Fanfic - SPN: Training Day - Ch.1 - The Morning Service
Title: Training Day [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter One: The Morning Service
[019.Cranky]
Sam had told him to stay laying on his side in the bed, sticky with his own come, until he was specifically told that he could move or get up. Then Sam had gone to grab a shower.
Dean swallowed, and swallowed again, working to dislodge the heaviness that seemed to have settled into the back of his throat and trying not to think too much about what was ahead of him now. He didn't know how much his surrender would change the way Sam was with him, what Sam wanted from him. But he couldn't let Sam suffocate his mind with the drug, making him a slave to his own dick. And he couldn't let Sam bleed him dry, his powers shoving their way into his body until it gave out entirely. None of his options were pretty, not that he'd ever had too many really good options in life, but it was harder, somehow, knowing that it was Sam who was pushing these options on him.
Sam, the brother he'd give the world to, was doing this to him.
He shifted his shoulders, tense, and glanced down at the bathroom door before going back to looking at walls and windows, even though he wasn't really taking anything in.
Only ... it wasn't his Sam, not really.
It didn't matter, though. Or, it mattered, but it didn't change what he had to do. The price of rebellion was too high, considering how unlikely it was that he would succeed. He had to keep his eyes open and his mind and body ready for when an opportunity arose that might give him the upper hand in this. But, for now, he'd just have to learn how to breathe through whatever violence Sam beat into his body ... and whatever horror Sam etched into his heart.
When Sam came out of the bathroom some minutes later, he looked at Dean, a kind of twisted wonderment lighting his face. "You're actually being obedient this morning. … I love it. … I might just have to stay home today and see how good you can really be."
Dean shifted his eyes away, then. He didn't want to make Sam angry, but he'd much rather not have Sam test his level of obedience all day today. Or really any day.
If all Sam wanted was for him to be a fucktoy before and after work, then he wouldn't like it, but he'd be okay, considering the alternatives. But if Sam was going to make him literally jump through hoops, or stand on his head for an hour, or catch m&ms in his mouth like some kind of show dog, then his so-called obedience wouldn't last very long at all.
"What's the matter? You don't want me to stay, Dean? You don't want me to stay and play with you?"
Sam walked to stand right next to the bed, his semi-hard cock in Dean's face. And Dean could feel Sam's eyes burning into him from above, even though he didn't move his head. He swallowed hard, knowing the playful tone in Sam's voice was only a thin mask over darkness just waiting to lash out. There really weren't any good answers to this question. If he told the truth, which was that he hoped Sam left and stayed gone for as many hours as possible, daily, until one of them died, then he would be sticky with far more blood than come in under a minute. But if he lied and said he wanted Sam to stay, not only might Sam actually stay, even if he wasn't originally going to, but he would probably sense the lie and tear him to shreds anyway. He tried to think of ways he'd calmed or distracted Sam in the past, but he just kept coming up empty.
"Dean? Are you stalling? Trying to strategize? I thought we'd been through this. Whores don't need plans, Dean."
Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair, rushed. He grabbed at it, but it was still a bit too short to allow him a good grip when his fingers were moving that fast.
"I should have known that even in your obedience you'd still be thinking like something you're not. You're a whore, Dean, an owned one at that, which makes you … quite literally … a sex slave. Your whole reason for living is to please me, Dean. Forget about what you want and think about what I want. You have no other job or purpose in life. You are a tool for my pleasure, and that should be the only thing on your mind. Am I making myself clear?" Sam didn't sound angry, and seemed only a little impatient. These were just facts to Sam, facts he needed Dean to understand.
"Yes … sir." Crazy, but, yeah, crystal clear.
"So, think about the question again and give the answer most likely to please me. If you don't know, guess, and then we can … find the answer together."
Find the answer together.
Right. That kind of togetherness usually involved damage to Dean's internal organs, but Sam always seemed to be having fun, and that was, apparently, all he should be concerned about.
Life didn't really work that way, though, even if he was trying not to lean on his Hunter tendencies, it was just a natural impulse of most living things to seek self-preservation. He could only rationalize focusing on Sam's needs and wants, and ignoring his own, if he really believed that his personal survival depended solely on Sam's happiness. The problem was, however, that Sam in a good mood wasn't necessarily less likely to hurt him than Sam in a bad mood, he would just have different reasons.
Like, maybe it was "sexy".
In the end, though, since there was no good answer to this question, he settled for honesty, because he knew how much Sam hated being lied to.
"I'd like to … have some time … alone … during the day … sir."
Sam didn't say anything, just continued to move his fingers through Dean's hair. The silence scared Dean even more than all the horrid threats and half-truths always pouring off Sam's tongue. He closed his eyes when Sam's fingers explored lower, following the lines of his neck to his shoulder, his arm, and his side, where they stopped. He tried not to move too much, because Sam was really going to hurt him, now, he just knew it. Probably something sick and gory, like tear out a kidney by hand or something.
"Time alone. Sure. I see. You're once again the older brother annoyed half to death by his little brother. You want me to go away. But I went away, remember? Twice. You didn't like me being gone, don't you remember? Do you really want to be alone again? Alone in my world without me protecting you? Do you really think that would be better than being here with me?"
"I …" Sam's usually placid tone held a hint of something, maybe bitterness, and almost an edge of disbelief. It made Dean want to see the expression on his face, to better understand what was really going on and how he should respond. "May I turn and face you … umm … sir?"
"No, stay as you are."
"Okay … well. It's not that I think you're annoying or anything. I just … you usually … hurt me … a lot … when you're around … and … you act like I should do tricks when you snap your fingers … like some kind of trained animal … and … it's just hard for me to handle that stuff. So … I wanted you to go … so I wouldn't have to be punished … for disappointing you."
Sam chuckled, which really didn't seem like a good sign, but the tone of his speech held no trace of laughter, it was mostly lit by a barely-there hint of curiosity. "A … trained … animal. Interesting. Maybe you're right. I've had pretty high expectations for you … assuming that you would just catch on, just obey, just do what made sense for a whore to do. But you've never been trained. It might be fun to beat a dog for not doing a trick properly, but if it had never been taught the trick in the first place, the beating wouldn't help encourage it to do a better job, because it doesn't know how to do a good job. Oh, Dean, you act dumb so much that I almost forget how smart you are. I mean, they'd mentioned it, when I got your papers, but … no wonder you've been so defiant. I forgot all about your training. I need to train you. That's what we'll do today, Dean. Training."
Sam was petting him again, warm fingers moving through his hair and over his skin, but Dean's blood was running ice cold and he shuddered. Training? Yeah. This was bad. Really bad.
"Suck my cock." It was said softly, as if to encourage, but still clearly a command rather than a request.
Sam's dick was hanging only inches from his lips, already filling out, but Dean hesitated. Not for any particular reason, more because he'd never just taken orders at the drop of a hat from anyone other than his dad, and those were never these kinds of orders. Of course, it didn't really matter why he hesitated, Sam tugged at his heart with his power and Dean's breath hitched. It wasn't a full-on pull, to make him scream, but it was enough to warn him, make him ache.
Dean reached out his hand to pull Sam's cock to his lips, but he felt that tug again and stopped.
"Only your mouth."
He exhaled and shifted, angling his head so he could mouth over the head of Sam's cock, pulling as much of it into his mouth as he could. It was nearly fully hard now and the angle was difficult, but he used his tongue to explore the part he could fit in his mouth while he sucked.
He felt dirty, and not in a sexy way, more like in a used and tainted way.
It wasn't that he'd never sucked cock or even that he'd never sucked Sam's cock, but he'd never done it like this … under duress, without the other person caring about him, or even just caring whether or not he got off. He'd never done it like this … like a whore. But that's what he was now, wasn't he? A whore?
Sam's hands yanked at his hair and Dean stopped moving, unsure of what Sam wanted from him.
"That's good. I like that. But shift a bit and relax your throat more. I'm gonna fuck your mouth. Don't fight it. You might gag a little, maybe feel like you can't get enough air, but just relax. You won't be dying on me any time soon."
He tried to relax his mouth and throat to accommodate more of Sam's cock as it began sliding in and out of his mouth, slow at first, but picking up speed. Sam's hand was in his hair, holding his head at an awkward angle, but one he seemed to like for his purposes. Dean kept his lips sealed around the cock slipping over his tongue and tried to clear his mind of thought, tried to just endure the feel of Sam making his mouth into just one more fuck-hole for his pleasure. Then Sam was pumping hard, hitting the back of his throat.
"Fuck yeah. … Mmmm. … I like that"
Sam's rhythm faltered and he seemed pretty close to coming. Then he pulled Dean's head to him and sank in as deep as he could go, mumbling affirmations as Dean's lungs began to protest. But he didn't come down Dean's abused throat. He pulled out and took his cock in hand, yanking it hard and fast.
"On your back. … Nnngggh. … Face up."
Dean rolled onto his back, knowing what was next, but also knowing he had no say in the matter and no way to fight it. So he just closed his eyes. And he heard Sam grunt and curse as jet after jet of Sam's hot come splashed onto his upturned face.
He could hear Sam's breathing slow back down to a normal pace and he ground his teeth together, hoping Sam wouldn't do what he was most likely going to do.
"Fuck, Dean. You're awfully pretty on your own, but you look downright sinful covered in come. And it's such a good look for a whore. … We'll have to do this more often."
Yeah, Lady Luck had clearly run scared from Dean, never to return. Maybe Sam had paid her off. Or had her killed.
Sam reached out to scoop up come from Dean's cheek with his finger before smearing the traces over Dean's lips. "Suck." Dean grudgingly opened his mouth for the invading finger and sucked it clean until Sam pulled it back out. "Good boy."
Dean's jaw tightened and he was glad his eyes were closed, because if they'd been open, they'd be flashing daggers at his brother right then.
He felt Sam's heat pull away from him and figured Sam had stepped away from the bed, which was just fine with him, since not having to deal with Sam was always preferable to having to deal with Sam these days.
"Spread your legs, whore. Knees up. Feet flat on the bed, like you're about to get fucked."
Dean bit back a retort that would gain him nothing and shifted until he was in the position, as instructed.
"Yeah, like that. You stay right there, just like that, until I tell you otherwise. I have some calls to make, some supplies to locate for your very first training day with me. It's gonna be great, Dean. I'm gonna have so much fun with you today. But while I'm dong all the boring stuff, I want to be able to see my whore open for me, ready for my use, and painted with my come."
Dean's whole body shook with shame and fear and with the strength it took to maintain his restraint, to not curse Sam to hell or just crack under the pressure of all this.
"You have something to say to me, whore?" Dean couldn't see his expression, but it sounded almost like a dare. A dare Dean would be crazy to take.
Sam was just waiting for him to fuck up so he could brutalize him. And Dean didn't want to give him the satisfaction of successfully goading him into something stupid. He also just didn't want any more pain or humiliation and his mouth never ceased to get him into trouble.
"No, sir." He breathed it out, quick, as deferentially as he could manage without gagging.
"Good." He heard Sam walk over in the general direction of the door, then the beep of a cell phone and a soft litany of requests, arrangements, scheduling, which lulled him somewhat, despite his ever-present anxiety.
The pose made him feel like a whore.
But if he was honest with himself, wasn't that what he was now, really? It was beyond Sam just calling him a whore. That bothered him, sure. It set his fucking teeth on edge every time Sam said it. But the ache in his chest, from emotions he kept on a tight leash, had nothing to do with what Sam called him. Not really. It had everything to do with the way Sam treated him and the way he was forced to respond to that treatment.
Sam called him a whore with a tone in his voice that said he thought Dean was less than nothing. But it still hurt like hell whenever Sam treated him like he really was less than nothing.
He didn't really like Sam's continual display of dominance, though in the past a sexually aggressive Sam could probably have led him around by his dick if he asked, but Sam didn't seem to care about him at all now, and it stung because he thought what they'd had was … something … more than just the sex … something deep … something he wouldn't muss by trying to put a name to it. But now it was like Sam couldn't see the worth of them caring for each other. Even though Dean had said, only days ago, that even with Sam kind of … lost … in darkness, right now, Dean would be with him, would stay by his side, would give him what he needed, but not like this, not without choice, not without any trace of feelings beyond lust.
A whore was all he was to Sam now.
And maybe he'd heard it before, but it hadn't sunk in like it did lying there, spread wide open to the whole damn room, arranged just right for any sexual whim of his owner, filthy with the fruits of his labor.
He was a fucking whore.
He could have chosen pain and obedience, could have fought Sam every step of the way, but that might have meant death, and he was too stubborn and couldn't face death yet, not when Sam might still have a chance. He could have chosen drugs and obedience, which would have meant he could blame it all on the chemicals in his body, but he was too self-conscious and wanted to keep his mind as whole as possible, so he refused to give himself up to the rush and the need. He'd chosen silence and obedience, which meant he just had to take it, he just had to do as he was told, he just had to be pretty, beg pretty, and fuck pretty.
He just had to be Sam's whore.
The word would probably never stop slicing away at his insides, but it wasn't just some insult thrown at him anymore. It was a title now. It was a fact. It was a truth.
He was a whore.
He hated himself for that, but he had no way to fix it right now, no way to even really try. And he hated that he was so weak he had water welling in his eyes, because even as he tried to be a 'good boy' for Sam, part of him secretly wished that Sam would just fucking kill him already.
But then Sam was leaning on the bed, leaning over him, and he felt the rough wet of a damp washcloth on his face as Sam softly swiped away most of the dried come there, at least enough so he could flutter his eyelids open and closed again. It was strange to see his brother that close and not menacing. He was so gentle in his ministrations. Honestly, the tenderness confused Dean more than anything else and his confusion must have shown.
"Do you have a question, Dean? You can ask me something if you want to right now. I want your training to be clear to you. So you know how to be a good boy for me all the time, okay? So go ahead and ask."
The first question he thought to ask was: Why are you being nice to me?. But he figured that might not go over well, so he tried to get at the information another way. "Umm … you're … rough … with me a lot … but right now … you're … not being rough with me."
Sam blinked down at him. "That seems like more of an observation than a question."
Dean breathed out, audibly, his brow knitting together. "Well … if I'm just a … whore … to you …" Yeah, he really didn't know how to say it any other way. "Why are you being nice to me right now?"
Sam laughed, sincerely amused, and the light actually went all the way to his eyes. "You're not just any whore, Dean. You're my whore, my property. And yes, okay, so you're also my brother and a former Hunter and all that, but I wouldn't have kept you around just to beat you up all the time for no reason, Dean. I'm rough with you when it's pleasurable for me and when you need the discipline. I don't need to hurt you for any other reason. And if I'm 'nice' to you, it's just because that's what I want at that moment."
Then Dean could see the shift, almost, as Sam's smile became wanton and sadistic. Sam pulled away from him, only to backhand Dean, a hard stinging slap over his left cheek. And Dean could taste a bit of blood from where his teeth must have connected with the inside of his cheek. He looked up at Sam and Sam's expression was some mix between sweet and depraved.
"See, Dean? You've been a good boy, so that wasn't about punishment. I just wanted that right then, it was for my pleasure. You're so hot when I hurt you, Dean. Fuck, if only you could see yourself the way I see you, you'd understand why my dick gets so fucking hard when I make you hurt for me."
Dean glared up at him, jaw working, eyes refusing to water, and Sam laughed at him, cruel.
"That expression right there? It's priceless, Dean. It has anger that says, in your former badass voice, 'if you hit me again, Sam, I'm gonna fucking kill you'. It has hurt, in your I-can't-go-on-without-you voice, that says 'but Sammy, you're all I have, please don't hurt me like this'. And it has a tiny cry of need, in that voice you're keeping locked away in the back of your head, that says 'please use me, sir, I'll be your good boy, just fuck me, please, don't hurt me'."
Dean could feel his body stiffen instantly, drowning in resentment, feeling exposed. He didn't know how true all that was, and maybe he didn't want to know, but he felt a flash of fear about what other demonic talents Sam might be hiding from him.
Sam must have seen that tension in him, that flicker of worry over secrets being unveiled, because he called up the mask of a gentle smile, one meant to calm skittish horses and the like. "Don't worry, Dean. I'm not in your head. Not like you're thinking. I just know you. Maybe more than you do. And really, if I wanted to know something in particular, I'd just ask you. Because if you're good, you'll tell me the truth, and if you're not, I'll make you scream it for me. … Are you feeling a bit less confused now?"
Dean swallowed, nodding, not trusting himself to speak.
"Good." Sam stepped away from him and the bed, then, reaching for the cell phone he must have set on the nightstand before he wiped down Dean's face. "Well, go grab a shower and, of course, make sure to get really clean for me. When you're done, come and kneel on the bed and then we'll get started."
"Yes, sir." No hesitation this time. These orders were simple and easy, nothing to stress over just yet, and no need to increase Sam's desire to hurt him. So Dean rolled out of bed in front of Sam and went to the bathroom to get clean.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter One: The Morning Service
[019.Cranky]
Sam had told him to stay laying on his side in the bed, sticky with his own come, until he was specifically told that he could move or get up. Then Sam had gone to grab a shower.
Dean swallowed, and swallowed again, working to dislodge the heaviness that seemed to have settled into the back of his throat and trying not to think too much about what was ahead of him now. He didn't know how much his surrender would change the way Sam was with him, what Sam wanted from him. But he couldn't let Sam suffocate his mind with the drug, making him a slave to his own dick. And he couldn't let Sam bleed him dry, his powers shoving their way into his body until it gave out entirely. None of his options were pretty, not that he'd ever had too many really good options in life, but it was harder, somehow, knowing that it was Sam who was pushing these options on him.
Sam, the brother he'd give the world to, was doing this to him.
He shifted his shoulders, tense, and glanced down at the bathroom door before going back to looking at walls and windows, even though he wasn't really taking anything in.
Only ... it wasn't his Sam, not really.
It didn't matter, though. Or, it mattered, but it didn't change what he had to do. The price of rebellion was too high, considering how unlikely it was that he would succeed. He had to keep his eyes open and his mind and body ready for when an opportunity arose that might give him the upper hand in this. But, for now, he'd just have to learn how to breathe through whatever violence Sam beat into his body ... and whatever horror Sam etched into his heart.
When Sam came out of the bathroom some minutes later, he looked at Dean, a kind of twisted wonderment lighting his face. "You're actually being obedient this morning. … I love it. … I might just have to stay home today and see how good you can really be."
Dean shifted his eyes away, then. He didn't want to make Sam angry, but he'd much rather not have Sam test his level of obedience all day today. Or really any day.
If all Sam wanted was for him to be a fucktoy before and after work, then he wouldn't like it, but he'd be okay, considering the alternatives. But if Sam was going to make him literally jump through hoops, or stand on his head for an hour, or catch m&ms in his mouth like some kind of show dog, then his so-called obedience wouldn't last very long at all.
"What's the matter? You don't want me to stay, Dean? You don't want me to stay and play with you?"
Sam walked to stand right next to the bed, his semi-hard cock in Dean's face. And Dean could feel Sam's eyes burning into him from above, even though he didn't move his head. He swallowed hard, knowing the playful tone in Sam's voice was only a thin mask over darkness just waiting to lash out. There really weren't any good answers to this question. If he told the truth, which was that he hoped Sam left and stayed gone for as many hours as possible, daily, until one of them died, then he would be sticky with far more blood than come in under a minute. But if he lied and said he wanted Sam to stay, not only might Sam actually stay, even if he wasn't originally going to, but he would probably sense the lie and tear him to shreds anyway. He tried to think of ways he'd calmed or distracted Sam in the past, but he just kept coming up empty.
"Dean? Are you stalling? Trying to strategize? I thought we'd been through this. Whores don't need plans, Dean."
Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair, rushed. He grabbed at it, but it was still a bit too short to allow him a good grip when his fingers were moving that fast.
"I should have known that even in your obedience you'd still be thinking like something you're not. You're a whore, Dean, an owned one at that, which makes you … quite literally … a sex slave. Your whole reason for living is to please me, Dean. Forget about what you want and think about what I want. You have no other job or purpose in life. You are a tool for my pleasure, and that should be the only thing on your mind. Am I making myself clear?" Sam didn't sound angry, and seemed only a little impatient. These were just facts to Sam, facts he needed Dean to understand.
"Yes … sir." Crazy, but, yeah, crystal clear.
"So, think about the question again and give the answer most likely to please me. If you don't know, guess, and then we can … find the answer together."
Find the answer together.
Right. That kind of togetherness usually involved damage to Dean's internal organs, but Sam always seemed to be having fun, and that was, apparently, all he should be concerned about.
Life didn't really work that way, though, even if he was trying not to lean on his Hunter tendencies, it was just a natural impulse of most living things to seek self-preservation. He could only rationalize focusing on Sam's needs and wants, and ignoring his own, if he really believed that his personal survival depended solely on Sam's happiness. The problem was, however, that Sam in a good mood wasn't necessarily less likely to hurt him than Sam in a bad mood, he would just have different reasons.
Like, maybe it was "sexy".
In the end, though, since there was no good answer to this question, he settled for honesty, because he knew how much Sam hated being lied to.
"I'd like to … have some time … alone … during the day … sir."
Sam didn't say anything, just continued to move his fingers through Dean's hair. The silence scared Dean even more than all the horrid threats and half-truths always pouring off Sam's tongue. He closed his eyes when Sam's fingers explored lower, following the lines of his neck to his shoulder, his arm, and his side, where they stopped. He tried not to move too much, because Sam was really going to hurt him, now, he just knew it. Probably something sick and gory, like tear out a kidney by hand or something.
"Time alone. Sure. I see. You're once again the older brother annoyed half to death by his little brother. You want me to go away. But I went away, remember? Twice. You didn't like me being gone, don't you remember? Do you really want to be alone again? Alone in my world without me protecting you? Do you really think that would be better than being here with me?"
"I …" Sam's usually placid tone held a hint of something, maybe bitterness, and almost an edge of disbelief. It made Dean want to see the expression on his face, to better understand what was really going on and how he should respond. "May I turn and face you … umm … sir?"
"No, stay as you are."
"Okay … well. It's not that I think you're annoying or anything. I just … you usually … hurt me … a lot … when you're around … and … you act like I should do tricks when you snap your fingers … like some kind of trained animal … and … it's just hard for me to handle that stuff. So … I wanted you to go … so I wouldn't have to be punished … for disappointing you."
Sam chuckled, which really didn't seem like a good sign, but the tone of his speech held no trace of laughter, it was mostly lit by a barely-there hint of curiosity. "A … trained … animal. Interesting. Maybe you're right. I've had pretty high expectations for you … assuming that you would just catch on, just obey, just do what made sense for a whore to do. But you've never been trained. It might be fun to beat a dog for not doing a trick properly, but if it had never been taught the trick in the first place, the beating wouldn't help encourage it to do a better job, because it doesn't know how to do a good job. Oh, Dean, you act dumb so much that I almost forget how smart you are. I mean, they'd mentioned it, when I got your papers, but … no wonder you've been so defiant. I forgot all about your training. I need to train you. That's what we'll do today, Dean. Training."
Sam was petting him again, warm fingers moving through his hair and over his skin, but Dean's blood was running ice cold and he shuddered. Training? Yeah. This was bad. Really bad.
"Suck my cock." It was said softly, as if to encourage, but still clearly a command rather than a request.
Sam's dick was hanging only inches from his lips, already filling out, but Dean hesitated. Not for any particular reason, more because he'd never just taken orders at the drop of a hat from anyone other than his dad, and those were never these kinds of orders. Of course, it didn't really matter why he hesitated, Sam tugged at his heart with his power and Dean's breath hitched. It wasn't a full-on pull, to make him scream, but it was enough to warn him, make him ache.
Dean reached out his hand to pull Sam's cock to his lips, but he felt that tug again and stopped.
"Only your mouth."
He exhaled and shifted, angling his head so he could mouth over the head of Sam's cock, pulling as much of it into his mouth as he could. It was nearly fully hard now and the angle was difficult, but he used his tongue to explore the part he could fit in his mouth while he sucked.
He felt dirty, and not in a sexy way, more like in a used and tainted way.
It wasn't that he'd never sucked cock or even that he'd never sucked Sam's cock, but he'd never done it like this … under duress, without the other person caring about him, or even just caring whether or not he got off. He'd never done it like this … like a whore. But that's what he was now, wasn't he? A whore?
Sam's hands yanked at his hair and Dean stopped moving, unsure of what Sam wanted from him.
"That's good. I like that. But shift a bit and relax your throat more. I'm gonna fuck your mouth. Don't fight it. You might gag a little, maybe feel like you can't get enough air, but just relax. You won't be dying on me any time soon."
He tried to relax his mouth and throat to accommodate more of Sam's cock as it began sliding in and out of his mouth, slow at first, but picking up speed. Sam's hand was in his hair, holding his head at an awkward angle, but one he seemed to like for his purposes. Dean kept his lips sealed around the cock slipping over his tongue and tried to clear his mind of thought, tried to just endure the feel of Sam making his mouth into just one more fuck-hole for his pleasure. Then Sam was pumping hard, hitting the back of his throat.
"Fuck yeah. … Mmmm. … I like that"
Sam's rhythm faltered and he seemed pretty close to coming. Then he pulled Dean's head to him and sank in as deep as he could go, mumbling affirmations as Dean's lungs began to protest. But he didn't come down Dean's abused throat. He pulled out and took his cock in hand, yanking it hard and fast.
"On your back. … Nnngggh. … Face up."
Dean rolled onto his back, knowing what was next, but also knowing he had no say in the matter and no way to fight it. So he just closed his eyes. And he heard Sam grunt and curse as jet after jet of Sam's hot come splashed onto his upturned face.
He could hear Sam's breathing slow back down to a normal pace and he ground his teeth together, hoping Sam wouldn't do what he was most likely going to do.
"Fuck, Dean. You're awfully pretty on your own, but you look downright sinful covered in come. And it's such a good look for a whore. … We'll have to do this more often."
Yeah, Lady Luck had clearly run scared from Dean, never to return. Maybe Sam had paid her off. Or had her killed.
Sam reached out to scoop up come from Dean's cheek with his finger before smearing the traces over Dean's lips. "Suck." Dean grudgingly opened his mouth for the invading finger and sucked it clean until Sam pulled it back out. "Good boy."
Dean's jaw tightened and he was glad his eyes were closed, because if they'd been open, they'd be flashing daggers at his brother right then.
He felt Sam's heat pull away from him and figured Sam had stepped away from the bed, which was just fine with him, since not having to deal with Sam was always preferable to having to deal with Sam these days.
"Spread your legs, whore. Knees up. Feet flat on the bed, like you're about to get fucked."
Dean bit back a retort that would gain him nothing and shifted until he was in the position, as instructed.
"Yeah, like that. You stay right there, just like that, until I tell you otherwise. I have some calls to make, some supplies to locate for your very first training day with me. It's gonna be great, Dean. I'm gonna have so much fun with you today. But while I'm dong all the boring stuff, I want to be able to see my whore open for me, ready for my use, and painted with my come."
Dean's whole body shook with shame and fear and with the strength it took to maintain his restraint, to not curse Sam to hell or just crack under the pressure of all this.
"You have something to say to me, whore?" Dean couldn't see his expression, but it sounded almost like a dare. A dare Dean would be crazy to take.
Sam was just waiting for him to fuck up so he could brutalize him. And Dean didn't want to give him the satisfaction of successfully goading him into something stupid. He also just didn't want any more pain or humiliation and his mouth never ceased to get him into trouble.
"No, sir." He breathed it out, quick, as deferentially as he could manage without gagging.
"Good." He heard Sam walk over in the general direction of the door, then the beep of a cell phone and a soft litany of requests, arrangements, scheduling, which lulled him somewhat, despite his ever-present anxiety.
The pose made him feel like a whore.
But if he was honest with himself, wasn't that what he was now, really? It was beyond Sam just calling him a whore. That bothered him, sure. It set his fucking teeth on edge every time Sam said it. But the ache in his chest, from emotions he kept on a tight leash, had nothing to do with what Sam called him. Not really. It had everything to do with the way Sam treated him and the way he was forced to respond to that treatment.
Sam called him a whore with a tone in his voice that said he thought Dean was less than nothing. But it still hurt like hell whenever Sam treated him like he really was less than nothing.
He didn't really like Sam's continual display of dominance, though in the past a sexually aggressive Sam could probably have led him around by his dick if he asked, but Sam didn't seem to care about him at all now, and it stung because he thought what they'd had was … something … more than just the sex … something deep … something he wouldn't muss by trying to put a name to it. But now it was like Sam couldn't see the worth of them caring for each other. Even though Dean had said, only days ago, that even with Sam kind of … lost … in darkness, right now, Dean would be with him, would stay by his side, would give him what he needed, but not like this, not without choice, not without any trace of feelings beyond lust.
A whore was all he was to Sam now.
And maybe he'd heard it before, but it hadn't sunk in like it did lying there, spread wide open to the whole damn room, arranged just right for any sexual whim of his owner, filthy with the fruits of his labor.
He was a fucking whore.
He could have chosen pain and obedience, could have fought Sam every step of the way, but that might have meant death, and he was too stubborn and couldn't face death yet, not when Sam might still have a chance. He could have chosen drugs and obedience, which would have meant he could blame it all on the chemicals in his body, but he was too self-conscious and wanted to keep his mind as whole as possible, so he refused to give himself up to the rush and the need. He'd chosen silence and obedience, which meant he just had to take it, he just had to do as he was told, he just had to be pretty, beg pretty, and fuck pretty.
He just had to be Sam's whore.
The word would probably never stop slicing away at his insides, but it wasn't just some insult thrown at him anymore. It was a title now. It was a fact. It was a truth.
He was a whore.
He hated himself for that, but he had no way to fix it right now, no way to even really try. And he hated that he was so weak he had water welling in his eyes, because even as he tried to be a 'good boy' for Sam, part of him secretly wished that Sam would just fucking kill him already.
But then Sam was leaning on the bed, leaning over him, and he felt the rough wet of a damp washcloth on his face as Sam softly swiped away most of the dried come there, at least enough so he could flutter his eyelids open and closed again. It was strange to see his brother that close and not menacing. He was so gentle in his ministrations. Honestly, the tenderness confused Dean more than anything else and his confusion must have shown.
"Do you have a question, Dean? You can ask me something if you want to right now. I want your training to be clear to you. So you know how to be a good boy for me all the time, okay? So go ahead and ask."
The first question he thought to ask was: Why are you being nice to me?. But he figured that might not go over well, so he tried to get at the information another way. "Umm … you're … rough … with me a lot … but right now … you're … not being rough with me."
Sam blinked down at him. "That seems like more of an observation than a question."
Dean breathed out, audibly, his brow knitting together. "Well … if I'm just a … whore … to you …" Yeah, he really didn't know how to say it any other way. "Why are you being nice to me right now?"
Sam laughed, sincerely amused, and the light actually went all the way to his eyes. "You're not just any whore, Dean. You're my whore, my property. And yes, okay, so you're also my brother and a former Hunter and all that, but I wouldn't have kept you around just to beat you up all the time for no reason, Dean. I'm rough with you when it's pleasurable for me and when you need the discipline. I don't need to hurt you for any other reason. And if I'm 'nice' to you, it's just because that's what I want at that moment."
Then Dean could see the shift, almost, as Sam's smile became wanton and sadistic. Sam pulled away from him, only to backhand Dean, a hard stinging slap over his left cheek. And Dean could taste a bit of blood from where his teeth must have connected with the inside of his cheek. He looked up at Sam and Sam's expression was some mix between sweet and depraved.
"See, Dean? You've been a good boy, so that wasn't about punishment. I just wanted that right then, it was for my pleasure. You're so hot when I hurt you, Dean. Fuck, if only you could see yourself the way I see you, you'd understand why my dick gets so fucking hard when I make you hurt for me."
Dean glared up at him, jaw working, eyes refusing to water, and Sam laughed at him, cruel.
"That expression right there? It's priceless, Dean. It has anger that says, in your former badass voice, 'if you hit me again, Sam, I'm gonna fucking kill you'. It has hurt, in your I-can't-go-on-without-you voice, that says 'but Sammy, you're all I have, please don't hurt me like this'. And it has a tiny cry of need, in that voice you're keeping locked away in the back of your head, that says 'please use me, sir, I'll be your good boy, just fuck me, please, don't hurt me'."
Dean could feel his body stiffen instantly, drowning in resentment, feeling exposed. He didn't know how true all that was, and maybe he didn't want to know, but he felt a flash of fear about what other demonic talents Sam might be hiding from him.
Sam must have seen that tension in him, that flicker of worry over secrets being unveiled, because he called up the mask of a gentle smile, one meant to calm skittish horses and the like. "Don't worry, Dean. I'm not in your head. Not like you're thinking. I just know you. Maybe more than you do. And really, if I wanted to know something in particular, I'd just ask you. Because if you're good, you'll tell me the truth, and if you're not, I'll make you scream it for me. … Are you feeling a bit less confused now?"
Dean swallowed, nodding, not trusting himself to speak.
"Good." Sam stepped away from him and the bed, then, reaching for the cell phone he must have set on the nightstand before he wiped down Dean's face. "Well, go grab a shower and, of course, make sure to get really clean for me. When you're done, come and kneel on the bed and then we'll get started."
"Yes, sir." No hesitation this time. These orders were simple and easy, nothing to stress over just yet, and no need to increase Sam's desire to hurt him. So Dean rolled out of bed in front of Sam and went to the bathroom to get clean.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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