The Future of Things to Come Pt 2B FRAO John/Bobby, John/OMC,Demon Dean, John
Dean tightened his fingers in John's hair, pulling the older man's head back; leaning down to let his teeth graze the vulnerable skin on his father's throat. John cringed as Dean bit down, marking him.
"You know, I should be very angry with you John. You blew up my building. Oh, and you tried to kill me. Do you know how much that building cost?"
"Spare me the speeches, Dean. Just get it over with."
"You think I'm going to kill you? Oh honey, you really disappoint me. I would never kill you. I'm going to have to hurt you though, John. I need for the boys to see that you're being punished for killing off so many of our friends. In a way, though, I should thank you for that. I mean, when you killed all those demons, where do you think all their power went? You just made me stronger, John."
Swiftly Dean's hand lashed out catching John across the cheek. He spun around from the blow hitting the ground hard. Before he could get his hands and knees under him Dean stepped forward kicking John in the side. He grunted as the air whooshed out of his lungs but managed to roll with the kick to lessen the impact. Scrabbling over the hard, loose soil John crawled a few feet before Dean caught up with him again. This time he wasn't able to roll with the kick and his ribs took the brunt of the force.
John uttered a short sharp scream as his ribs cracked. Dean punched down, catching John in the back, just above the waist, and John went down. Dirt spattered the sweat-stained skin of his face and John came up onto his knees, arms wrapped around his ribs. Dean slammed a fist into his face and the skin on his cheek split, droplets of blood splattering across the cement block well-cover.
Dean beat him for a long while and John prayed that this thing that had been his son would kill him. But apparently, John's prayers were going unheeded these days, and Dean stopped just short of John blacking out from pain.
Then John found himself being lifted up and slammed bodily onto the cement block. His head rang with the impact his vision graying out but he still didn't lose consciousness. Dean was over him in an instant. Smiling down benignly like the good son he had been.
"Still with me, Dad?"
John was confused for a minute.
"Where arm I? What's happening, Dean?"
"I just wanted to make sure you were around for the main event, John."
Dean grinned, hooking his fingers into the waistband of John's jeans. His nimble fingers unfastened the belt, dropping the buckle onto the cold cement with a clatter. Then the zipper was torn down, and cold air whispered across John's groin.
"Going commando? Dad, you little whore. Did Bobby like you to whore for him? You know, I gotta say, I was so disappointed when I saw the two of you earlier. Come on, you had all this…" Dean raked his hand down his own chest. "And you down-graded to the red-neck, hillbilly. I thought you had a little class, John."
Through the haze of pain and dizziness John felt his jeans being jerked down to the ankles. Then he heard the zipper open on Dean's trousers. Grunting, the younger man lifted John's legs, pushing them as far apart as he could with the older man's jeans tangled over his boots. It was enough. Holding John's legs aloft with one hand he quickly pulled his cock out of his pants, and bent down. He fished a foil packet out of his pocket and ripped it open with his teeth dripping the contents over John's hole.
"That's for me, not for you. You don't get concern right now. Maybe later, if you're a good boy, I'll take care of you."
Slick fingers pushed into John, who cringed, trying to wriggle away. Dean slapped him across the face then gripped his hip tightly. John's back arched up off the cement when he was breached. Dean thrust in hard, pulling all the way out and thrusting in again. A scream was ripped from John's throat.
Dean took his time, actually pulling out to keep from coming two or three times before finally pounding into John for all he was worth. John panted, trying to move way, but the younger man held him fast. He looked around at the ring of faces leering at them. He was horrified when he realized that most of the demons, Kyle included, had their cocks out masturbating in rhythm to Dean's thrusts. Dean made no effort to spare John any pain, until he finally came with a low growl. Panting, Dean bent over John, dropping the other man's legs heavily back to the cement block. John lay humiliated as the pain dragged him into the darkness.
When he came to John sat up abruptly and then decided that might not have been the wisest thing to do. His head spun and he crashed back down on the soft, probably goose-down, pillows. The sheets where crisp white, and softly fragranced. The bed he was lying in was huge, dark wood, four posts, sheer white fabric draped from above. Glancing around the room John tried to imagine where he was. It wasn't the penthouse in Vegas, that much he knew. He could see an expanse of green lawn spreading out beyond the huge bay windows famed by floral print draperies.
The fabric of the curtains matched the bedcovers, and the upholstery on the sofa, and chairs, tastefully arranged around the fireplace. He rolled to one side, waiting until the pain faded, before casting a glance at the rest of the room. There was a closet door, closed, two tall dressers, a writing desk and an entertainment center with a TV and various other pieces of electronic equipment that he wasn't interested in. Nothing that looked like it could be used as a weapon. Although, truthfully, as weak and disorientated as he was, John doubted he could actually use a weapon right now.
Where the hell had Dean taken him? He settled for surveying himself. He should be dead after the way Dean had beaten and …raped him. But he wasn't, so Dean intended on going back to the way it was before. Well, John wasn't going quietly into that drug induced oblivion again. Even if he had to lay down for Dean, he'd do it with his head on straight.
He sat up more slowly this time, and the room stayed in a relatively solid state. Blinking, John looked at himself in the mirror. Someone, Dean probably, had healed all the damage. There wasn't a mark on him, except for the hickey on his throat and John felt his face go hot. He was bathed and dressed in emerald green silk pajamas. John sighed, why the hell did Dean get such a kick out of dressing him in silk?
The door swung open and John got ready for a violent confrontation with his oldest son. But instead an elderly looking lady, dressed in a neat dark blue uniform and white apron appeared, rolling a wooden cart. On it was a white cloth covered plate, napkin and silverware, a glass of juice, water and a small ceramic pot of coffee. John did notice that there was no knife, not even a butter knife, on the tray.
The woman pushed the cart over, lifting the top and settling it across John's lap. He blinked. The absurd thought that he was being held prisoner by Mary Poppins crossed his mind, and John almost laughed. Except, he was afraid that if he started laughing he might not stop until he was in a straight-jacket and padded room.
"Good morning," she said smiling softly.
Of course she had a smooth British accent. Again, an image of Mary Poppins rose in John's mind and he closed his eyes.
"Are you not feeling well enough for breakfast yet, Mr. Winchester?"
"John," he said dryly, then looked down.
Biscuits, bacon, eggs-over easy, potatoes, everything that John loved for breakfast. All cooked perfectly. His stomach rumbled. Well, apparently, his body was ready for breakfast, no matter what his brain was telling him. Nodding, he watched as she poured out the coffee, rich and smooth and dark. He held up the cup, his hand trembled a little, but he ignored it. He thought about Bobby, laying dead on the side of the road and fury washed over him. He'd play Dean's game for a while; figure out how to do the job permanently this time.
She turned to leave but John cleared his throat, and she turned back. He smiled tiredly.
"Uhh, who are you?"
"Oh Mr. Win, John, please let me introduce myself…"
"Do you want me to guess your name?'"
She looked puzzled then smiled.
"If it pleases you."
"Sorry, bad joke." He blushed and she smiled again, very charmingly, cheeks pinking nicely.
"I am Caroline, your cook and head of the staff."
"My cook? Not everyone in the house?"
"Young Mr. Winchester said that you had health…issues. And that I was to look after your needs as far as your diet went. He was so pleased when your…treatment was concluded and you were able to rejoin the household."
John carefully tasted the food; it was excellent so he dug in. Caroline seemed genuinely pleased that he was enjoying the breakfast.
"My treatment…for my health issues?"
"Yes sir, your hospitalization."
John read 'looney bin' in her expression. So Dean had covered his absence with some story about John being institutionalized, probably for drugs or alcohol, or maybe even another suicide attempt. Well, he had no-one to blame for that one but himself. It also meant that they would be keeping a close watch on him. Can't let the big bosses' crazy lover do himself in. That might make working this a little more difficult.
As John ate he watched her bustle around the room, the bed was rumpled beside John and he was sure that Dean had slept here with him, rising before John awoke. Caroline went to the closet and set out clothes on a wooden rack, jeans and a shirt then went to one of the dressers and pulled out underwear.
"Do you want me to draw you a bath or would you prefer a shower this morning?"
John frowned.
"I can run my own shower and shave. I've been doing it for a while now."
"There is an electric razor in the bathroom."
"I prefer…" but John stopped noting the grave expression on her face again.
"I'm sorry, John but Mr. Winchester was adamant. After your…incident in Las Vegas. No razor, no scissors and no knives of any kind."
John got the distinct impression that Caroline didn't like him very much, or at least had no sympathy for him. And on the surface he might have agreed; to all outsiders Dean worshipped the ground that his 'lover' walked on. Provided every thing for him. In Vegas, John had actually over heard one of the Directors refer to him as, 'spoiled rotten.' John knew that some of them actually believed that the lavish lifestyle and the apparent open affection Dean poured on him offset the occasional beating.
A wave of despair hit him at once and John pushed the tray to the side. He wouldn't let it overwhelm him this time. He'd be the perfect lover, lull Dean into a false sense of security. Make Dean believe that John was cowed by Bobby's death. In Vegas John had had Isabel and Mike, the chauffeur, but he didn’t think that here, wherever that was, he'd have many allies.
TBC