[Supernatural]: Carnivorous
Title: Carnivorous
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings: Mentions of torture, rough sex
Rating: NC-17 probably
Summary: Lucifer is a boy's best friend. Dean/Sam.
Notes: So this marks the first open posting of a Dean/Sam fic in this journal ever. And like the...six posting of porn ever? I'm not planning on making a habit of it? But there are things I like about this one (and also the other one I'm posting) that mostly have to do with the horror aspects and not the sex aspects. So um. Take that for what it is. I am trying to make fewer excuses for myself lately? So let's leave it at that.
When Sam was about seven, he decided to see what it would be like to have an imaginary friend. Other people talked about having had them, after all. It sounded like the kind of thing that might be fun.
He named his imaginary friend Robin. The first time he mentioned Robin within earshot of his dad, John had turned sharply and immediately grilled Sam on Robin’s nature, plans, and intentions for ten minutes with such intensity that Sam was nearly in tears by the end of it.
Robin barely lasted a week.
Now, all these years later, it turned out he had an imaginary friend after all. Or an imaginary something, anyway. Maybe friend was the wrong word. But he was never alone, anyway.
“I’d tell you how sick and perverted you are,” Lucifer said from where he was leaning against the wall. “But, I mean, you already know that. I mean, you practically ooze shame.”
The friction between his body and Dean’s intensified, and Sam’s hips bucked violently upwards with a strangled sound. He dug his fingers into Dean’s shoulders as his brother (sick, wrong) left teeth marks on his extended throat. Sam’s eyes still kept sliding sideways, every frission of desire countered by a rush of humiliation at the cool, calm way the devil watched them fuck.
Lucifer tilted his head to the side. “It’s so messy,” he commented. “All that sweat and sticky fluid. Disgusting, Sam.”
“Jesus,” Dean was saying into Sam’s skin, stilling for a moment, “God, Jesus,” and Sam could almost feel Dean’s dick throbbing in his ass.
“Nothing like us,” Lucifer purred. “Fitting together so perfectly. No muss, no fuss.”
You tore me open and made me bleed, Sam thought. “Dean,” he said, breathless, and Dean’s hand wrapped warm around his cock but it was the friction he focused on as Dean started moving again, thrusts shorter and jerkier. The friction and as he shifted his hips just slightly, the burn.
“That’s right,” Lucifer said. “Make it hurt.”
Dean’s body went rigid and Sam imagined he could feel him come, filthy hot spurts deep inside. Could feel the press of the soft skin of Dean’s balls against his ass. Could feel the slide of sweat down the backs of his legs. Disgusting, Sam.
He was still hard. Dean didn’t wait for his own orgasm to ease off, increasing the pace of his strokes, pressing with his thumb just under the head but he didn’t come, didn’t come, didn’t not until Lucifer leaned forward slightly and said “Okay, Sam, now.”
Afterwards, Dean discovered that Sam was bleeding and got pissed. “Sam, god,” he said, scrambling for a wet washcloth, “You need to tell me - fuck. I don’t want to hurt you.”
If you don’t hurt me how do I know you’re real, Sam wanted to say, but suspected that fell into the category of things he couldn’t say out loud. “Okay,” Sam said, and Dean narrowed his eyes, jaw set in anger and what Sam recognized as guilt. “I’m fine,” he added after a moment. “I didn’t even notice.”
He relaxed and let Dean clean him off. The washcloth was warm and Dean was gentle and half closing his eyes, Sam could almost be okay with the fact that it felt good.
**
The sex was actually a relatively recent thing. Everything else, Dean and the relationship and everything, were just the same.
Sam thought it probably should have bothered him that Dean’s face was the one Lucifer had used most often when (elbow deep in his body cavity, feeding him his own entrails) torturing him. It didn’t. Most days.
Lucifer-as-Dean shared his bed when Dean didn’t, spooned against his back, arm draped possessively over Sam’s waist and soft cock just lying against the back of his thigh. Lucifer, who breathed cold into the back of his neck and said, “I’m thinking about fucking you senseless and then blowing your brains out, what do you think about that, Sammy?” and Sam said into his pillow, “That sounds good, whatever you want,” because saying anything else wouldn’t matter and Lucifer’s laughter was warm.
In the car on the side of the road Dean was sliding his mouth down Sam’s dick a little at a time and Sam thought he was going to go crazy(er), kept saying “Oh my god, Dean, everyone can see us, people are fucking watching,” and Dean just smirked at him and slid a hand further down to palm Sam’s balls.
“Shove his head down,” Lucifer said from the back seat. “Make him choke on it. Make him gag.” Sam took his hand off the back of Dean’s head because he wanted to obey, even here, even now.
“You were so pretty when you couldn’t breathe,” Lucifer said, tone reminiscing, and Sam felt bile rise in his throat, felt himself soften. He looked down at Dean, lips pink and wet wrapped around his shaft, hoping Dean didn’t-
“You’d still swallow anything I gave to you, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer went on, smugly. “I wouldn’t even have to hurt you. You’d do it. I could cut up your brother and feed him to you piece by piece and you wouldn’t say a word.”
Dean bobbed up, looking slightly pissed and slightly offended. “You’re really dealing a blow to my ego here,” he said, and apparently there was something on Sam’s face he didn’t mean to be there because his brother frowned and said, “Sam?” in the sharp way that Dean did when he thought Sam’s attention was wandering.
“Sorry,” Sam said, hoping his grin looked sheepish, not strained. “Guess I’m just not in the mood.”
“Not in the mood for a blowjob,” Dean said, and sounded disgusted. “I swear it’s like I don’t even know you sometimes.” A moment, and Dean waggled his eyebrows, seeming to relax minutely. “Don’t think I won’t be expecting you to return the favor anyway.”
Sam let his head fall back and rolled his eyes as expected. “He knows,” Lucifer said. “He knows, Sammy.”
**
After a hunt, wired and tense and full of energy (of the knowledge of their own mortality, Sam had thought once, and then felt melodramatic for it) the sex was rough.
They shoved each other against walls and slammed into furniture, groped ferociously at each others’ hard-ons and left teeth marks on each others’ skin. Dean would shove a denim-clad thigh between his legs and Sam would rub against it like a fucking whore.
And Lucifer would stand in the corner and watch, grace shining out through his eyes, and didn’t need to say anything at all. Just smiled and Sam closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall to try not to see him anymore while Dean kept up a stream of pornographic monologue in his ear, fucking slut, Sam, look at you, wish you could see how good you look splayed out like this-
Splayed out under my knife, Lucifer said, like an echo, open to me.
Harder, Sam said, harder, and Dean would slam into him with something like brutality but he meant it for Lucifer tracing a knife over his throat. Please. Harder.
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings: Mentions of torture, rough sex
Rating: NC-17 probably
Summary: Lucifer is a boy's best friend. Dean/Sam.
Notes: So this marks the first open posting of a Dean/Sam fic in this journal ever. And like the...six posting of porn ever? I'm not planning on making a habit of it? But there are things I like about this one (and also the other one I'm posting) that mostly have to do with the horror aspects and not the sex aspects. So um. Take that for what it is. I am trying to make fewer excuses for myself lately? So let's leave it at that.
When Sam was about seven, he decided to see what it would be like to have an imaginary friend. Other people talked about having had them, after all. It sounded like the kind of thing that might be fun.
He named his imaginary friend Robin. The first time he mentioned Robin within earshot of his dad, John had turned sharply and immediately grilled Sam on Robin’s nature, plans, and intentions for ten minutes with such intensity that Sam was nearly in tears by the end of it.
Robin barely lasted a week.
Now, all these years later, it turned out he had an imaginary friend after all. Or an imaginary something, anyway. Maybe friend was the wrong word. But he was never alone, anyway.
“I’d tell you how sick and perverted you are,” Lucifer said from where he was leaning against the wall. “But, I mean, you already know that. I mean, you practically ooze shame.”
The friction between his body and Dean’s intensified, and Sam’s hips bucked violently upwards with a strangled sound. He dug his fingers into Dean’s shoulders as his brother (sick, wrong) left teeth marks on his extended throat. Sam’s eyes still kept sliding sideways, every frission of desire countered by a rush of humiliation at the cool, calm way the devil watched them fuck.
Lucifer tilted his head to the side. “It’s so messy,” he commented. “All that sweat and sticky fluid. Disgusting, Sam.”
“Jesus,” Dean was saying into Sam’s skin, stilling for a moment, “God, Jesus,” and Sam could almost feel Dean’s dick throbbing in his ass.
“Nothing like us,” Lucifer purred. “Fitting together so perfectly. No muss, no fuss.”
You tore me open and made me bleed, Sam thought. “Dean,” he said, breathless, and Dean’s hand wrapped warm around his cock but it was the friction he focused on as Dean started moving again, thrusts shorter and jerkier. The friction and as he shifted his hips just slightly, the burn.
“That’s right,” Lucifer said. “Make it hurt.”
Dean’s body went rigid and Sam imagined he could feel him come, filthy hot spurts deep inside. Could feel the press of the soft skin of Dean’s balls against his ass. Could feel the slide of sweat down the backs of his legs. Disgusting, Sam.
He was still hard. Dean didn’t wait for his own orgasm to ease off, increasing the pace of his strokes, pressing with his thumb just under the head but he didn’t come, didn’t come, didn’t not until Lucifer leaned forward slightly and said “Okay, Sam, now.”
Afterwards, Dean discovered that Sam was bleeding and got pissed. “Sam, god,” he said, scrambling for a wet washcloth, “You need to tell me - fuck. I don’t want to hurt you.”
If you don’t hurt me how do I know you’re real, Sam wanted to say, but suspected that fell into the category of things he couldn’t say out loud. “Okay,” Sam said, and Dean narrowed his eyes, jaw set in anger and what Sam recognized as guilt. “I’m fine,” he added after a moment. “I didn’t even notice.”
He relaxed and let Dean clean him off. The washcloth was warm and Dean was gentle and half closing his eyes, Sam could almost be okay with the fact that it felt good.
**
The sex was actually a relatively recent thing. Everything else, Dean and the relationship and everything, were just the same.
Sam thought it probably should have bothered him that Dean’s face was the one Lucifer had used most often when (elbow deep in his body cavity, feeding him his own entrails) torturing him. It didn’t. Most days.
Lucifer-as-Dean shared his bed when Dean didn’t, spooned against his back, arm draped possessively over Sam’s waist and soft cock just lying against the back of his thigh. Lucifer, who breathed cold into the back of his neck and said, “I’m thinking about fucking you senseless and then blowing your brains out, what do you think about that, Sammy?” and Sam said into his pillow, “That sounds good, whatever you want,” because saying anything else wouldn’t matter and Lucifer’s laughter was warm.
In the car on the side of the road Dean was sliding his mouth down Sam’s dick a little at a time and Sam thought he was going to go crazy(er), kept saying “Oh my god, Dean, everyone can see us, people are fucking watching,” and Dean just smirked at him and slid a hand further down to palm Sam’s balls.
“Shove his head down,” Lucifer said from the back seat. “Make him choke on it. Make him gag.” Sam took his hand off the back of Dean’s head because he wanted to obey, even here, even now.
“You were so pretty when you couldn’t breathe,” Lucifer said, tone reminiscing, and Sam felt bile rise in his throat, felt himself soften. He looked down at Dean, lips pink and wet wrapped around his shaft, hoping Dean didn’t-
“You’d still swallow anything I gave to you, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer went on, smugly. “I wouldn’t even have to hurt you. You’d do it. I could cut up your brother and feed him to you piece by piece and you wouldn’t say a word.”
Dean bobbed up, looking slightly pissed and slightly offended. “You’re really dealing a blow to my ego here,” he said, and apparently there was something on Sam’s face he didn’t mean to be there because his brother frowned and said, “Sam?” in the sharp way that Dean did when he thought Sam’s attention was wandering.
“Sorry,” Sam said, hoping his grin looked sheepish, not strained. “Guess I’m just not in the mood.”
“Not in the mood for a blowjob,” Dean said, and sounded disgusted. “I swear it’s like I don’t even know you sometimes.” A moment, and Dean waggled his eyebrows, seeming to relax minutely. “Don’t think I won’t be expecting you to return the favor anyway.”
Sam let his head fall back and rolled his eyes as expected. “He knows,” Lucifer said. “He knows, Sammy.”
**
After a hunt, wired and tense and full of energy (of the knowledge of their own mortality, Sam had thought once, and then felt melodramatic for it) the sex was rough.
They shoved each other against walls and slammed into furniture, groped ferociously at each others’ hard-ons and left teeth marks on each others’ skin. Dean would shove a denim-clad thigh between his legs and Sam would rub against it like a fucking whore.
And Lucifer would stand in the corner and watch, grace shining out through his eyes, and didn’t need to say anything at all. Just smiled and Sam closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall to try not to see him anymore while Dean kept up a stream of pornographic monologue in his ear, fucking slut, Sam, look at you, wish you could see how good you look splayed out like this-
Splayed out under my knife, Lucifer said, like an echo, open to me.
Harder, Sam said, harder, and Dean would slam into him with something like brutality but he meant it for Lucifer tracing a knife over his throat. Please. Harder.