts and sucks and comes inside him.
And he’s still there, still on top of him, still inside him while their father holds Sam’s head and spews come into the back of his throat where Sam has no choice but to swallow…and it feels like the alcohol did, like it’s alive and burning into him, fingers moving through his stomach…and Sam has a few moments to wonder what has gotten them before the dark swells and swallows him.
“He’s strong.” It’s Dean’s voice. Sam can feel him on the bed, sitting close, his hand casually on Sam’s thigh.
“Always has been.” That was his father. On his other side. Sam wants to open his eyes, wants to plead with them.
He knows. It won’t matter. The darkness is already building inside him. He feels it with every touch of their tongues, in each drop of sweat, every ounce of come they empty into him.
Sam shifts and brings their attention back to him. He opens his eyes, finds his father’s face in the dark. The stench in the room is strong and Sam feels slick with the heat. His hands are bound, like they have been for hours, over his head. His father’s face is concerned, his hand gentle. “We don’t want to hurt you, Sammy.”
Sam licks his lips, looks to his brother. Dean’s hand slides over his hip, up onto his stomach. “It’s so much easier when you stop fighting Sam.”
Sam shakes his head. “No…no Dean…don’t do this…we can figure it out.”
John’s smile is sad. He has a syringe in his hand. “It’s okay, Sam. Let us make it feel good.”
“Dad! No.” Sam pulls away, rolls his body toward Dean, but it only offers the flesh of his ass up to his father. The needle plunges into him and Sam’s resistance is melting. “Fuck. Dad…please…Dad…” His voice trails away, and he can’t figure out how to make the sounds again.
John’s hand pets over his skin, stroking through the sweat. “Shh…Sam …everything is going to feel so good. I promise.”
Sam is so caught up in John that he doesn’t see the knife in his brother’s hand, not until it moved over his stomach and down to his thigh. Two swift movements and they both bend to suckle at new wounds while Sam’s cock responds by hardening and begging for attention.
Dean lifts his face, and makes soft sounds that Sam supposes are meant to calm him. “We only want you to be with us, Sam….forever…like this. The three of us, together forever.”
He bends back to his…feeding…and Sam can’t hold his head up anymore. The heat is oppressive, pushing at him, pulling him down and he doesn’t want to, but he thinks maybe it’s just easier to let it.
With his eyes closed he can almost forget…lose himself in the soft murmur…in the warm slide of skin…almost…
The room is still…quiet…warm…he doesn’t move, other than to bite the pillow, groaning into its damp, dirty linen. His body is loose, laying long over sheets that have seen better days and he doesn’t want to dwell on what stains them…he’s not certain he could move if he had to…or that he could even want to…
And there’s something wrong with that…but he can’t think to figure out what that is.
He’s vaguely aware of breathing…a tiny thing…it stirs the hair on his arm. He’s more aware of the blanket of warmth surrounding him…covering him…moving into him…slow, like they have all the time in the world…He’s lost track of the words…soft in his ear…low and constant…but he knows the rhythm…the pattern…the lull as he lets go a little more.
There’s tenderness in this…in the way hands caress over muscles so spent they lie like liquid beneath his skin…in the please…in the leisurely slip of one body into another…in the fingers that brush his hair away from his sweaty face…in Dean rocking slowly against him, his eyes closed, his breathing only vaguely softer than his words.
Tenderness is what lulls him…brings him to almost…lets him feel the way the dirty sheets hold his cock and rub against it, rub into it…lets him drift on love you and need this…lets him almost forget that this hadn’t been a choice…that his hands are bound above him…that somewhere in the dark of the room there’s another watching…lets him feel Sammy and each gentle stroke, every pulsing pause of his brother’s touch in his deepest core…
Almost…right there…to the brink…the edge of everything…wondering if this is the time they will let him fall over it…if he can…will…wondering how long this has gone on…how much longer they’ll keep him like this…quivering with need for it…
Heat spreads through him, the air is cooler, the bed moves…if he opens his eyes he might see them…but he keeps them closed…moves against the sheets…empty…alone…wants it…he can hear them…can feel Dean as if he’s still there inside him…soft touches…hands pulling him back…away from it…soft chuckles as he moans, cries…more tears to keep the pillow wet…and he’s left at almost…almost…
On some level he knows what they’re doing…how they’re pushing him to wanting it, to falling…turning…because he wants it…some part of him wants it so bad he can taste it, along with the taste of come and sweat and blood and alcohol. Hours…maybe days they’ve been here, like this…keeping him on the edge.
They bleed him, sweat him…they lick up all his fluids like they carry life. They touch him, they touch each other. They fuck him. They fuck each other. He knows it even when he can’t see. He can hear them, rutting like animals on the floor or against the wall.
He’s so close he thinks he might be able to come if he could just touch himself, if he could focus his thoughts on his need…but each time he tries he’s reminded that his body isn’t his…that it’s slack and bound and with each movement the dark gathering in his stomach stretches outward. It’s inside him, so much inside him he isn’t always sure of where he ends and it begins.
There are words now…voices, and he thinks some of them might be his. They sound like please and let go and want and the heat of hands move over him, over his skin, fingering wounds and pressing a little more blood from them…tongues, teeth…he gasps for air, struggles to free his hands so he can touch, so he can pull them to him and find relief.
“He’s ready.” John’s voice is a rumble, low and it shoots into Sam’s cock. Four hands move over his arms and up to the ropes holding him. The knife sings and he’s free, his hands sore, but moving and he grabs Dean first, kissing frantically, pulling his face closer. Then John, pushing their mouths together, wanting, craving, unable to stop himself.
Dean shifts so that he is under Sam, his cock sliding easily into Sam’s used hole, but it isn’t enough…isn’t nearly enough. Sam rocks on him, his hands dragging at John’s naked form, pulling him, reaching for his cock and guiding it down to join Dean’s. His mouth is moving, words and moans and whimpers he can’t control as his father’s cock moves in as Dean’s pulls out.
It burns and Sam screams, though no sound comes as they move together and he holds his father’s shoulder and John kisses him, fucking his tongue into Sam’s mouth. John’s hand closes around Sam’s cock, and he’s coming before John even strokes him fully, coming and coming and he feels like he might never stop, like he’s bleeding out through his cock, surrendering his life for the relief.
When it finally stops, he’s sated and empty and little more than a rag doll between them, grunting as they punish his ass and fill it yet again, Dean first, and John following close behind.
Sam’s exhausted, spent. They settle him into the bed, cover him with blankets, kiss his forehead.
“Sleep baby.” Dean whispers and they’re gone. He’s alone with the dark he let inside him, and it fills him up, takes over all that they took away…and he turns into whatever they’ve become as he closes his eyes and sleeps.
They’re waiting for him when he wakes, sitting wrapped up in each other’s arms, watching him. He’s aware of the changes inside him, but he isn’t completely changed. He feels them under his skin, feels the want for them…but he’s still Sam, still who he was before. It seems odd somehow.
He crawls out of the cocoon of blankets and sheets, stained with bodily fluids from all three of them and moves to where they’re sitting, watching. He’s sure there’s something they should be doing, knows he needs to shower the days off his skin, but he slips into his father’s lap first, seeks out his mouth, kisses him deep and long, then does the same to Dean.
“Get cleaned up. We need to hit the road.” His father taps his ass as he rises. Dean stands to start packing. It’s so normal and surreal…and Sam smiles to himself as he moves into the bathroom.
He can track their movement, feels them touch, tastes their kisses. The shower is hot and comforting. He’s hungry, but it isn’t desperate, not yet. There’d be time enough for feeding.
By the time he’s done and dressed, Dean and their father have the truck and the Impala packed and ready to go. The room reeks of the secrets they’ve created. Dean comes to him, kisses him, pulls their bodies tight together. He cuts his own wrist and holds it up to Sam’s mouth and he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question, just closes his mouth over the wound and tastes his brother.
It’s enough to stave off the growing hunger. Dean’s cock is hard when Sam pulls away.
“Time enough for that later, boys.” John calls from the door. “Let’s hit it.”
Nothing really changes. They leave the dirty motel and head south, then west. Wind up in Colorado in two days and take out a ghost haunting a girls’ dorm. They hole up in some dive motel in the middle of nowhere and spend three days in bed.
Dean keeps the heat on in the Impala, even though it’s nearly ninety degrees as they head into Texas. Their skin is salty and damp. Sam spots a bar and they pull in. He’s thirsty, hungry. He wants.
They separate as they enter the dark confines. It’s little more than a room with a few tables and a bar. The jukebox is old and probably worth more than the entire place, including the alcohol.
Sam watches Dean sidle up to the bar, making eyes at the female bartender. His father aims for a table in the back. Sam heads for the jukebox, flicking his eyes over the girl at the nearest table. There’s no way she’s old enough to drink, eighteen…maybe…with dark eyes that are deep inside her beer and brown hair that slid down to cover her face. Sam could nearly taste her.
As he focuses on her, he feels Dean’s eyes, his father’s smile. Sam licks his lips. She’s hot and he wants her. She looks up as she feels him hovering, a flicker of a smile that disappears under whatever sadness has her here in this place pretending to drink. “You look lost.” Sam offers. She looks away.
“I’m…fine,” she responds.
Sam moves away, drops some money in the jukebox and picks songs randomly. “Dance with me.” He holds his hand out to her as the music stops and she looks up at him as if she doesn’t understand, but her hand is in his and he’s got her on her feet, moving them close together.
He can almost taste her tears and it makes the hunger stronger. “It’s okay…I’m going to make you feel so good.” Sam whispers in her ear. When he kisses her, she stiffens, but doesn’t pull away and when he turns her toward the back door, Dean is there with a glass. Sam knows now what is in it, knows that Dean’s bled into the whiskey, that his father’s spit into it…and it will work its magic and she’ll follow anywhere he takes her.
She spills a little, but as soon as she swallows, she belongs to him, her kiss frantic and needy and Sam lifts her…just lifts her and takes her into the dark behind the bar. She doesn’t notice right away that the others are there, that it’s Dean’s hands pulling Sam’s cock free or guiding into her. She’s focused on Sam, on his cock filling her on his lips pulling on hers.
Sam pushes her into the wall, nips at her neck. He can almost taste her…almost…and he can’t stop himself from biting, and she moans, yells as he draws blood.
Dean slips in behind her and Sam can feel him filling her other hole. His hands expose her breasts and Sam’s mouth closes over one nipple. She writhes between them and Dean’s mouth is sucking at the wound Sam’s made. Sam bites, drawing blood from the tender skin of her breast.
She whimpers, tries to move, but she’s held between them, impaled on them and their father is there, pulling her face to his, sucking her tongue into his mouth. She shudders as she comes, then comes again and Sam grunts, comes, slides out. Dean follows, filling her ass with his own orgasm and she falls to the ground.
John sinks behind her, licks her, sucks the juices out of her sopping cunt and ass…until she’s shuddering, shaking, coming all over again. He shares the taste of her, first with Dean, then with Sam and they leave her there, in the dirt, her skirt hitched up and her naked ass in the air.
He’s pretty sure they should look for help. Tell someone. At least in the moments when he’s alone. John Winchester isn’t alone often. In the truck, on the road. The boys are behind him, in the Impala. Following his lead. Just like always.
They still hunt. They kill things. Save people.
Then they hole up in the dark and heat and they fuck until they can’t move. Sometimes they bring someone along for the ride, like that girl in Texas. Sometimes they need to feed…fresh, unsoiled, untainted bodily fluids.
He knows it’s wrong, but in the heat he can’t help himself. It should bother him the way Sammy goes after the blood, the way he gives in to the need before either of them. Sam brings them. Sam hunts them.
Dean likes tears and sweat. He likes to make them cry, lick them. His desire for the blood is strong too, second only to Sam’s.
John’s own taste runs to come…and it doesn’t matter if it’s male or female. He needs it like he needs air. He needs help, and he knows it. He isn’t sure he can hold on to that need enough to save them…but he’s ready to try.
So he leads them, takes them to someone who can help. He hasn’t been to the Roadhouse in years. Not since Bill died. Not since he had to tell Ellen her husband wasn’t coming home. But she’d know what this was. She could help them.
He knows it’s a mistake the minute the door closes behind them. Sam and Dean spread out into the empty room, Ellen smiles at him from the bar and his cock twitches. His mind fills with images of having her stretched out on the bar, his face buried in her pussy.
He licks his lips and moves toward her, smiling. The boys have come together across the room, too close, too involved in each other. Someone is going to notice.
Ellen’s got a shot of whiskey down before he reaches her and he imagines it’s a shot of something else as he downs it.
“Long time.”
He nods, glances at the boys. Sam’s got his hands on Dean’s hips. Dean’s got his head on Sam’s shoulder. They’re watching him. “Need something.” John manages.
Her eyebrow raises, her eyes flick to Sam and Dean. “Those your boys?”
John nods. “Pretty, aren’t they?” He can’t stop himself, licks his lips. The hunger is strong…for her…for them…
She looks at him funny then, and he knows she’s going to figure it out. “They okay?”
John shakes his head a little. “Something got ‘em. Don’t know what.”
She refills his whiskey and he relaxes a little. He wants to taste her. “They look…”
“Hot.” John finishes for her. He wants them almost as much as he wants her…maybe more…”It’s hot.”
He leans closer, inhales the scent of her. “I think they’re sleeping together,” he whispers, and he can feel her shock, her revulsion. If she only knew.
Her eyes skip over to the boys again and he can tell from her reaction that they’re kissing. It makes him ache with need. “I think you better go.” Ellen says, her eyes coming back to his.
He shakes his head. “Can’t…need…” He licks his lips again, tasting whiskey and come. “Hungry.”
He knows then he’ll never escape it, that taking her will bring the end…and he wants it anyway…wants to pull her over the bar and strip her naked, lay her out, drink her juices, fill her with his own…he moans with the need of it, feels an echo from his boys, and they’re close. He turns, and Sam is there, his face needy, his mouth open and John kisses him.
The boy tastes like his brother, tastes like sin and sex and John’s cock is hard. He hears Ellen leaving, feels Dean sliding in between his spread legs…There’s the sound of a gun, the pump of a shotgun.
He turns them, pushes his boys away. He wants them safe, wants them free…wants them desperately.
They hesitate, and the shot rings out, taking a chunk of ceiling. John stands, blocks them from her view. He holds out his hands. He can feel them running, the roar of the Impala. He’s still hard and he wants nothing more than to follow them, but he came here for help…even if that help is a bullet between his eyes.
He’s a monster.
It’s the first thought in his head when he comes to. A monster who raped his children. A monster that turned them into monsters.
He opens his eyes. He’s hungry. He wants.
He’s tied down. The room is cold. Icy. He’s not alone.
“He’s awake.”
Ellen is nearby, and Bobby and Pastor Jim. “Take it easy, John. We’re here to help.” Jim says.
“Help?” John asks, his voice deep and dark.
Bobby steps closer, nodding. “We’ll get it out of you, then we’ll go find the boys.”
“My boys.” John’s cock responds, despite the cold, despite his own revulsion.
“We need to get it colder.” Jim says and John realizes that while he’s nearly naked they’re wearing winter coats and gloves.
Ellen leans over him, her brown eyes warm with concern. “It’s going to get bad before it gets good.”
He’s alone then, alone in the cold with the hunger burning inside him.
It’s days alone in the cold. White light surrounds him. They feed him holy water and sacramental bread. They don’t touch him.
He’s a monster.
The thought beats around in his head. He sees Dean in his mind, hears him pleading with him. Feels the needs that pushed him to do it anyway, to make his son like him.
There’s no sense of time, only cold and need and the shaking as the darkness tries to keep its hold on him.
“We found them.” It’s Bobby this time. He doesn’t come close, offers John water at the end of a pole. “They got away, John, but we won’t give up.”
He dreams of Sam and Dean on the road, with that hunger, that need inside them…and he knows no one will have to find them. They will come for him.
Sam and Dean will come and find them and no one here is ready for what they are now, for what they’ve become together.
Sam didn’t need the dark to want his brother. Sam wanted Dean all along. And John had given Dean to him…broke him, filled him with dark, turned him into the monster…bound them together in this…
And now…Sam was the dark and Dean had become his shadow.