Fate
Fate
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M Relationship, AU, Mention of Abuse of a Minor
Synopsis: Lord Samual Winchester is a gentleman of the 1750's English ton. He meets a charming whore called Dean, and his life becomes...complicated.
This was originally posted in 13 parts, but I have done it in less here... all 22,991 words of it!
PART ONE.
Samuel Winchester was not half so drunk as his four best friends, nor anywhere near as drunk as he needed to be right at this moment. As five gentlemen of the upper crust, they had all doors open to them but, instead of the respectable establishments they should have been frequenting, they were in a rougher end of town approaching a house of ill repute. It was his eighteenth birthday, and his friends had decided that it was time to educate the youngest of their number in the ways of the flesh. So it was that they entered the non-descript building with its red light.
Inside was…a surprise. Much cleaner and less seedy than he had been expecting. There were several couches arranged around the large room to the right of the entryway, and several couples, as well as more than a few scantily clad women, occupied them. The crack of billiard balls drew Sam’s eyes to the left. There was another room, this one with a small bar and an assortment of deep chairs in which an odd assortment of gentlemen were lounging. Also, more surprising than anything he had seen so far, there was a pool table.
That was when Sam saw him. He was leaning against the table, pool cue in hand, all cocky insolence and smirking challenge. Sam couldn’t help but stare. He had never seen anyone like this before. The man was tall although, admittedly, not as tall as Sam was himself, and lean and well built. His face was finely chiselled with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. The lips would not have been amiss on any of the young ladies of the ton, as they were full and just a little pouty. And the eyes. At first Sam mistook them for a dark, steely blue, but a shaft of light came across them as the man moved forward, and Sam could see they were hazel green. On anyone else this face might have seemed effeminate, but the body was so overtly masculine that it negated the effect.
“Gentlemen.” The low, rough voice added to the overwhelming charm of the man before them. He gestured towards the table behind him. “Do you play?”
“Not with your kind.” Edward’s voice was chilly in direct contrast to the man’s warmth. Sam was momentarily confused, and then realised what his friend was saying. He felt the blush heat his cheeks.
The man, for his part, focused on Sam with only sardonic humour in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Might I make a suggestion?” He went on without pausing for permission, and Sam had the thought that this man didn’t ask permission for anything. “Take Molly. She’s a deft hand at teaching men how to ride, without breaking them.” He turned to leave, but half turned back to throw over his shoulder, “Oh, and gentlemen, unless you pay me I won’t come near you, so if you wish a challenge while your young friend is…occupied, a game of billiards isn’t far outside the realms of civilised behaviour.”
“We’re always up for a challenge.” Thomas said, stepping around Edward and heading for the billiard table. Thomas was something of an expert, and did like to try out his skills on others. The man stopped and turned back to them, smiling wickedly.
“Which one is Molly?” Sam asked softly.
“Gentlemen, why don’t you set the table while I see to your young friend here?” There was the barest hint of sarcasm in his tone, and Sam had to stifle a smile. Suddenly he was trapped under the sharp green gaze of the man. “Come with me.”
Sam followed meekly as he was lead across the lounge towards a pretty little woman sitting on one of the couches. She was a little plumper than most of the women in the room and, perhaps, a little older too, but her soft blue eyes were kind. The man leaned down and spoke to her in tones too low for Sam to hear, but when she looked up, running an assessive look up and down his considerable height, he smiled hesitantly. She smiled back gently, still listening to her friend, and then nodded in response to whatever he had said.
“Lord Winchester?” A female voice from his left drew Sam’s attention. It belonged to a matronly-looking woman dressed rather sedately considering their surrounds. Sam assumed that this was the Madame of the house. He wasn’t overly surprised that she knew who he was on sight; it would be her business to know. She came forward quickly, casting a worried glance at the man who had been helping him. “Lord Winchester. Please allow me to introduce myself. Mrs Penelope Bright. Welcome to my establishment.”
“Thank you, Mrs Bright.” Sam was polite, and quite unsure what else to say.
“Oh, please, everyone just calls me Penelope” She cast another concerned look at the man, before asking, “Are you being…looked after?”
“Oh, yes.” Sam smiled. “This gentleman has been most helpful. I believe he was just about to introduce me to Molly.”
Disbelief flickered over her face before it settled into its regular pleasantness. “Well, then, allow me. Molly, dear, why don’t you show Lord Winchester upstairs so you may get better acquainted.”
Molly stood up. She barely reached Sam’s collarbone, and he felt oddly protective of her, but she just stepped forward, smiled at him, and looped her arm around his. Her voice, when she spoke, was lilting and soothing. “Of course. Milord, it is this way.”
Sam let her lead him upstairs and in to one of the rooms. They were not lavish, but clean and neat in a manner he had not expected. He sat on the edge of the bed as Molly closed the door. When she turned back around, she simply looked at him. Sam blushed. After a moment she said, “Well now, and lucky you are that Dean took an interest in you tonight. Carly was in line to take the next customer tonight, and patient is not a word in her vocabulary.”
“Is that his name? It is most unusual.” Sam was happy to have a name to go with that face. “Why was Penelope so worried about him?”
Molly gave a little trill of laughter. “Oh, it was not Dean she was concerned for, but you. Dean isn’t known for his care and compassion, especially when it comes to the gentlemen of the ton.”
“Really? Why?” Dean hadn’t seemed particularly malicious to him.
“He has good reason.” She said softly, but then came across the room to him. “Now, my young Lord, enough of that man’s woes. I have much to show you.”
***
An hour later, a very pleased - and sated - Sam made to leave. He turned with his hand on the door knob. “Thank you, Molly, for everything.”
“Dear Sam.” She smiled. “It was certainly my great pleasure. If you ever have further need of me, simply ask. I will always make time for you.”
Sam blushed with equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. Nodding, he turned the knob and stepped out into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him. A thud further down the hallway drew his attention, and Sam saw Dean. The man with him had slammed him face-first into the wall and was using his whole body to keep Dean pinned in place. The hands at Dean’s hips seemed to be gripping him very tightly as the man leaned forward to whisper in Dean’s ear. For a moment, Dean’s face was unguarded, and Sam was shocked by what he saw there. His expression was part disgust at the man behind him, but the rest was a heart-wrenching mixture of resignation and self-loathing. Then Dean saw him standing there, and a mask came down to cover all that seething emotion. Dean’s gaze upon him didn’t waver, and Sam felt trapped, until the other man caught sight of him standing there.
“What the hell are you staring at?” He spat. “You want a piece of this one, you can wait until I’m done and have whatever’s left.” He shoved Dean against the wall again for good measure.
Sam wanted to say something, although what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He also wanted to hit the coarse man in his ugly face and drag Dean away from him. Dean must have read his intent in his eyes, because he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and mouthed ‘go’ to him. So Sam turned his back on them and headed down the stairs.
His friends met him in the billiard room with knowing smiles and hard slaps of congratulations on his back. They made bawdy jokes and lewd suggestions. Thomas lamented on him having taken so long as ‘that damned liar’ had fleeced him at billiards, but that only made Sam laugh. In fact, Sam smiled and blushed through it all without saying a word, because at the back of his mind was the image of Dean’s face…and a disquieting sense that he should have helped him.
PART TWO.
The next night found Sam walking back into Madame Penelope’s house. He knew what people would think if they found out about his immediate return, but he had been unable to stay away. It took him only a moment’s glance to see that Dean was nowhere to be seen. The unpleasant thought of him being with one of his customers made Sam feel vaguely ill, but he continued into the lounge area. Molly wasn’t there either, and Sam had just reconciled himself to approaching one of the other girls when one of them approached him.
“Milord, welcome back.” She purred. “My name is Carly. May I be of service to you?”
Sam looked her up and down. So this was the woman he would have gone with last night had Dean not stepped in. She was actually pretty enough, but there was something cold about her eyes, a certain cruelty that made Sam thankful for Molly’s patient tuition. Still, surely she would be able to tell him where Dean was. “I am looking for Dean.”
Hatred and anger flashed in her eyes. “Milord, do not waste your time with the likes of him. I promise you I am capable of doing all that he may do for you, and more.”
“Ahhh, that is very kind of you, Carly, but...”
“Lord Winchester! Back so soon?” Penelope had come into the room at just the right moment, and Sam sighed with relief. “Do you want me to find Molly for you?”
“I actually came to find Dean.” He looked at her hopefully, and so saw the briefest flicker of trepidation in her eyes.
“Milord, I am sorry, but Dean isn’t seeing any more clients tonight.” Her voice was soft, as though she really was sorry.
Sam blushed at her conclusion. “Oh, I, ah, didn’t want...that is to say, I only wanted to see...to speak to him.”
Penelope’s eyes softened. “Very well, milord. Come with me.” She led him up the stairs. “You will have to forgive his appearance. His last client took a little more liberty than they had agreed to.” Her voice had tightened with suppressed anger.
“Is he hurt?” Sam’s reply betrayed the sudden panic he was at a loss to understand.
The woman turned and placed a reassuring hand upon his arm. “He’ll be okay, milord.” She hesitated, and then asked the question that had obviously been playing on her mind. “Do you and Dean know each other in some way?”
“Not really. I only met him last night. Why?”
“Well, you see, Dean is a hard man. His life has made him so. Under the cynicism and sarcasm, though, there is still the man he should have been. The thing is, Dean never involves himself in the problems of others, and has never, never taken an interest in the affairs of the men who have come in. Last night he stepped in and made sure you ended up with the right woman. That is an absolute first. And now here you are, not only wanting to talk to him, but concerned about him. It is unusual behaviour for total strangers.”
“I agree, madam“, Sam told her, “but I cannot shed any light on it for you.”
“Ah well.” She said with a shrug, and then she opened to door of the furthest room.
Dean was laying face down on the bed, apparently naked under the sheet that covered nothing but his backside and one leg. Sam saw the bruises on the near perfect body sprawled out there, and the scars of long-healed wounds. He wondered at the pang of distress that went through him. Penelope softly called out, “Dean, there is someone here to see you.”
Dean didn’t move, but gave a bitter laugh. “Penny, you know I love you, but there is no way I can get up and play more games tonight.”
“I just want to talk.” Sam said over Penelope’s shoulder. Dean jerked, surprised, and then rolled slightly so he could turn and look at Sam.
“Lord Winchester.” Dean’s voice gave nothing away of his thoughts. Nor did his glittering eyes. “There is nothing you need to say to me, and if this is an overture of friendship then I can only say it is misguided. Stay away from me, milord. For your own good.”
Sam’s temper flared, but the memory of the self-loathing in the other man’s eyes kept him from lashing out. Instead, he turned to Penelope. “Madame, I would like to buy an hour of his time. You have my word that I will do him no further damage.”
Penelope laughed. “If you can manage that after spending an hour in his company, you are a stronger person than I. You have your hour. Molly, come along now, he should be right enough.”
Sam blinked. Molly had been sitting in a chair to the left of the open door, hidden. She held a shotgun in her hands, but leaned it against the chair before exiting the room. Pausing briefly, she laid her hand over Sam’s heart and said, “It never hurts to be cautious. Don’t let him rile you. He’s an expert at it, God knows, but he needs someone like you.”
The door closed softly behind the two women, and Sam was left alone with Dean, who was watching Sam the same way you would watch a snake about to lash out. Dean’s version of a defence was to be the first to attack. “Well, milord, you have me at your mercy. What exactly do you want to do? Fuck me? I’d be easy enough to take at the moment. Or would you rather use my mouth? It’s as good a way as any to shut me up.”
Sam stalked to the bed, and he knew he was big enough to be intimidating, but Dean didn’t even flinch, just raised his eyebrow in question, still waiting for an answer. Sam turned away from him and sank down to sit on the very edge of the bed. Putting his head in his hands he pleaded, “Please. Just stop.” He started to talk to himself. “What the hell am I doing here? I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me. I just knew you would take it all wrong. After all, why should I even care? I don’t know you. I’ve never even met you before. So why does it bother me? Why does seeing you like this concern me? Why does the idea of what you let people do to you hurt me like this?”
“Hey now, easy there.” As Sam had become more and more worked up, Dean had felt more and more guilty for attacking him. The kid was obviously very confused, and he hadn’t done anything that deserved Dean’s scorn. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Just...calm down.”
“I don’t understand what is going on.” Sam whispered.
Dean managed to kneel up behind the other man. He leaned in and nuzzled Sam’s neck, admitting, “Neither do I.”
“Stop that!” Sam hissed, and leaped up off the bed. “Don’t treat me like...like one of those other men.”
“I wasn’t.” Dean said, and Sam saw the hurt and self-mockery in his eyes. He also saw that what he had said was the truth. Dean had just been trying to comfort him the only way he knew how. Sam moved back to the bed, his face telegraphing apology, but the damage was done. Dean moved back, away from Sam.
“I’m sorry.” Sam told him, even though he doubted it would be enough. “I just...it’s only that...you seen to hate those men and...and what they do. I don’t want you to hate me.” He gazed at Dean earnestly, willing him to understand.
Dean watched him with those alert eyes. Finally he sighed and said, “I don’t hate you.”
Sam smiled his best smile, and it worked its usual charm, causing the faintest of smiles to lighten Dean’s face. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure.” But Dean was instantly wary.
“Do you, um, like it? With other men?” Sam felt the heat of his blush and silently hoped the other man wouldn’t laugh at him.
He didn’t. Dean just looked at him consideringly before giving him a small sigh. “Occasionally. When they actually want a bed partner, and not just a convenient hole, or a whore to take out their frustrations on. Why? Do you think you might like to try it? If so, I know a man who’ll go easy with you.”
“No! No, it’s not that. But...why do you let them do that, if you don’t like it? Why would you let them hurt you?” Sam was momentarily embarrassed by Dean’s forthright offer, but gamely stuck to his point.
This time Dean did laugh, but it was the bitterest sound Sam had ever heard. “Whatever else I am, milord, I am first and foremost a whore. I am paid to let them use me however they see fit, and if they choose to lose control, well, I am usually not in a position to stop them. Besides, I...” He hesitated, and Sam thought he may not go on, but softly he explained. “I was raised to this. I was four when I came to live in the pleasure house I first worked in. I was surrounded by it. And when I was eight I tasted a man in my mouth for the first time. At twelve a man put himself inside of me, but I was fifteen the first time I liked it. The first time someone left me unconscious was when I was sixteen. I was never taught that there was a point beyond which they should not go, not until I came here, and by then I already had a reputation for taking whatever they would serve me. At least when it happens here, they give me time to heal.”
Sam felt sick, having to forcibly keep the bile from rising in his throat. He couldn’t imagine the boy he had been standing in front of a naked man and calmly taking his cock into his mouth, let alone the other things Dean spoke of. The thought of this man in front of him having to struggle to keep going in the condition he was in now made Sam’s eyes burn. Unable to stop himself, Sam reached out to Dean, one hand cupping one stubble-rough cheek. Heartbreakingly, Dean leaned into that touch for an instant before pulling away. Sam understood; it was a weakness Dean was not permitted to have, not if he was going to survive in his profession. Dean had been abused all his life, and still he had it in him to care. “Why did you help me?”
Dean, who had been looking away, turned back at the whispered question. His voice, too, was soft when he replied. “You walked in and...and you were so out of place. There was innocence in your eyes - still is - and I couldn’t watch that turn into something else. You deserved to know that sex isn’t all about pain and games of power. Carly would have taught you cruelty, and I...I couldn’t let that happen.”
Dean had protected in Sam what had been stolen from him. Something inside of Sam shattered. All he knew was that he wanted to be closer to this man, to get to know the noble soul buried under the degradation and hurt. In a sudden burst of courage, Sam asked, “Would you kiss me?”
“Milord...” Dean began.
“Sam, please.”
“Sam.” Dean sighed, helpless. “I am worse for you than Carly. If you wish to kiss a man, let me get you someone else. I am too jaded, too tainted for you.”
Sam shook his head violently. “I do not simply want to kiss ‘a man’. I want to kiss you.”
Dean’s eyelids closed, shielding the emotion which would otherwise have graced the green eyes. Sam watched him brace himself before opening them once again. “Okay, Sam. Okay. Sit up against the bed head for me.” Sam shifted into position and watched, with a racing heart, as Dean moved to straddle him. He somehow kept the sheet modestly wrapped around his hips, but there was still plenty that Sam was seeing. Sam ran his eyes up over a well-defined abdomen, smooth chest, broad shoulders, and the long line of Dean’s neck. His glance skipped over the wide, full lips that were about to be on his own, and met the heated gaze watching him look his full. Sam had never thought of a man as attractive before, but Dean called to something deep inside of him. “Are you certain about this? Because there is no taking it back once you have done it.”
Although his pulse was tripping over itself in its haste, Sam nodded, and his voice was steady. “I am sure. Please, Dean...”
“Shhh, Sammy. I’ve got you. Just...feel...” Sam nearly went cross-eyed as Dean moved closer, and when he could feel the soft brush of Dean’s breath on his lips, he closed them. The first touch of lips was gentle, more like a brush of warmth, and then they were back; hotter, firmer. Sam’s breath caught when the liquid heat of Dean’s tongue licked over him, but his mouth opened on a moan when Dean bit his lip, asking for entry. The older man lapped at Sam’s mouth, as though he was trying to taste every inch. Sam was hard pressed to keep up, and he could feel himself getting light headed from lack of air. He reached out and his hands landed on Dean’s slim hips. Dean rocked forward, and the jolt of pleasure in his crotch caused Sam to tighten his grip. Dean pulled back with a hiss. Sam let go immediately.
“Sorry. Dear god, I’m sorry Dean. I forgot...”
Dean placed a finger over Sam’s lips, effectively silencing him, and smiled softly. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. You don’t need to panic. I’m not that fragile.” He brushed his thumb across Sam’s swollen lips once more, and then slowly moved off of him. Gently, he said, “Your hour is up, Sam, and I honestly need some rest.”
Sam hesitated, afraid his next question would have the other man either laughing at him, or tossing him out the door. Nevertheless, he had to try. “Dean? Do you think...would you mind...is it okay if I stay? You can sleep.” He hastily assured him. “I’ll sit watch, if you like.”
Dean looked at the shotgun, and then back to Sam. There was amusement in his eyes, but it wasn’t malicious. “If you know how to use that thing without shooting me or yourself, then you are welcome to stay.”
Sam grinned like he’d won some great prize and moved to sit down, the shotgun laid across his lap. Dean shook his head as if he had given up trying to understand the other man, and then he lay down on his stomach once more. Sam watched him and saw as he gradually relaxed, until finally he fell asleep. Sam closed his own eyes.
PART THREE.
Sam woke up suddenly and, despite the sharp pang as light struck his eyes, he had the shotgun up and aimed at the slowly opening door. When Molly stuck her head in, Sam breathed a sigh and lowered the gun. For her part, Molly looked a little stunned at having come face to face with its barrel, but she gathered herself quickly and smiled at him.
“You should go home, milord. He won’t be disturbed now.”
Sam shook his head. “I told him I would stay on watch. If he wakes and sees me gone, he will think that I lied to him.”
Molly looked at him, surprised, and opened her mouth to speak. However, before she could say a word, Dean spoke up. “It is okay, Sam. She’s right. All will be well from now. Go home. Molly, show him the back way out so he isn’t spotted.”
“Yes, Dean.” Molly agreed, but rolled her eyes at Sam, who grinned. “Come, milord.” Sam followed her out of the room and down a narrow set of stairs to the back of the establishment. When she opened the door at the bottom, revealing a small alley that led out to the main street, Molly would have said goodbye, but Sam forestalled her.
“Molly, how often does he get hurt?”
“Every other night, milord.” There was sadness in her voice, enough to tell Sam that she cared for the man as more than an abused co-worker.
“How does he get up and face it again?” It was a rhetorical question, but he got an answer nevertheless.
“He is young and strong, milord. His body heals. The real damage lies much deeper, eating away at his soul. That is what will kill him, not the physical blows.”
“Kill him?!” Those words rocked Sam to the core.
“I don’t know how he has lasted this long.” She told him. “There are others like him, me who are cynical and sarcastic, dangerous men who are all, every one, hiding behind their masks. It does get to them sooner or later.”
“What happens to them?” Sam’s throat felt tight and achy, making his words choked.
“Some I have known have gone out into the night, seeking danger, and never returned. One boy I knew - he was only sixteen - he jumped into the Thames one winter’s night, knowing he couldn’t swim.”
Sam made a sound. It took him a moment to realise he had swallowed a sob. “Dean wouldn’t...would he?”
Molly gave him a gauging look and then nodded to herself. “Something is holding that boy together, but only God above knows what. Still, the men who come for him are getting meaner all the time. Tonight was nothing, but some day, very soon I fear, one of these men will take him to his death.”
“That is enough.” Dean’s voice came low and menacing from the dark stairway. “Be on your way and do not return. Do not concern yourself with any of us again.”
“Dean...” Molly began.
“Molly, get upstairs now.” Dean cut her off, and Sam had never heard such fury and warning in a man’s tone. It was all the more scary for having been snarled in the dark. Sam couldn’t see Dean at all.
Molly, not being a fool, gave Sam one last glance, a farewell of sorts, and then turned and disappeared up the staircase. Sam peered into the darkness, but could still see nothing but black. “Dean, it isn’t her fault. I asked her.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just Go. Home. If you ever come back here I would suggest you keep a good distance from me. I am not your friend and I will not accept your custom. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.” Sam snapped, and then turned and left, his long, angry strides quickly taking him out of sight. No one was there to hear Dean give a tremulous sigh.
PART FOUR.
One week went by, then two, and then a third. Sam managed to convince himself that he hadn’t enjoyed kissing another man, and that he had only imagined the kindness he thought he had sensed in Dean. And that surprising vulnerability? Absolutely a figment. Dean had only kissed him because he had paid for his time. For the most part, Sam had put it out of his mind.
Then it all changed. Sam was woken by a loud, persistent banging on the front door of his townhouse. By the time he made it downstairs the banging had stopped, only to be replaced with the raised voices of his valet and a woman, a woman he immediately recognised as Molly. She caught sight of him coming down the last of the stairs and cried out, “Oh, milord, thank goodness! You must come, quickly!”
“Hawkins, it is fine.” Sam told his very elderly valet when he tried to close the door on Molly. “Let her in. Molly, what is it?”
“He went out on the streets, and he didn’t come back for hours. When he did come back, he was covered in blood, and he collapsed. Now I can’t wake him.” She told him in a rush, tears falling freely from her eyes.
“Dean?” Sam asked, suddenly afraid, and all harsh words forgotten. “Is it his blood? Did somebody do this on purpose? Has this happened before?”
Molly shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He has never been hurt this bad with us, but I think...where he was before...I think they nearly killed him. Maybe they came after him...maybe they want him back. Help him, milord. Please, help him.”
“Take me to him.” Sam demanded, thankful he had had the foresight to pull on enough clothes to be decent.
Molly, however, hesitated. “Milord…I had hoped…maybe you might…a doctor might be of benefit?”
Sam understood the question she seemed afraid to ask. A doctor would probably be of use, but Sam didn’t know of one who would enter that part of town at this time of night. He gave her what reassurance he could. “I know a little about patching men’s injuries. If it is beyond my abilities, I shall bring him back here to be doctored.”
The relief that swamped Molly made her sag and smile at him gratefully. “Thank you, milord. Thank you.”
“Thank me when he is safe. Now, show me where he is.”
They made their way through the night, the streets of London empty but for those who had no place else to go, or who had forgotten their way home, so far in their cups that they were all but drowned. It was dangerous, and Sam was most glad that he was not wearing any of his finery to draw unwanted attention from the eyes that lurked in the shadows. When they made it to the back door of the brothel, Sam actually gave a sigh of relief, before taking a deep breath and bracing himself for whatever awaited upstairs.
Dean was laid out on the bed in the room where he and Sam had exchanged that one fateful kiss. He was sprawled across it on his back, his shirt torn and turning brown with drying blood. His hair was still that beautiful almost-blonde, his features still finely sculpted, and his lips still too perfectly full. He was, however, pale, and his breathing seemed a little too fast and erratic. Sam stepped forward and brushed his fingers lightly across those still lips before turning to Molly. “I need warm water and a cloth.”
Molly disappeared out the door and Sam started to remove the tattered shirt from Dean’s still form. As soon as he had it off, he bent to examine the wound and sucked in a breath. “Oh God. Dean, what the hell were you doing?”
“Well?” Molly asked anxiously as she came back through the door with a large bowl of water and several rags.
Sam dropped the shirt over the wound, hiding its form from the woman’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I can help him.” Sam forced his voice to remain calm. “But I need you to leave us alone.”
“Why?” Her voice was suspicious, and Sam didn’t begrudge her that.
“This is not something you should have to see, Molly. Please?”
Her gaze immediately softened. “Sweet Sam, these eyes have seen more than you could ever imagine, but I will go, if it makes you feel better.”
“Thank you. It does.” He waited until he heard the door click shut and then lifted the shirt and looked at the wound once more. There was no doubt about what it was, and Sam felt his eyes burn. Wetting a rag in the lukewarm water, he began to wash around the wound, and finally cleaned out the wound itself. This brought a soft groan from his unconscious patient, but Sam determinedly kept at it. Finally, he was able to see it clearly. Four jagged tears across the firm flesh at Dean’s side marked where someone - something - had swiped at him. It looked like a claw mark, because that was exactly what it was. The only point of hope in Sam was that the wound was not too deep.
Suddenly, there was the shattering of glass as a large, dark form burst into the room through the window. Sam’s jaw dropped. The man that stood in front of him was no man at all; covered in coarse, dark fur with razor-sharp claws at its fingertips and a long, wolf-like muzzle snarling and snapping with sharp, blood-stained teeth. The only features that made this creature human were its human torso and the fact that it stood on its hind legs. He had known, with one look at Dean’s wound, what it was that had attacked him, but Sam had never seen a werewolf in the flesh. Frantically, his gaze started to search the room for the shotgun he knew had to be somewhere, but it was no where in sight, and Sam didn’t even have a small knife to protect himself.
The werewolf began to stalk forward, glancing at Dean’s still form and grimacing in what Sam imagined was an evil smile, before continuing on towards more…lively prey. Sam backed up, but he knew there was nowhere else to go. If he ran out into the brothel, he would endanger everyone else. The vaguely hysterical thought ran through his mind that it was going to be quite the scandal when Lord Samuel Winchester’s body was found mauled to death beside a man in a brothel. The creature made a sudden rush towards him, and Sam closed his eyes, bracing for the collision. There was a loud explosion, making Sam’s ears ring, but the impact he had expected never came. He opened his eyes and saw the wolf-man lying on the floor, a fist-sized hole blown out of his chest.
“Damn it.” Dean swore, and Sam looked up in time to see Dean sitting up in the bed, shotgun raised and still pointing at the creature. Even as he watched, those brilliant green eyes rolled back, and Dean collapsed once more.
Sam rushed forward and grabbed the shotgun, checking to see whether it was still loaded. The second shot was still there. “Silver shot.” Sam muttered to himself. “Where the hell did you get that?” He laid the gun down on the bed. The werewolf would not be rising again, not after being shot clean through the heart with silver. Even as he had the thought, the body on the floor twitched, and Sam snatched up the shotgun once more, but it was truly dead. The body returned to its natural form, and Sam wondered what kind of a man this had been before he had been infected with lycanthropy.
The door burst open, and Sam swung around. Twin screams had him flinching and lowering the shotgun. Molly and Penelope stood there, shock and horror written plainly on their faces. “What happened?” Penelope asked. “Milord, what happened?”
Unable to tell them the truth, knowing full well he would sound like a patient for Bedlam, Sam made it up as he went along. “Well, this is the man who attacked Dean. He must have climbed up to the window…somehow, and he broke in. He was moving to attack me and Dean must have woken up. He shot him. Then he collapsed. Uhhh, and then you two came in.”
“What are we going to do?” Molly wailed. “The constables will take him away. They will kill him.”
“Why would they kill him? He saved my life!” Sam frowned.
“Dean is known on the streets for what he is. The law does not take kindly to his profession.” There was real fear in Molly’s eyes, and Sam believed her. There were times when the men employed to uphold the law were little better than the criminals they were supposed to be arresting.
Penelope looked at Sam, an assessing look in her eyes. She seemed to make up her mind suddenly. “If you take him, milord, we can take care of the body. Would you do that? Would you…protect him? Knowing what he is and what he is capable of, would you keep him safe?”
Sam looked at the man in question. There was something inside of him that seemed inextricably bound to this man, and the thought of leaving him to his fate was unacceptable. “Yes. Yes, I will take him home. He can be my valet, or work in the stables. Whatever he does, he will not need to do this anymore.”
Penelope nodded, once, and smiled like she was proud of him. “Thank you, milord. I was not sure how much longer we would be able to protect him here. Now, you had best be going. The night is well along, and we have much to do before morning.”
PART FIVE.
Dean woke up disoriented, with pain throbbing through him, and a vague thought that there was someone he was supposed to be worried about. The more he looked around the room, the less he knew about his circumstances. It wasn’t the first time he had awoken in an unfamiliar room in pain, but it was the first time the room was clean and neat and stately. Also, the pain in his side was obviously not from his regular nightly activities. Finally, it all came back with a rush. It had been the night of the full moon last night, and he had gone out looking for his usual prey. He had just shot one beast through the heart when another had snuck up on him and taken a swipe at him. He remembered only vaguely the actual pain, and stumbling through the dark streets, employing every trick he knew to shake off his pursuer, before finally arriving back at the brothel. After that, things became even fuzzier, and he didn’t trust what he did recollect.
“You’re awake.” Dean jerked, sending agony shooting through him. He was really slipping if he hadn’t even noticed the large form of Lord Samuel Winchester sitting right beside the bed. He sounded relieved, and Dean was beginning to think that what he remembered might actually be true. “I am so glad. I was afraid that…”
“Afraid that what?” Dean asked, eyes narrowed and wary. If his lordship had seen that beast last night, who knew what conclusions he might leap to.
Hesitating, he replied, “Afraid that you too would become…ahhh…werewolf.” The young lord’s head dropped, and he looked through his long hair as though it might afford him some protection.
Dean reeled at the fact that Lord Samuel not only knew what had attacked them last night, he knew the potential consequences of the gash in Dean’s side. “Milord?” It was a confused request for an explanation, and Dean had no idea that in that moment he looked almost as young as his bedside visitor.
Lord Samuel huffed out a breath. “It is a long story. A very long story. Suffice it to say that I know that there are many…unnatural things in this world, things that most people pass off as nothing but stories told to naughty children to scare them. I know…I know how to banish many such things, and the necessary treatments for injuries made by them.”
“You seek them out also?” Dean asked, amazed that the innocent, young lord might share in his hobby.
“No.” That was very definite. “No, I do not. Nor do I have any intention of doing so. My father…he is obsessed with hunting them as you would hunt an animal. He has devoted most of his life to it. It is what got my mother killed, and my older brother. I have no intention of letting him add me to that list.”
Dean felt the condemnation like a blow, and so gave exactly the same in return. “You are a coward. You have knowledge that many do not, and yet you do nothing but protect your own privileged skin.”
“I saved your skin last night.” Lord Samuel responded heatedly.
“As I recall, it was I who saved yours, milord.”
The two men glared at each other for a few moments before Lord Samuel conceded defeat. “Fine. Yes, you saved me, but I have brought you here, where you will be safe from the law, and where you need never sell yourself again.”
Dean’s glare narrowed further. “I beg your pardon?”
“I brought you here so you could be safe?” It turned into a question at the end, and it seemed that the young lord realised he might have said something he shouldn’t have.
The growl that escaped Dean’s throat might have made Lord Samuel wonder if he had indeed been infected by the werewolf’s claws, so low and menacing was the sound. “Safe?Safe? What I will be is imprisoned. I realise that to one such as yourself I am object of pity. I understand that you have, for some reason, decided that I am in need of redemption and that you are just the man to do it.” Dean’s voice dropped impossibly lower. “But I tell you this, my lord, my life is mine. I am free and beholden to no man. I am responsible for myself and burden no one with my well-being. I do not want your pity. I do not need your charity. And I will not be saved by you.”
***
Sam felt every word like a stinging slap. This man was so broken, so twisted by the cruelty he had endured, that he could not recognise an act of genuine kindness. Sam felt his eyes burn and blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Softly, he answered, “You have my word that this is no charity, and I do not pity you. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met, how could I possibly look down on you shamefully? I do not know what it is that I feel for you, but it is more than any mere passing fancy on my part. I am not going to bring you here and cast you aside when I become bored. I am offering you a different life, one where you will not be harmed physically, but one where you will still work for your keep. Please, will you hear me out? Will you at least consider my proposal?”
Dean gave a huff of dissatisfaction. “I cannot leave in the state I am in at the moment. If you choose to continue speaking, there is ought I can do to stop you.”
Sam had to hide a grin at the discourteous acceptance. He could see the beginnings of interest stirring in Dean’s eyes, but the man was not willing to budge an inch on his stance. Another might have found it annoying, but Sam found it somehow endearing. “My valet is quite elderly. He has been with my family since my own father was a boy. I would like him to retire to our country estate, but he will not leave me. If you replace him, I believe I can convince him that it is all for the best. You will earn no more than he has, and possibly less than what you have earned in your current profession, but it has the added bonus of your continued well-being.” Sam took a deep breath. “So, what do you say? Would you be willing to try?”
“And you would want nothing in return?” Dean asked suspiciously, and Sam’s heart wept for the man. What would it be like to live knowing that all people saw when they looked at you was what they could get for themselves?
“Nothing but what your duty calls for.” Sam answered solemnly.
“Very well. I still think you are insane, but if you wish to employ me, who am I to decline?”
Sam was overjoyed. He didn’t understand why this meant so much to him, only that he felt almost giddy with relief. “Wonderful. Now, you must rest up and regain your strength.” He turned to leave and begin arrangements for Dean’s employment.
“Wait!” Dean called after him, and Sam turned. “What happened to the body?”
“Penelope and Molly took care of it.” Sam replied.
Dean relaxed back into his pillow with a faint smile. “Good. Those two can be downright scary when they put their minds together.”
PART SIX
Sam kept Dean confined to bed for a week after they had struck their bargain. Dean, of course, had been itching to get up and about after the second day. Sam, however, thought Dean was, beyond his injury, in need of uninterrupted rest and some good food. The older man was a little undernourished, he was sure, so he had three enormous meals served to him each day. Dean protested both the forced inactivity and the amount of food, but his eyes were gaining a brightness Sam had not seen before and rather liked seeing.
After that first week, Dean had insisted that he begin to learn his role from Sam’s current valet, William Hawkins. The two men, most surprisingly, quickly became the oddest friends Sam had ever seen. Hawkins had been practically devastated when Sam had first suggested retiring him. The man had served the Winchester family longer than Sam had been alive, and saw it as an end to all he had accomplished in that time. It had taken quite some smooth talking on Sam’s part to make the man see that he was not being cast aside, simply relocated with fewer duties. In the end, Sam had resorted to telling him about Dean’s situation, minus some of the more disturbing facts, such as the existence of werewolves and Dean’s proclivity for killing them.
Sam had expected disaster on day one when Hawkins had responded to Sam’s introductions with, “So, you are the piece of rough trade replacing me.”
There hadn’t even been time for Sam to draw breath and step between them before Dean had replied, “That would be me. I guess that makes you the stuffy old man being shipped off to the company.”
To Sam’s complete and utter surprise, both men had smirked and shaken hands. Hawkins had lead Dean away to begin his instruction, leaving Sam to look after them in bewilderment and wonder what exactly had just happened right in front of him. A few days later he did not question it further. Dean had taken to calling Hawkins ‘Billy’, and the glint in the older man’s eyes told him that he did not mind it as much as his constant protests would have people believe. When it came time for Hawkins to move out to the country estate, the two men seemed rather sad to actually be parting. Dean promised to look after Sam, and Hawkins clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I know.”
That had been three weeks ago, and Sam was amazed at just how accomplished Dean had become in that time. When he mentioned it to Dean, the other man had just shrugged and told him, “Well, I already knew how to undress a man, and dressing one is not so very different. As for the other duties…” Another shrug was eloquent enough for the both of them to understand. Sam hadn’t mentioned it again.
Tonight, however, was going to be a little different. Sam was holding the annual Winchester Ball and, though the planning had been finalised months ago, he was flitting around the mansion half-dressed and scandalising the female staff. Dean had finally put a stop to this behaviour very effectively by grabbing his lordship by the hand and dragging him back into the bedroom. Once there, Dean had growled for him to stay put, and Sam had known better than to mess with that tone of voice. It did not matter who was master and who was servant between them. Dean would never be deferential the way Hawkins had been, and Sam remembered all too clearly what kind of a man he had taken into his home. One must never forget that Dean was dangerous.
When the guests had begun to arrive, Sam turned to Dean and broached a subject he had been putting off all day. “Dean, I…ah, I think it might be best if you stayed out of sight tonight.”
Dean gave him one of his trademark smirks. “Really? And why might that be?”
“Most of society will be here tonight and…and I know that some of them would have gone to you for custom.”
“You are ashamed.” Dean said it in a flat tone that betrayed no emotion, but that Sam recognised hid a world of hurt.
Sam hissed and stepped up to Dean, taking his face in his hands. “No. No, I am not ashamed. I do not want you put into any awkward situations, that is all.”
Unable to move his head, and thus look away, Dean closed his eyes instead. “I am sorry.”
Sam stood stunned for a moment. He had never heard Dean genuinely apologise for anything. It made him look so vulnerable in Sam’s hands, and Sam remembered the last time he had seen the man look such. It had been that night when the two of them had shared a kiss, and suddenly Sam wished to repeat the experience. Without warning, Sam leaned down and placed his lips over Dean’s. Dean tried to pull away, but Sam whispered against his lips, “It is fine, Dean. Do not struggle. I just want to remember, just for a moment…” Dean did not fight him when he reinitiated the kiss, instead becoming almost pliant under the larger man’s hands. Sam lapped at his mouth, gentle and insistent, trying to taste all that he could in the few moments he had to spare. When he drew back, Dean’s eyes fluttered open, so green and so lost that Sam wanted to dive right back in. He could not, though. There were guests downstairs and the small matter of Dean now being an employee of his. So, instead, he stepped away and sighed, “Thank you, Dean.”
***
The night had progressed well, in Sam’s opinion. Although a great many of the people in attendance were only there to be seen, there were also those that Sam considered his friends. He spent most of his time in conversation over sherry and cigars with them, occasionally venturing out into the great hall to play the attentive host and to dance with this lady or that. He had to admit, though, that when he danced with Lady Jessica the rest of society could have disappeared for all that he noticed them. He had known Lady Jessica since her debut, and she was much sought after by many of the men of the ton. Still, he liked to think that when she smiled at him, it held extra warmth, and that there was the barest hint of invitation in her eyes. His friends never failed to needle him about his interest and his inability to act upon his feelings. Remembering the heated kisses he had shared with the man upstairs in his room at this very moment, however, made him wonder if there wasn’t more than his shyness at fault in this matter.
Thinking about Dean made him wonder what exactly the other man might be doing to pass the evening, and as soon as he could make the break, Sam escaped the crowded downstairs rooms and headed for his bedroom. What he saw when he got there chilled him to the bone.
***
Dean had spent a reasonable amount of time cleaning up the shambles that his lordship’s bedchamber had become in the tumult of getting ready for the ball. Once that was done, however, he had found himself at loose ends. He could hear the music floating up the stairs and absently began to hum along to a half-remembered tune, taking halting steps in an awkward, and yet graceful, waltz. He couldn’t remember who had taught him to dance, just the briefest flash of a laughing face. It made him feel…sad, somehow, as though it were something he truly would like to remember. There were few enough things in Dean’s life he cared to remember.
After he had mastered the steps in what he considered a quite accomplished manner, Dean heard footsteps on the landing. He knew immediately they were not Lord Samuel’s, nor any of the other staff. That meant whomever was out there was somewhere they should not be. Dean opened the door and stepped into the path of the intruder. “I am sorry, but no guests are permitted in this part of the house.”
“Well, well. I wondered where you had gone. I didn’t believe for a moment that you were dead.”
Too late, Dean recognised the man he had addressed. Lord Adam Parker; tall, suave and not at all what he seemed. The man had always been one of Dean’s least favourite customers. Arrogant and cruel, despite his rather mundane desires. He was the type of man who liked power games but did not really know how to play them. He thought holding Dean down and taking him roughly put him in a position of power. The truth was, at any given moment Dean could have thrown the other man off and beaten him into the bargain. Many had made the mistake of thinking as this man did. However, seeing him here, in Lord Samuel’s home, threw him and left him speechless and shocked.
“Nothing to say, Dean? Good. You remember who your master is then.” Moving as quick as a cat and as deadly as a tiger, the lord shoved Dean back through Samuel’s door, shutting it behind them.
***
Sam moved quickly up the stairs, something uneasy settling in his gut. As he neared his bedroom, he could hear muffled voices, so he put his ear to the door.
“If I do this you must leave Lord Winchester alone. You must never mention what I was to another soul.” That was Dean’s voice.
“You will do this because I will make you, because this is what you are.” Sam recognised this voice too, and he had heard quite enough. Lord Parker had just put himself on the top of Sam’s list of enemies.
Moving with all his fury driving him, Sam flung open the door. Dean was face down on Sam’s bed, Parker holding his arms above his head with one hand while attempting to undo and drawn down his breeches with the other. Parker, although not a small man, was no match for an irate Sam, who grabbed him and flung him to the floor before the other man knew there was another in the room. He growled, “Get your hands off of him!”
Dean and Parker moved in an odd synch, both rising to their feet quickly and looking at Sam warily. Dean spoke first. “Milord, it is not what you think...”
“Yes.” He replied angrily, “It is.” His gaze narrowed on Parker. “You are a guest under my roof. That does not allow you to harm those under my care. If you come near Dean again, I will let him kill you. If you spread word of this, I will be sure to let everybody know exactly what I saw you doing here tonight. Now leave, and stay out of my sight if you know what is good for you.”
Parker sneered and snared one last parting shot. “You can take the whore off of the street, but you cannot pretend he is anything but what e is. I wish you good use of him, whatever is left.”
Sam glared at the closed door as thought he could follow Parker’s departure from his home, and then he turned to Dean. The self-loathing was back in those incredible eyes, and Dean turned away. “I will go. I am sure Penny will take me back. I am good for business.”
Crossing the room in a few strides, Sam took Dean’s chin in his hand and lifted so that Dean had to look up at him. Sam let his heart fill his eyes. “There is no need. You must not believe what that scum says. You are an incredible person and I thank God every day that I met you.”
“Do not.” Dean stopped him, his voice rough and his eyes starting to bleed emotion through all those protective layers. “I am what he named me, have been for as long as you have been alive. I am not what you think I am.”
“You are.” Sam asserted. “I have seen more compassion for people in you than in half of the ton combined, and do not try to deny it.” Dean, who had been about to do exactly that, quiet in Sam’s grasp, his eyes rapidly blinking to keep tears at bay. It touched something deep inside of Sam and he leaned in to whisper, “I want to kiss you. Please, Dean, say I can. Say you want it too...”
“I do.” Dean’s reply was like a sigh, a breath of air hinting at consent. “I have wanted you almost from the moment I saw you, and I have tried to protect you, but I cannot...”
Sam placed both his hands on Dean’s face, framing it as he lowered his mouth to the other man’s. Dean opened to him, hesitant hands coming up to cup Sam’s face in return. The not-quite-innocent lapping of Sam’s tongue into his mouth made him whimper, but it was the care and gentleness of the kiss that undid him. Sam tasted the older man’s tears and drew back. “Has no one ever cared about you? How could they not?”
Dean was not permitted the bitter answer that bubbled up in his throat, as Sam moved in once again, and Dean became lost in the unfamiliar sensation of being truly desired simply for himself. They stayed like that for some time, enjoying exploring one another and learning each other’s taste. Dean had never been kissed so thoroughly in his life, and he was surprised to find himself content to simply let Sam lead the kiss. Finally, the younger man pulled back, smiling softly when Dean tried to follow after his lips.
Still smiling, Sam whispered, “I am going to tell you a secret, Dean. I think I feel the same way about men as I do women.”
“Be sure.” Dean cautioned. Be very sure before you take it any further. It is a stigma that cannot be removed if you find you are mistaken. Are you prepared for that, young lord? The malicious whispers behind your back? Sodomite...”
Sam jerked back, prepared to be hurt, but only felt sadness when he saw nothing but care and concern in the other man’s eyes. Dean was not trying to hurt him, only warn him that there were certainly consequences to his choices. “I do not know. Is there no way to be certain?”
Dean looked up at him, almost shyly. “There is always me.” Sam frowned, so Dean clarified, “Whatever you wish to try, you may do so with me. I will not breathe a word to another, I promise you.”
The words hit Sam like a punch to the gut, equal parts lust and disgust. Lust for what this beautiful man before him was offering, and disgust that he would wish to use him in this manner. “I did not take you on as my valet to make you my own personal sex slave.”
“I know it.” Dean conceded, but continued in a voice so low that Sam had to lean down to hear him. “But it is not slavery if I want it too. I told you, I have desired you since the night you sat by my bedside, offering friendship and asking nothing in return.”
“Then why did you send me away?”
“As I said, to protect you.” Dean admitted. “Molly was right. It was only a matter of time before I got myself killed. How could allow such earnest love if all you would get was heartache? So I sent you away from me, and tried to bring on the end.”
Sam’s heart shattered.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M Relationship, AU, Mention of Abuse of a Minor
Synopsis: Lord Samual Winchester is a gentleman of the 1750's English ton. He meets a charming whore called Dean, and his life becomes...complicated.
This was originally posted in 13 parts, but I have done it in less here... all 22,991 words of it!
PART ONE.
Samuel Winchester was not half so drunk as his four best friends, nor anywhere near as drunk as he needed to be right at this moment. As five gentlemen of the upper crust, they had all doors open to them but, instead of the respectable establishments they should have been frequenting, they were in a rougher end of town approaching a house of ill repute. It was his eighteenth birthday, and his friends had decided that it was time to educate the youngest of their number in the ways of the flesh. So it was that they entered the non-descript building with its red light.
Inside was…a surprise. Much cleaner and less seedy than he had been expecting. There were several couches arranged around the large room to the right of the entryway, and several couples, as well as more than a few scantily clad women, occupied them. The crack of billiard balls drew Sam’s eyes to the left. There was another room, this one with a small bar and an assortment of deep chairs in which an odd assortment of gentlemen were lounging. Also, more surprising than anything he had seen so far, there was a pool table.
That was when Sam saw him. He was leaning against the table, pool cue in hand, all cocky insolence and smirking challenge. Sam couldn’t help but stare. He had never seen anyone like this before. The man was tall although, admittedly, not as tall as Sam was himself, and lean and well built. His face was finely chiselled with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. The lips would not have been amiss on any of the young ladies of the ton, as they were full and just a little pouty. And the eyes. At first Sam mistook them for a dark, steely blue, but a shaft of light came across them as the man moved forward, and Sam could see they were hazel green. On anyone else this face might have seemed effeminate, but the body was so overtly masculine that it negated the effect.
“Gentlemen.” The low, rough voice added to the overwhelming charm of the man before them. He gestured towards the table behind him. “Do you play?”
“Not with your kind.” Edward’s voice was chilly in direct contrast to the man’s warmth. Sam was momentarily confused, and then realised what his friend was saying. He felt the blush heat his cheeks.
The man, for his part, focused on Sam with only sardonic humour in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Might I make a suggestion?” He went on without pausing for permission, and Sam had the thought that this man didn’t ask permission for anything. “Take Molly. She’s a deft hand at teaching men how to ride, without breaking them.” He turned to leave, but half turned back to throw over his shoulder, “Oh, and gentlemen, unless you pay me I won’t come near you, so if you wish a challenge while your young friend is…occupied, a game of billiards isn’t far outside the realms of civilised behaviour.”
“We’re always up for a challenge.” Thomas said, stepping around Edward and heading for the billiard table. Thomas was something of an expert, and did like to try out his skills on others. The man stopped and turned back to them, smiling wickedly.
“Which one is Molly?” Sam asked softly.
“Gentlemen, why don’t you set the table while I see to your young friend here?” There was the barest hint of sarcasm in his tone, and Sam had to stifle a smile. Suddenly he was trapped under the sharp green gaze of the man. “Come with me.”
Sam followed meekly as he was lead across the lounge towards a pretty little woman sitting on one of the couches. She was a little plumper than most of the women in the room and, perhaps, a little older too, but her soft blue eyes were kind. The man leaned down and spoke to her in tones too low for Sam to hear, but when she looked up, running an assessive look up and down his considerable height, he smiled hesitantly. She smiled back gently, still listening to her friend, and then nodded in response to whatever he had said.
“Lord Winchester?” A female voice from his left drew Sam’s attention. It belonged to a matronly-looking woman dressed rather sedately considering their surrounds. Sam assumed that this was the Madame of the house. He wasn’t overly surprised that she knew who he was on sight; it would be her business to know. She came forward quickly, casting a worried glance at the man who had been helping him. “Lord Winchester. Please allow me to introduce myself. Mrs Penelope Bright. Welcome to my establishment.”
“Thank you, Mrs Bright.” Sam was polite, and quite unsure what else to say.
“Oh, please, everyone just calls me Penelope” She cast another concerned look at the man, before asking, “Are you being…looked after?”
“Oh, yes.” Sam smiled. “This gentleman has been most helpful. I believe he was just about to introduce me to Molly.”
Disbelief flickered over her face before it settled into its regular pleasantness. “Well, then, allow me. Molly, dear, why don’t you show Lord Winchester upstairs so you may get better acquainted.”
Molly stood up. She barely reached Sam’s collarbone, and he felt oddly protective of her, but she just stepped forward, smiled at him, and looped her arm around his. Her voice, when she spoke, was lilting and soothing. “Of course. Milord, it is this way.”
Sam let her lead him upstairs and in to one of the rooms. They were not lavish, but clean and neat in a manner he had not expected. He sat on the edge of the bed as Molly closed the door. When she turned back around, she simply looked at him. Sam blushed. After a moment she said, “Well now, and lucky you are that Dean took an interest in you tonight. Carly was in line to take the next customer tonight, and patient is not a word in her vocabulary.”
“Is that his name? It is most unusual.” Sam was happy to have a name to go with that face. “Why was Penelope so worried about him?”
Molly gave a little trill of laughter. “Oh, it was not Dean she was concerned for, but you. Dean isn’t known for his care and compassion, especially when it comes to the gentlemen of the ton.”
“Really? Why?” Dean hadn’t seemed particularly malicious to him.
“He has good reason.” She said softly, but then came across the room to him. “Now, my young Lord, enough of that man’s woes. I have much to show you.”
***
An hour later, a very pleased - and sated - Sam made to leave. He turned with his hand on the door knob. “Thank you, Molly, for everything.”
“Dear Sam.” She smiled. “It was certainly my great pleasure. If you ever have further need of me, simply ask. I will always make time for you.”
Sam blushed with equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. Nodding, he turned the knob and stepped out into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him. A thud further down the hallway drew his attention, and Sam saw Dean. The man with him had slammed him face-first into the wall and was using his whole body to keep Dean pinned in place. The hands at Dean’s hips seemed to be gripping him very tightly as the man leaned forward to whisper in Dean’s ear. For a moment, Dean’s face was unguarded, and Sam was shocked by what he saw there. His expression was part disgust at the man behind him, but the rest was a heart-wrenching mixture of resignation and self-loathing. Then Dean saw him standing there, and a mask came down to cover all that seething emotion. Dean’s gaze upon him didn’t waver, and Sam felt trapped, until the other man caught sight of him standing there.
“What the hell are you staring at?” He spat. “You want a piece of this one, you can wait until I’m done and have whatever’s left.” He shoved Dean against the wall again for good measure.
Sam wanted to say something, although what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He also wanted to hit the coarse man in his ugly face and drag Dean away from him. Dean must have read his intent in his eyes, because he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and mouthed ‘go’ to him. So Sam turned his back on them and headed down the stairs.
His friends met him in the billiard room with knowing smiles and hard slaps of congratulations on his back. They made bawdy jokes and lewd suggestions. Thomas lamented on him having taken so long as ‘that damned liar’ had fleeced him at billiards, but that only made Sam laugh. In fact, Sam smiled and blushed through it all without saying a word, because at the back of his mind was the image of Dean’s face…and a disquieting sense that he should have helped him.
PART TWO.
The next night found Sam walking back into Madame Penelope’s house. He knew what people would think if they found out about his immediate return, but he had been unable to stay away. It took him only a moment’s glance to see that Dean was nowhere to be seen. The unpleasant thought of him being with one of his customers made Sam feel vaguely ill, but he continued into the lounge area. Molly wasn’t there either, and Sam had just reconciled himself to approaching one of the other girls when one of them approached him.
“Milord, welcome back.” She purred. “My name is Carly. May I be of service to you?”
Sam looked her up and down. So this was the woman he would have gone with last night had Dean not stepped in. She was actually pretty enough, but there was something cold about her eyes, a certain cruelty that made Sam thankful for Molly’s patient tuition. Still, surely she would be able to tell him where Dean was. “I am looking for Dean.”
Hatred and anger flashed in her eyes. “Milord, do not waste your time with the likes of him. I promise you I am capable of doing all that he may do for you, and more.”
“Ahhh, that is very kind of you, Carly, but...”
“Lord Winchester! Back so soon?” Penelope had come into the room at just the right moment, and Sam sighed with relief. “Do you want me to find Molly for you?”
“I actually came to find Dean.” He looked at her hopefully, and so saw the briefest flicker of trepidation in her eyes.
“Milord, I am sorry, but Dean isn’t seeing any more clients tonight.” Her voice was soft, as though she really was sorry.
Sam blushed at her conclusion. “Oh, I, ah, didn’t want...that is to say, I only wanted to see...to speak to him.”
Penelope’s eyes softened. “Very well, milord. Come with me.” She led him up the stairs. “You will have to forgive his appearance. His last client took a little more liberty than they had agreed to.” Her voice had tightened with suppressed anger.
“Is he hurt?” Sam’s reply betrayed the sudden panic he was at a loss to understand.
The woman turned and placed a reassuring hand upon his arm. “He’ll be okay, milord.” She hesitated, and then asked the question that had obviously been playing on her mind. “Do you and Dean know each other in some way?”
“Not really. I only met him last night. Why?”
“Well, you see, Dean is a hard man. His life has made him so. Under the cynicism and sarcasm, though, there is still the man he should have been. The thing is, Dean never involves himself in the problems of others, and has never, never taken an interest in the affairs of the men who have come in. Last night he stepped in and made sure you ended up with the right woman. That is an absolute first. And now here you are, not only wanting to talk to him, but concerned about him. It is unusual behaviour for total strangers.”
“I agree, madam“, Sam told her, “but I cannot shed any light on it for you.”
“Ah well.” She said with a shrug, and then she opened to door of the furthest room.
Dean was laying face down on the bed, apparently naked under the sheet that covered nothing but his backside and one leg. Sam saw the bruises on the near perfect body sprawled out there, and the scars of long-healed wounds. He wondered at the pang of distress that went through him. Penelope softly called out, “Dean, there is someone here to see you.”
Dean didn’t move, but gave a bitter laugh. “Penny, you know I love you, but there is no way I can get up and play more games tonight.”
“I just want to talk.” Sam said over Penelope’s shoulder. Dean jerked, surprised, and then rolled slightly so he could turn and look at Sam.
“Lord Winchester.” Dean’s voice gave nothing away of his thoughts. Nor did his glittering eyes. “There is nothing you need to say to me, and if this is an overture of friendship then I can only say it is misguided. Stay away from me, milord. For your own good.”
Sam’s temper flared, but the memory of the self-loathing in the other man’s eyes kept him from lashing out. Instead, he turned to Penelope. “Madame, I would like to buy an hour of his time. You have my word that I will do him no further damage.”
Penelope laughed. “If you can manage that after spending an hour in his company, you are a stronger person than I. You have your hour. Molly, come along now, he should be right enough.”
Sam blinked. Molly had been sitting in a chair to the left of the open door, hidden. She held a shotgun in her hands, but leaned it against the chair before exiting the room. Pausing briefly, she laid her hand over Sam’s heart and said, “It never hurts to be cautious. Don’t let him rile you. He’s an expert at it, God knows, but he needs someone like you.”
The door closed softly behind the two women, and Sam was left alone with Dean, who was watching Sam the same way you would watch a snake about to lash out. Dean’s version of a defence was to be the first to attack. “Well, milord, you have me at your mercy. What exactly do you want to do? Fuck me? I’d be easy enough to take at the moment. Or would you rather use my mouth? It’s as good a way as any to shut me up.”
Sam stalked to the bed, and he knew he was big enough to be intimidating, but Dean didn’t even flinch, just raised his eyebrow in question, still waiting for an answer. Sam turned away from him and sank down to sit on the very edge of the bed. Putting his head in his hands he pleaded, “Please. Just stop.” He started to talk to himself. “What the hell am I doing here? I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me. I just knew you would take it all wrong. After all, why should I even care? I don’t know you. I’ve never even met you before. So why does it bother me? Why does seeing you like this concern me? Why does the idea of what you let people do to you hurt me like this?”
“Hey now, easy there.” As Sam had become more and more worked up, Dean had felt more and more guilty for attacking him. The kid was obviously very confused, and he hadn’t done anything that deserved Dean’s scorn. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Just...calm down.”
“I don’t understand what is going on.” Sam whispered.
Dean managed to kneel up behind the other man. He leaned in and nuzzled Sam’s neck, admitting, “Neither do I.”
“Stop that!” Sam hissed, and leaped up off the bed. “Don’t treat me like...like one of those other men.”
“I wasn’t.” Dean said, and Sam saw the hurt and self-mockery in his eyes. He also saw that what he had said was the truth. Dean had just been trying to comfort him the only way he knew how. Sam moved back to the bed, his face telegraphing apology, but the damage was done. Dean moved back, away from Sam.
“I’m sorry.” Sam told him, even though he doubted it would be enough. “I just...it’s only that...you seen to hate those men and...and what they do. I don’t want you to hate me.” He gazed at Dean earnestly, willing him to understand.
Dean watched him with those alert eyes. Finally he sighed and said, “I don’t hate you.”
Sam smiled his best smile, and it worked its usual charm, causing the faintest of smiles to lighten Dean’s face. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure.” But Dean was instantly wary.
“Do you, um, like it? With other men?” Sam felt the heat of his blush and silently hoped the other man wouldn’t laugh at him.
He didn’t. Dean just looked at him consideringly before giving him a small sigh. “Occasionally. When they actually want a bed partner, and not just a convenient hole, or a whore to take out their frustrations on. Why? Do you think you might like to try it? If so, I know a man who’ll go easy with you.”
“No! No, it’s not that. But...why do you let them do that, if you don’t like it? Why would you let them hurt you?” Sam was momentarily embarrassed by Dean’s forthright offer, but gamely stuck to his point.
This time Dean did laugh, but it was the bitterest sound Sam had ever heard. “Whatever else I am, milord, I am first and foremost a whore. I am paid to let them use me however they see fit, and if they choose to lose control, well, I am usually not in a position to stop them. Besides, I...” He hesitated, and Sam thought he may not go on, but softly he explained. “I was raised to this. I was four when I came to live in the pleasure house I first worked in. I was surrounded by it. And when I was eight I tasted a man in my mouth for the first time. At twelve a man put himself inside of me, but I was fifteen the first time I liked it. The first time someone left me unconscious was when I was sixteen. I was never taught that there was a point beyond which they should not go, not until I came here, and by then I already had a reputation for taking whatever they would serve me. At least when it happens here, they give me time to heal.”
Sam felt sick, having to forcibly keep the bile from rising in his throat. He couldn’t imagine the boy he had been standing in front of a naked man and calmly taking his cock into his mouth, let alone the other things Dean spoke of. The thought of this man in front of him having to struggle to keep going in the condition he was in now made Sam’s eyes burn. Unable to stop himself, Sam reached out to Dean, one hand cupping one stubble-rough cheek. Heartbreakingly, Dean leaned into that touch for an instant before pulling away. Sam understood; it was a weakness Dean was not permitted to have, not if he was going to survive in his profession. Dean had been abused all his life, and still he had it in him to care. “Why did you help me?”
Dean, who had been looking away, turned back at the whispered question. His voice, too, was soft when he replied. “You walked in and...and you were so out of place. There was innocence in your eyes - still is - and I couldn’t watch that turn into something else. You deserved to know that sex isn’t all about pain and games of power. Carly would have taught you cruelty, and I...I couldn’t let that happen.”
Dean had protected in Sam what had been stolen from him. Something inside of Sam shattered. All he knew was that he wanted to be closer to this man, to get to know the noble soul buried under the degradation and hurt. In a sudden burst of courage, Sam asked, “Would you kiss me?”
“Milord...” Dean began.
“Sam, please.”
“Sam.” Dean sighed, helpless. “I am worse for you than Carly. If you wish to kiss a man, let me get you someone else. I am too jaded, too tainted for you.”
Sam shook his head violently. “I do not simply want to kiss ‘a man’. I want to kiss you.”
Dean’s eyelids closed, shielding the emotion which would otherwise have graced the green eyes. Sam watched him brace himself before opening them once again. “Okay, Sam. Okay. Sit up against the bed head for me.” Sam shifted into position and watched, with a racing heart, as Dean moved to straddle him. He somehow kept the sheet modestly wrapped around his hips, but there was still plenty that Sam was seeing. Sam ran his eyes up over a well-defined abdomen, smooth chest, broad shoulders, and the long line of Dean’s neck. His glance skipped over the wide, full lips that were about to be on his own, and met the heated gaze watching him look his full. Sam had never thought of a man as attractive before, but Dean called to something deep inside of him. “Are you certain about this? Because there is no taking it back once you have done it.”
Although his pulse was tripping over itself in its haste, Sam nodded, and his voice was steady. “I am sure. Please, Dean...”
“Shhh, Sammy. I’ve got you. Just...feel...” Sam nearly went cross-eyed as Dean moved closer, and when he could feel the soft brush of Dean’s breath on his lips, he closed them. The first touch of lips was gentle, more like a brush of warmth, and then they were back; hotter, firmer. Sam’s breath caught when the liquid heat of Dean’s tongue licked over him, but his mouth opened on a moan when Dean bit his lip, asking for entry. The older man lapped at Sam’s mouth, as though he was trying to taste every inch. Sam was hard pressed to keep up, and he could feel himself getting light headed from lack of air. He reached out and his hands landed on Dean’s slim hips. Dean rocked forward, and the jolt of pleasure in his crotch caused Sam to tighten his grip. Dean pulled back with a hiss. Sam let go immediately.
“Sorry. Dear god, I’m sorry Dean. I forgot...”
Dean placed a finger over Sam’s lips, effectively silencing him, and smiled softly. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. You don’t need to panic. I’m not that fragile.” He brushed his thumb across Sam’s swollen lips once more, and then slowly moved off of him. Gently, he said, “Your hour is up, Sam, and I honestly need some rest.”
Sam hesitated, afraid his next question would have the other man either laughing at him, or tossing him out the door. Nevertheless, he had to try. “Dean? Do you think...would you mind...is it okay if I stay? You can sleep.” He hastily assured him. “I’ll sit watch, if you like.”
Dean looked at the shotgun, and then back to Sam. There was amusement in his eyes, but it wasn’t malicious. “If you know how to use that thing without shooting me or yourself, then you are welcome to stay.”
Sam grinned like he’d won some great prize and moved to sit down, the shotgun laid across his lap. Dean shook his head as if he had given up trying to understand the other man, and then he lay down on his stomach once more. Sam watched him and saw as he gradually relaxed, until finally he fell asleep. Sam closed his own eyes.
PART THREE.
Sam woke up suddenly and, despite the sharp pang as light struck his eyes, he had the shotgun up and aimed at the slowly opening door. When Molly stuck her head in, Sam breathed a sigh and lowered the gun. For her part, Molly looked a little stunned at having come face to face with its barrel, but she gathered herself quickly and smiled at him.
“You should go home, milord. He won’t be disturbed now.”
Sam shook his head. “I told him I would stay on watch. If he wakes and sees me gone, he will think that I lied to him.”
Molly looked at him, surprised, and opened her mouth to speak. However, before she could say a word, Dean spoke up. “It is okay, Sam. She’s right. All will be well from now. Go home. Molly, show him the back way out so he isn’t spotted.”
“Yes, Dean.” Molly agreed, but rolled her eyes at Sam, who grinned. “Come, milord.” Sam followed her out of the room and down a narrow set of stairs to the back of the establishment. When she opened the door at the bottom, revealing a small alley that led out to the main street, Molly would have said goodbye, but Sam forestalled her.
“Molly, how often does he get hurt?”
“Every other night, milord.” There was sadness in her voice, enough to tell Sam that she cared for the man as more than an abused co-worker.
“How does he get up and face it again?” It was a rhetorical question, but he got an answer nevertheless.
“He is young and strong, milord. His body heals. The real damage lies much deeper, eating away at his soul. That is what will kill him, not the physical blows.”
“Kill him?!” Those words rocked Sam to the core.
“I don’t know how he has lasted this long.” She told him. “There are others like him, me who are cynical and sarcastic, dangerous men who are all, every one, hiding behind their masks. It does get to them sooner or later.”
“What happens to them?” Sam’s throat felt tight and achy, making his words choked.
“Some I have known have gone out into the night, seeking danger, and never returned. One boy I knew - he was only sixteen - he jumped into the Thames one winter’s night, knowing he couldn’t swim.”
Sam made a sound. It took him a moment to realise he had swallowed a sob. “Dean wouldn’t...would he?”
Molly gave him a gauging look and then nodded to herself. “Something is holding that boy together, but only God above knows what. Still, the men who come for him are getting meaner all the time. Tonight was nothing, but some day, very soon I fear, one of these men will take him to his death.”
“That is enough.” Dean’s voice came low and menacing from the dark stairway. “Be on your way and do not return. Do not concern yourself with any of us again.”
“Dean...” Molly began.
“Molly, get upstairs now.” Dean cut her off, and Sam had never heard such fury and warning in a man’s tone. It was all the more scary for having been snarled in the dark. Sam couldn’t see Dean at all.
Molly, not being a fool, gave Sam one last glance, a farewell of sorts, and then turned and disappeared up the staircase. Sam peered into the darkness, but could still see nothing but black. “Dean, it isn’t her fault. I asked her.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just Go. Home. If you ever come back here I would suggest you keep a good distance from me. I am not your friend and I will not accept your custom. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.” Sam snapped, and then turned and left, his long, angry strides quickly taking him out of sight. No one was there to hear Dean give a tremulous sigh.
PART FOUR.
One week went by, then two, and then a third. Sam managed to convince himself that he hadn’t enjoyed kissing another man, and that he had only imagined the kindness he thought he had sensed in Dean. And that surprising vulnerability? Absolutely a figment. Dean had only kissed him because he had paid for his time. For the most part, Sam had put it out of his mind.
Then it all changed. Sam was woken by a loud, persistent banging on the front door of his townhouse. By the time he made it downstairs the banging had stopped, only to be replaced with the raised voices of his valet and a woman, a woman he immediately recognised as Molly. She caught sight of him coming down the last of the stairs and cried out, “Oh, milord, thank goodness! You must come, quickly!”
“Hawkins, it is fine.” Sam told his very elderly valet when he tried to close the door on Molly. “Let her in. Molly, what is it?”
“He went out on the streets, and he didn’t come back for hours. When he did come back, he was covered in blood, and he collapsed. Now I can’t wake him.” She told him in a rush, tears falling freely from her eyes.
“Dean?” Sam asked, suddenly afraid, and all harsh words forgotten. “Is it his blood? Did somebody do this on purpose? Has this happened before?”
Molly shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He has never been hurt this bad with us, but I think...where he was before...I think they nearly killed him. Maybe they came after him...maybe they want him back. Help him, milord. Please, help him.”
“Take me to him.” Sam demanded, thankful he had had the foresight to pull on enough clothes to be decent.
Molly, however, hesitated. “Milord…I had hoped…maybe you might…a doctor might be of benefit?”
Sam understood the question she seemed afraid to ask. A doctor would probably be of use, but Sam didn’t know of one who would enter that part of town at this time of night. He gave her what reassurance he could. “I know a little about patching men’s injuries. If it is beyond my abilities, I shall bring him back here to be doctored.”
The relief that swamped Molly made her sag and smile at him gratefully. “Thank you, milord. Thank you.”
“Thank me when he is safe. Now, show me where he is.”
They made their way through the night, the streets of London empty but for those who had no place else to go, or who had forgotten their way home, so far in their cups that they were all but drowned. It was dangerous, and Sam was most glad that he was not wearing any of his finery to draw unwanted attention from the eyes that lurked in the shadows. When they made it to the back door of the brothel, Sam actually gave a sigh of relief, before taking a deep breath and bracing himself for whatever awaited upstairs.
Dean was laid out on the bed in the room where he and Sam had exchanged that one fateful kiss. He was sprawled across it on his back, his shirt torn and turning brown with drying blood. His hair was still that beautiful almost-blonde, his features still finely sculpted, and his lips still too perfectly full. He was, however, pale, and his breathing seemed a little too fast and erratic. Sam stepped forward and brushed his fingers lightly across those still lips before turning to Molly. “I need warm water and a cloth.”
Molly disappeared out the door and Sam started to remove the tattered shirt from Dean’s still form. As soon as he had it off, he bent to examine the wound and sucked in a breath. “Oh God. Dean, what the hell were you doing?”
“Well?” Molly asked anxiously as she came back through the door with a large bowl of water and several rags.
Sam dropped the shirt over the wound, hiding its form from the woman’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I can help him.” Sam forced his voice to remain calm. “But I need you to leave us alone.”
“Why?” Her voice was suspicious, and Sam didn’t begrudge her that.
“This is not something you should have to see, Molly. Please?”
Her gaze immediately softened. “Sweet Sam, these eyes have seen more than you could ever imagine, but I will go, if it makes you feel better.”
“Thank you. It does.” He waited until he heard the door click shut and then lifted the shirt and looked at the wound once more. There was no doubt about what it was, and Sam felt his eyes burn. Wetting a rag in the lukewarm water, he began to wash around the wound, and finally cleaned out the wound itself. This brought a soft groan from his unconscious patient, but Sam determinedly kept at it. Finally, he was able to see it clearly. Four jagged tears across the firm flesh at Dean’s side marked where someone - something - had swiped at him. It looked like a claw mark, because that was exactly what it was. The only point of hope in Sam was that the wound was not too deep.
Suddenly, there was the shattering of glass as a large, dark form burst into the room through the window. Sam’s jaw dropped. The man that stood in front of him was no man at all; covered in coarse, dark fur with razor-sharp claws at its fingertips and a long, wolf-like muzzle snarling and snapping with sharp, blood-stained teeth. The only features that made this creature human were its human torso and the fact that it stood on its hind legs. He had known, with one look at Dean’s wound, what it was that had attacked him, but Sam had never seen a werewolf in the flesh. Frantically, his gaze started to search the room for the shotgun he knew had to be somewhere, but it was no where in sight, and Sam didn’t even have a small knife to protect himself.
The werewolf began to stalk forward, glancing at Dean’s still form and grimacing in what Sam imagined was an evil smile, before continuing on towards more…lively prey. Sam backed up, but he knew there was nowhere else to go. If he ran out into the brothel, he would endanger everyone else. The vaguely hysterical thought ran through his mind that it was going to be quite the scandal when Lord Samuel Winchester’s body was found mauled to death beside a man in a brothel. The creature made a sudden rush towards him, and Sam closed his eyes, bracing for the collision. There was a loud explosion, making Sam’s ears ring, but the impact he had expected never came. He opened his eyes and saw the wolf-man lying on the floor, a fist-sized hole blown out of his chest.
“Damn it.” Dean swore, and Sam looked up in time to see Dean sitting up in the bed, shotgun raised and still pointing at the creature. Even as he watched, those brilliant green eyes rolled back, and Dean collapsed once more.
Sam rushed forward and grabbed the shotgun, checking to see whether it was still loaded. The second shot was still there. “Silver shot.” Sam muttered to himself. “Where the hell did you get that?” He laid the gun down on the bed. The werewolf would not be rising again, not after being shot clean through the heart with silver. Even as he had the thought, the body on the floor twitched, and Sam snatched up the shotgun once more, but it was truly dead. The body returned to its natural form, and Sam wondered what kind of a man this had been before he had been infected with lycanthropy.
The door burst open, and Sam swung around. Twin screams had him flinching and lowering the shotgun. Molly and Penelope stood there, shock and horror written plainly on their faces. “What happened?” Penelope asked. “Milord, what happened?”
Unable to tell them the truth, knowing full well he would sound like a patient for Bedlam, Sam made it up as he went along. “Well, this is the man who attacked Dean. He must have climbed up to the window…somehow, and he broke in. He was moving to attack me and Dean must have woken up. He shot him. Then he collapsed. Uhhh, and then you two came in.”
“What are we going to do?” Molly wailed. “The constables will take him away. They will kill him.”
“Why would they kill him? He saved my life!” Sam frowned.
“Dean is known on the streets for what he is. The law does not take kindly to his profession.” There was real fear in Molly’s eyes, and Sam believed her. There were times when the men employed to uphold the law were little better than the criminals they were supposed to be arresting.
Penelope looked at Sam, an assessing look in her eyes. She seemed to make up her mind suddenly. “If you take him, milord, we can take care of the body. Would you do that? Would you…protect him? Knowing what he is and what he is capable of, would you keep him safe?”
Sam looked at the man in question. There was something inside of him that seemed inextricably bound to this man, and the thought of leaving him to his fate was unacceptable. “Yes. Yes, I will take him home. He can be my valet, or work in the stables. Whatever he does, he will not need to do this anymore.”
Penelope nodded, once, and smiled like she was proud of him. “Thank you, milord. I was not sure how much longer we would be able to protect him here. Now, you had best be going. The night is well along, and we have much to do before morning.”
PART FIVE.
Dean woke up disoriented, with pain throbbing through him, and a vague thought that there was someone he was supposed to be worried about. The more he looked around the room, the less he knew about his circumstances. It wasn’t the first time he had awoken in an unfamiliar room in pain, but it was the first time the room was clean and neat and stately. Also, the pain in his side was obviously not from his regular nightly activities. Finally, it all came back with a rush. It had been the night of the full moon last night, and he had gone out looking for his usual prey. He had just shot one beast through the heart when another had snuck up on him and taken a swipe at him. He remembered only vaguely the actual pain, and stumbling through the dark streets, employing every trick he knew to shake off his pursuer, before finally arriving back at the brothel. After that, things became even fuzzier, and he didn’t trust what he did recollect.
“You’re awake.” Dean jerked, sending agony shooting through him. He was really slipping if he hadn’t even noticed the large form of Lord Samuel Winchester sitting right beside the bed. He sounded relieved, and Dean was beginning to think that what he remembered might actually be true. “I am so glad. I was afraid that…”
“Afraid that what?” Dean asked, eyes narrowed and wary. If his lordship had seen that beast last night, who knew what conclusions he might leap to.
Hesitating, he replied, “Afraid that you too would become…ahhh…werewolf.” The young lord’s head dropped, and he looked through his long hair as though it might afford him some protection.
Dean reeled at the fact that Lord Samuel not only knew what had attacked them last night, he knew the potential consequences of the gash in Dean’s side. “Milord?” It was a confused request for an explanation, and Dean had no idea that in that moment he looked almost as young as his bedside visitor.
Lord Samuel huffed out a breath. “It is a long story. A very long story. Suffice it to say that I know that there are many…unnatural things in this world, things that most people pass off as nothing but stories told to naughty children to scare them. I know…I know how to banish many such things, and the necessary treatments for injuries made by them.”
“You seek them out also?” Dean asked, amazed that the innocent, young lord might share in his hobby.
“No.” That was very definite. “No, I do not. Nor do I have any intention of doing so. My father…he is obsessed with hunting them as you would hunt an animal. He has devoted most of his life to it. It is what got my mother killed, and my older brother. I have no intention of letting him add me to that list.”
Dean felt the condemnation like a blow, and so gave exactly the same in return. “You are a coward. You have knowledge that many do not, and yet you do nothing but protect your own privileged skin.”
“I saved your skin last night.” Lord Samuel responded heatedly.
“As I recall, it was I who saved yours, milord.”
The two men glared at each other for a few moments before Lord Samuel conceded defeat. “Fine. Yes, you saved me, but I have brought you here, where you will be safe from the law, and where you need never sell yourself again.”
Dean’s glare narrowed further. “I beg your pardon?”
“I brought you here so you could be safe?” It turned into a question at the end, and it seemed that the young lord realised he might have said something he shouldn’t have.
The growl that escaped Dean’s throat might have made Lord Samuel wonder if he had indeed been infected by the werewolf’s claws, so low and menacing was the sound. “Safe?Safe? What I will be is imprisoned. I realise that to one such as yourself I am object of pity. I understand that you have, for some reason, decided that I am in need of redemption and that you are just the man to do it.” Dean’s voice dropped impossibly lower. “But I tell you this, my lord, my life is mine. I am free and beholden to no man. I am responsible for myself and burden no one with my well-being. I do not want your pity. I do not need your charity. And I will not be saved by you.”
***
Sam felt every word like a stinging slap. This man was so broken, so twisted by the cruelty he had endured, that he could not recognise an act of genuine kindness. Sam felt his eyes burn and blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Softly, he answered, “You have my word that this is no charity, and I do not pity you. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met, how could I possibly look down on you shamefully? I do not know what it is that I feel for you, but it is more than any mere passing fancy on my part. I am not going to bring you here and cast you aside when I become bored. I am offering you a different life, one where you will not be harmed physically, but one where you will still work for your keep. Please, will you hear me out? Will you at least consider my proposal?”
Dean gave a huff of dissatisfaction. “I cannot leave in the state I am in at the moment. If you choose to continue speaking, there is ought I can do to stop you.”
Sam had to hide a grin at the discourteous acceptance. He could see the beginnings of interest stirring in Dean’s eyes, but the man was not willing to budge an inch on his stance. Another might have found it annoying, but Sam found it somehow endearing. “My valet is quite elderly. He has been with my family since my own father was a boy. I would like him to retire to our country estate, but he will not leave me. If you replace him, I believe I can convince him that it is all for the best. You will earn no more than he has, and possibly less than what you have earned in your current profession, but it has the added bonus of your continued well-being.” Sam took a deep breath. “So, what do you say? Would you be willing to try?”
“And you would want nothing in return?” Dean asked suspiciously, and Sam’s heart wept for the man. What would it be like to live knowing that all people saw when they looked at you was what they could get for themselves?
“Nothing but what your duty calls for.” Sam answered solemnly.
“Very well. I still think you are insane, but if you wish to employ me, who am I to decline?”
Sam was overjoyed. He didn’t understand why this meant so much to him, only that he felt almost giddy with relief. “Wonderful. Now, you must rest up and regain your strength.” He turned to leave and begin arrangements for Dean’s employment.
“Wait!” Dean called after him, and Sam turned. “What happened to the body?”
“Penelope and Molly took care of it.” Sam replied.
Dean relaxed back into his pillow with a faint smile. “Good. Those two can be downright scary when they put their minds together.”
PART SIX
Sam kept Dean confined to bed for a week after they had struck their bargain. Dean, of course, had been itching to get up and about after the second day. Sam, however, thought Dean was, beyond his injury, in need of uninterrupted rest and some good food. The older man was a little undernourished, he was sure, so he had three enormous meals served to him each day. Dean protested both the forced inactivity and the amount of food, but his eyes were gaining a brightness Sam had not seen before and rather liked seeing.
After that first week, Dean had insisted that he begin to learn his role from Sam’s current valet, William Hawkins. The two men, most surprisingly, quickly became the oddest friends Sam had ever seen. Hawkins had been practically devastated when Sam had first suggested retiring him. The man had served the Winchester family longer than Sam had been alive, and saw it as an end to all he had accomplished in that time. It had taken quite some smooth talking on Sam’s part to make the man see that he was not being cast aside, simply relocated with fewer duties. In the end, Sam had resorted to telling him about Dean’s situation, minus some of the more disturbing facts, such as the existence of werewolves and Dean’s proclivity for killing them.
Sam had expected disaster on day one when Hawkins had responded to Sam’s introductions with, “So, you are the piece of rough trade replacing me.”
There hadn’t even been time for Sam to draw breath and step between them before Dean had replied, “That would be me. I guess that makes you the stuffy old man being shipped off to the company.”
To Sam’s complete and utter surprise, both men had smirked and shaken hands. Hawkins had lead Dean away to begin his instruction, leaving Sam to look after them in bewilderment and wonder what exactly had just happened right in front of him. A few days later he did not question it further. Dean had taken to calling Hawkins ‘Billy’, and the glint in the older man’s eyes told him that he did not mind it as much as his constant protests would have people believe. When it came time for Hawkins to move out to the country estate, the two men seemed rather sad to actually be parting. Dean promised to look after Sam, and Hawkins clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I know.”
That had been three weeks ago, and Sam was amazed at just how accomplished Dean had become in that time. When he mentioned it to Dean, the other man had just shrugged and told him, “Well, I already knew how to undress a man, and dressing one is not so very different. As for the other duties…” Another shrug was eloquent enough for the both of them to understand. Sam hadn’t mentioned it again.
Tonight, however, was going to be a little different. Sam was holding the annual Winchester Ball and, though the planning had been finalised months ago, he was flitting around the mansion half-dressed and scandalising the female staff. Dean had finally put a stop to this behaviour very effectively by grabbing his lordship by the hand and dragging him back into the bedroom. Once there, Dean had growled for him to stay put, and Sam had known better than to mess with that tone of voice. It did not matter who was master and who was servant between them. Dean would never be deferential the way Hawkins had been, and Sam remembered all too clearly what kind of a man he had taken into his home. One must never forget that Dean was dangerous.
When the guests had begun to arrive, Sam turned to Dean and broached a subject he had been putting off all day. “Dean, I…ah, I think it might be best if you stayed out of sight tonight.”
Dean gave him one of his trademark smirks. “Really? And why might that be?”
“Most of society will be here tonight and…and I know that some of them would have gone to you for custom.”
“You are ashamed.” Dean said it in a flat tone that betrayed no emotion, but that Sam recognised hid a world of hurt.
Sam hissed and stepped up to Dean, taking his face in his hands. “No. No, I am not ashamed. I do not want you put into any awkward situations, that is all.”
Unable to move his head, and thus look away, Dean closed his eyes instead. “I am sorry.”
Sam stood stunned for a moment. He had never heard Dean genuinely apologise for anything. It made him look so vulnerable in Sam’s hands, and Sam remembered the last time he had seen the man look such. It had been that night when the two of them had shared a kiss, and suddenly Sam wished to repeat the experience. Without warning, Sam leaned down and placed his lips over Dean’s. Dean tried to pull away, but Sam whispered against his lips, “It is fine, Dean. Do not struggle. I just want to remember, just for a moment…” Dean did not fight him when he reinitiated the kiss, instead becoming almost pliant under the larger man’s hands. Sam lapped at his mouth, gentle and insistent, trying to taste all that he could in the few moments he had to spare. When he drew back, Dean’s eyes fluttered open, so green and so lost that Sam wanted to dive right back in. He could not, though. There were guests downstairs and the small matter of Dean now being an employee of his. So, instead, he stepped away and sighed, “Thank you, Dean.”
***
The night had progressed well, in Sam’s opinion. Although a great many of the people in attendance were only there to be seen, there were also those that Sam considered his friends. He spent most of his time in conversation over sherry and cigars with them, occasionally venturing out into the great hall to play the attentive host and to dance with this lady or that. He had to admit, though, that when he danced with Lady Jessica the rest of society could have disappeared for all that he noticed them. He had known Lady Jessica since her debut, and she was much sought after by many of the men of the ton. Still, he liked to think that when she smiled at him, it held extra warmth, and that there was the barest hint of invitation in her eyes. His friends never failed to needle him about his interest and his inability to act upon his feelings. Remembering the heated kisses he had shared with the man upstairs in his room at this very moment, however, made him wonder if there wasn’t more than his shyness at fault in this matter.
Thinking about Dean made him wonder what exactly the other man might be doing to pass the evening, and as soon as he could make the break, Sam escaped the crowded downstairs rooms and headed for his bedroom. What he saw when he got there chilled him to the bone.
***
Dean had spent a reasonable amount of time cleaning up the shambles that his lordship’s bedchamber had become in the tumult of getting ready for the ball. Once that was done, however, he had found himself at loose ends. He could hear the music floating up the stairs and absently began to hum along to a half-remembered tune, taking halting steps in an awkward, and yet graceful, waltz. He couldn’t remember who had taught him to dance, just the briefest flash of a laughing face. It made him feel…sad, somehow, as though it were something he truly would like to remember. There were few enough things in Dean’s life he cared to remember.
After he had mastered the steps in what he considered a quite accomplished manner, Dean heard footsteps on the landing. He knew immediately they were not Lord Samuel’s, nor any of the other staff. That meant whomever was out there was somewhere they should not be. Dean opened the door and stepped into the path of the intruder. “I am sorry, but no guests are permitted in this part of the house.”
“Well, well. I wondered where you had gone. I didn’t believe for a moment that you were dead.”
Too late, Dean recognised the man he had addressed. Lord Adam Parker; tall, suave and not at all what he seemed. The man had always been one of Dean’s least favourite customers. Arrogant and cruel, despite his rather mundane desires. He was the type of man who liked power games but did not really know how to play them. He thought holding Dean down and taking him roughly put him in a position of power. The truth was, at any given moment Dean could have thrown the other man off and beaten him into the bargain. Many had made the mistake of thinking as this man did. However, seeing him here, in Lord Samuel’s home, threw him and left him speechless and shocked.
“Nothing to say, Dean? Good. You remember who your master is then.” Moving as quick as a cat and as deadly as a tiger, the lord shoved Dean back through Samuel’s door, shutting it behind them.
***
Sam moved quickly up the stairs, something uneasy settling in his gut. As he neared his bedroom, he could hear muffled voices, so he put his ear to the door.
“If I do this you must leave Lord Winchester alone. You must never mention what I was to another soul.” That was Dean’s voice.
“You will do this because I will make you, because this is what you are.” Sam recognised this voice too, and he had heard quite enough. Lord Parker had just put himself on the top of Sam’s list of enemies.
Moving with all his fury driving him, Sam flung open the door. Dean was face down on Sam’s bed, Parker holding his arms above his head with one hand while attempting to undo and drawn down his breeches with the other. Parker, although not a small man, was no match for an irate Sam, who grabbed him and flung him to the floor before the other man knew there was another in the room. He growled, “Get your hands off of him!”
Dean and Parker moved in an odd synch, both rising to their feet quickly and looking at Sam warily. Dean spoke first. “Milord, it is not what you think...”
“Yes.” He replied angrily, “It is.” His gaze narrowed on Parker. “You are a guest under my roof. That does not allow you to harm those under my care. If you come near Dean again, I will let him kill you. If you spread word of this, I will be sure to let everybody know exactly what I saw you doing here tonight. Now leave, and stay out of my sight if you know what is good for you.”
Parker sneered and snared one last parting shot. “You can take the whore off of the street, but you cannot pretend he is anything but what e is. I wish you good use of him, whatever is left.”
Sam glared at the closed door as thought he could follow Parker’s departure from his home, and then he turned to Dean. The self-loathing was back in those incredible eyes, and Dean turned away. “I will go. I am sure Penny will take me back. I am good for business.”
Crossing the room in a few strides, Sam took Dean’s chin in his hand and lifted so that Dean had to look up at him. Sam let his heart fill his eyes. “There is no need. You must not believe what that scum says. You are an incredible person and I thank God every day that I met you.”
“Do not.” Dean stopped him, his voice rough and his eyes starting to bleed emotion through all those protective layers. “I am what he named me, have been for as long as you have been alive. I am not what you think I am.”
“You are.” Sam asserted. “I have seen more compassion for people in you than in half of the ton combined, and do not try to deny it.” Dean, who had been about to do exactly that, quiet in Sam’s grasp, his eyes rapidly blinking to keep tears at bay. It touched something deep inside of Sam and he leaned in to whisper, “I want to kiss you. Please, Dean, say I can. Say you want it too...”
“I do.” Dean’s reply was like a sigh, a breath of air hinting at consent. “I have wanted you almost from the moment I saw you, and I have tried to protect you, but I cannot...”
Sam placed both his hands on Dean’s face, framing it as he lowered his mouth to the other man’s. Dean opened to him, hesitant hands coming up to cup Sam’s face in return. The not-quite-innocent lapping of Sam’s tongue into his mouth made him whimper, but it was the care and gentleness of the kiss that undid him. Sam tasted the older man’s tears and drew back. “Has no one ever cared about you? How could they not?”
Dean was not permitted the bitter answer that bubbled up in his throat, as Sam moved in once again, and Dean became lost in the unfamiliar sensation of being truly desired simply for himself. They stayed like that for some time, enjoying exploring one another and learning each other’s taste. Dean had never been kissed so thoroughly in his life, and he was surprised to find himself content to simply let Sam lead the kiss. Finally, the younger man pulled back, smiling softly when Dean tried to follow after his lips.
Still smiling, Sam whispered, “I am going to tell you a secret, Dean. I think I feel the same way about men as I do women.”
“Be sure.” Dean cautioned. Be very sure before you take it any further. It is a stigma that cannot be removed if you find you are mistaken. Are you prepared for that, young lord? The malicious whispers behind your back? Sodomite...”
Sam jerked back, prepared to be hurt, but only felt sadness when he saw nothing but care and concern in the other man’s eyes. Dean was not trying to hurt him, only warn him that there were certainly consequences to his choices. “I do not know. Is there no way to be certain?”
Dean looked up at him, almost shyly. “There is always me.” Sam frowned, so Dean clarified, “Whatever you wish to try, you may do so with me. I will not breathe a word to another, I promise you.”
The words hit Sam like a punch to the gut, equal parts lust and disgust. Lust for what this beautiful man before him was offering, and disgust that he would wish to use him in this manner. “I did not take you on as my valet to make you my own personal sex slave.”
“I know it.” Dean conceded, but continued in a voice so low that Sam had to lean down to hear him. “But it is not slavery if I want it too. I told you, I have desired you since the night you sat by my bedside, offering friendship and asking nothing in return.”
“Then why did you send me away?”
“As I said, to protect you.” Dean admitted. “Molly was right. It was only a matter of time before I got myself killed. How could allow such earnest love if all you would get was heartache? So I sent you away from me, and tried to bring on the end.”
Sam’s heart shattered.