AU FIC 4/?

Sep 18, 2006 10:13

Title: Fear and Loathing 4/?
Author: Petuli
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Sam, AU fic (Sam and Dean are not related)
Rating: (NC17)
Category: eventually slash
Word Count:
Spoilers: None
Summary: Dean and Sam go searching for a vengeance demon, Dean has gay issues and Sam's a hustler
Notes/Warnings: Slash, angst, lots and lots of angst and some really dark humour


Chapter 4

He's gotten used to the darkness, the smells, even the tastes that lingers on his tastebuds long after he's swallowed. He knows he won't flinch at the mention of his own name anymore, the name that's always been on their lips ever since he realised he couldn't even lie about something as simple as that. Knows he doesn't shy away from a strangers touch because that's what he expect to happen, and so he always comes prepaired, ready to sink into his own world and drift off into his own space as he closes the sounds of sucking and licking and biting and moaning and whimpering and fuckyeahsogoodsofuckingtightfuck out at the same time as his lips closes around warm flesh, sometimes hard and aching glistening with precome, sometimes slippery soft, faccid and sort of lifeless before he brings them back to life. He realises with a sense of dread that lates morphs into numbness why they want him, why they all want him, want him for all the wrong reasons, why they undress him and devour him and fucking eat him alive untill he's reduced to this little shell and there's really nothing left but expressionless eyes, cold dead lifeless eyes looking at nothing at all.

"That's why you're the best son, you're the best there is. Best cocksucking whore I've ever had. That's why I love you so much so that you can let me fuck you any way I want. You're gonna give it up, boy? Gonna give it up to Daddy, yeah you like that, don't you. Gonna show you who owns that pretty mouth, now scream for me boy. Scream while I fuck you, I'm gonna mark you mine, you hear? You. Are. Mine."

But I'm not, he thinks through clenched teeth, his breath hitches as the older man pounds into his ass mercylessly. I'll never be yours and that's the though he hangs onto for dear life.

"That's it, you look so good just like that, fucking love you like this Dean, you're so pretty".

Sometimes he wishes he had a different face, one that people would ignore or at least forget after a while, a face that wouldn't stick to their memories long after he was gone, turning their stupid crushes into little drops of hate before the hate turns into desire and want and eventually need. He imagines he becomes this voice in their heads that drives them half insane with the promise of coming back and fucking them untill they can't breathe anything except his name, only that's just wishful thinking on their behalf. He remembers all the women he's left behind, women whose names he can't even remember, he picks the beautiful ones because he can, but for some reason they remain faceless, memories of warm writhing bodies and lazy smiles fading in the morning light.

Dean carries with him a journal that used to be his fathers, now that it's passed on to him, he's got something to hold onto, to keep him from falling. Dean imagines climbing up this slippery slope that has become his life and now he barely knows how to hang on and bit by bit, his hands are slipping, loosing their grip and it's not their grip on reality because he's got his sanity, he's more sane than most people in this fucked up world, no it's loosing their grip on humanity, that's what scares him the most. Because love hasn't touched him since his mother died when he was four and his father became a stranger before his eyes, loosing Mary's warm reassuring smiles and a mother's gentle touch, he knew from that day, they were both doomed.

He wakes up from his restless dreams and stumbles into the bathroom, turning on the light and gazing at his reflection in the mirror. There are dark shadows under his eyes and yellow and orange flames blending in with the light, his head hurts, throbs as he rubs a hand over his forehead, hissing as the pain increases. "God damn it", he cries out before grabbing the sink with both hands, clenching so tight his knuckles turns white at the pressure. He feels the cold seep through his fingers as he does, trying to relax and prays the headache will go away. It doesn't and he closes his eyes, feeling the color drain from his face.

"Jesus man, are you ok?"

He whirls around, almost buckling over when he does. "Fuck", he whimpers, struggling to find his balance as the other man watches him with consern written all over his face. He doesn't fall, thank god, but it's too damn close and he's suddenly overcome with the need to shout at the younger and push him untill he pushes back. Leaning against the wall, he stands impassive, just staring at the boy who seems so nervous, like he doesn't know what to do with himself, and scowls.

"I'm fine. Sam. Did you want something?"

He watches as the kid looks down to the floor, cheeks flushing like he's embarrassed or something. Dean doesn't remember when's the last time he blushed. Probably around the time normal skipped kindergarten.

"Just a sip of water, I was thirsty", Sam answers lamely, his voice sounds weak and defeated. And fuck if doesn't make Dean want to do strange and highly inappropriate things to him, like putting his arms around him and run his fingers through his hair or simply grab onto his shoulders and shake him, tell him to grow the hell up and not expect kindness from strangers, because the kid is so damn needy. And he didn't mean to take it upon himself to set this boy straight, help him get back on track. It's just something about him and those warm trusting eyes of his that turns him into someone he's not, someone who cares. He's never asked for any of this and he looks at the scrawny young man and thinks 'I didn't bargained for this' and 'you better carry your weight kid, 'couse I ain't doing it for ya', but no matter how much he hates how it is Sammy and not Sam that escapes his lips, he realises after a while the reason it bothers him. The name seems to slip off his tongue whenever he slips into his weird protector mode and he can't help noticing how young and innocent the boy looks in this harsh light, can't help seeing the kid he once was, a long time ago, before he turned into Dean Winchester, the man who cocks a shotgun at anything that moves. The important lesson of today and every other day, Dean thinks sarcastically, shoot first, ask questions later.

He's learned his lesson the hard way.

"What's the matter there kiddo, can't sleep? Maybe you want me to come and tuck you in under the covers, read you a goodnight story", he smirks, watching Sam glare at him with what looks like angry puppy eyes. It's kinda cute, he thinks, before he flinches slightly and dismisses the thought before it settles in more permanently.

"Man, fuck you", Sam says incredulously, "What the hell is your problem anyway?". He pushes past Dean on his way to the sink, ignoring the older man who's still leaning against the wall beside him. Muttering something under his breath and shaking his head angrily, he leans down to drink from the sink and Dean gets a perfect view of his backside as the tee-shirt slides up to reveal golden tanned skin and he hisses involuntarily, reminding himself that from now on, he's Sam's mentor, his trainer and the next days Sam will undergo some pretty heavy exorsises and Dean doesn't have time to be his friend and hold his hand or whatever, it's not what the kid needs right now and it's certainly not what he wants. And yet ... he just can't help himself.

"Aw, what's the matter Sammy? Why you being such a bitch all the sudden huh? You're gonna have to loose that attitude if we're gonna take the training seriously", he says sweetly, pursing his lips in a manner he remembers used to drive most people crazy. "Because Sammy", he continues and edges closer to Sam, sliding one hand around his back, stroking the naked skin with rough fingertips. "Once we've started, I won't be all sweet and charming anymore Sam", at which the younger man rolls his eyes and is about to open his mouth, but closes it when Dean bends down to place a gentle kiss in the nape of his neck. Dean pulls back slightly when a low moan escapes the boys lips and he stands up quickly like he's been burned. Because up to now he's never been even remotely interested in other guys, let alone fucked them and definately not touched them, with the exception of a few men he sucked off when he was younger and hustling seemed like a good as trade as any, but he's never actually wanted to kiss another man before Sam came along and all the sudden it's like he's stuck in some nightmare surrealism that he can't seem to find his way out of.

Well fuck that, he's still in charge. The kid still has to follow his rules and he's gonna make damn sure the rules are followed.

"You better get some sleep", Dean says roughly. "We need an early start tomorrow and you need all the strength you can get. So do I for that matter. Don't feel bad about it, but you're probably gonna end up hating my guts". Deans voice is low and gravel and it sounds almost a little apolegetic, because he's sure Sam already is well on his way to hate his guts. And if he isn't there yet? He suspects it's just a matter of time.

What he doesn't expect is to see that spark of excitement in Sam's eyes when he looks at Dean, grinning so widely Dean starts wondering why his jaw is still intact. "I could never hate you, Dean", he says smugly. "You're just too damn pretty".

Dean finds himself smiling despite himself. "Well, Sammy, you ain't so badlooking yourself. If you look good enough to make people wanna pay you to fuck then you ain't got nothing to complain about".

He watches the other man flinch at his bad choice of words, silently regretting having said anything. But then Sam looks more angry than hurt and Dean thinks he'll maybe get a fight out of him, that way he can test his fighting skills and relieve some of that godawful tension as well.

"That about right?", the scrawny looking man once more steps into his private space, trying to stare him down but Dean doesn't flinch or look away and it's quickly turning into a pissing contest.

"Well, if I'm that fuckable Dean, then why won't you just let me fuck you. Because I could have sworn you were ..."

"The hell I am", Dean says and his whole face tightens, making lines appear on his forehead that's not usually there.

"Oh really, you could have fooled me", Sam says in a cold voice, hands clenched at his sides.

"What can I say, you were wrong Sammy boy", he growls, lifting his chin up petulantly, he really fucking hates it when people are taller than him and he has to arch his head back and to look up or stand on his toes or something, well this is no exception. It's almost David versus Goliath, but then he remembers he's stronger and better built then him and could have taken him had he wanted to. Maybe he does. The kid wouldn't stand to be tought a lesson, fucking bastard thinks he's so superior.

"I don't think so", Sam says and once again and not for the last time, Dean suspects, stands his ground when Dean refuses to back down. The two stands in the bathroom, not speaking and certainly not touching, both bodies rigid and tense, ready for the first punch to be thrown, Dean's been aching for a fight ever since Sam walked in on him and found him like that, so fucking weak and pathetic, because sometimes? Sometimes violence really is the right answer to everything. It's also one step closer to the makeupsex.

"Well, that's your fucking problem now isn't it", Dean deadpans and walks out of there, leaving the boy standing there, looking a little lost. "Turn off the lights on your way out". Then after a beat. "Better go to sleep, Sam, we got a long day ahead of us, I'll wake you up at the crack of dawn".

TBC

sam/dean, au, slash, spn

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