SPN: Hell 2.0 (Sam/Dean, Sam/Ruby, Sam/Dean/Ruby) R
Um… I’m sorry. Blame just_katarin. She has a thing for evil dictators. *shrugs*
Title: Hell 2.0
Author: technosage
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Ruby, Sam/Ruby/Dean
Rating/Warnings: R, violence, language, innuendo, vaguely dubious consent, very AU.
Word count: 2916
Disclaimer: Not mine, and not serious. Not my usual writing fare.
Beta: just_katarin and way2busymom.
Summary: He might be King of Hell, but he’s still their little brother. That’s not always as bad as it seems.
They’ve been at it for hours, days, could be months, really; time works different down here. They all agree, the King, his Queen, and their Enforcer, that Wyndham Hill is the next target. The problem is, they can’t agree on a strategy.
Sam wants to infiltrate and take it over from the inside, failing that, he thinks his operatives can force a treaty. He wants Duke Melchior on his knees; it might be a theme, since he’d like Ruby and Dean on their knees too, just differently. Ruby thinks they ought to take out power and water, then bring a squadron through in the pitch dark. She always wants to move in the dark, because, and he quotes, “shadows are my friends.” Dean wants to lead a small strike force in to take out the Duke and his lords, because he figures the rest will bow to Sam without the Duke’s protection.
Frankly, Sam’s a little tired of it, between the red-shift light and the constant pacing and bickering. Finally, he slams his palm down on the heavy wood table. Ruby makes an approving sound, almost a purr, in the back of her throat. Dean jumps, then glares at Sam. “You’re scaring the Hell out of me, Sam.”
“Afraid that’s not possible, Dean.” Sam twists his head on his neck, lets the black take his eyes. “Dontcha remember, that’s how we ended up here in the first place?”
“Hah hah hah. You know, you’re no funnier now than when you were my geek sidekick.” Dean’s playing it cool, still leaning across the table, chin on his hand. He knows it’s a good look for him these days, because Ruby tells him even when Sam won’t, mostly to spite them both. She doesn’t now; now she gives a long sigh and hops up onto her throne to watch. She likes to do that, too.
“Your problem is that you’re arrogant. Always has been, and I gotta tell you, it’s gonna get you…well, all right, it probably won’t get you killed, but it’ll probably make you wish it had.” Dean cocks his head, pulls out his Dad face. “You’re walking a thin line here, Sammy. A damned thin line.”
Up on the dais, Ruby rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Dean.” She sounds bored.
Sam knows the feeling. Dean talks about lines and crossing them a thousand times a day, month, whatever, so often it hardly registers anymore. Besides, Sam’s been walking the monomolecular filament since Ruby first explained her plan to get Dean out of his deal by taking over Hell.
“You hear that?” Sam turns to his queen, his demonic half-sister wouldn’t you know it, arms out and spread wide. “’Sammy.’ I’m the Goddamned King of Hell and still he calls me ‘Sammy’.”
“Now, Sam,” Ruby starts in, and already he knows he’s not going to like it. Dean’s saying, “I don’t care what you are,” at the same time, and he’s tempted to translocate. “You’ll always be” they say almost in unison “our,” Ruby says over top of Dean’s “my,” and they both finish “younger brother.”
Dean glares, Ruby smiles beatifically, and Sam knows he’s been O.D.ing on the demon-powers because he’s seriously considering backhanding both of them. “I’m pretty sure ‘leige-lord’ trumps ‘younger brother.’ At least when it comes to deciding the fate of the known world.” It’s pissy and petty, but if he’s saddled with being the younger brother for all eternity, at least he ought to get the perks of the job.
“Leige-lord, my ass.” Dean knows better than to scoff outright, unless he wants to end up bent over a table and taking it hard, but there’s enough sarcasm in his tone that Ruby shoots him a look like there’s nothing better she’d like than to see it happen. Partly, Sam figures, that’s the watching thing she’s got going on, but part of it’s how much she loves seeing Sam put Dean in his place.
“You oughtta know,” Dean drawls, conversational, but his eyes go flat and narrow enough when he rakes his gaze down her face to her over-exposed cleavage even Sam’s a bit impressed. “In my book, you’re an it not a chick. That makes you fair game for me beating the crap out of you.”
“Such tough, tough talk, Dean.” She bats her eyelashes, smiles her prettiest and somehow most deranged smile, and tilts her head in clear invitation. “You always know just what to say to get a demon hot and bothered.”
“Hhm.” Sam’s hhming really ought to warn them. It’s high, eyebrows arched, and sounds like he’s seriously considering letting the two of them beat each other bloody. It sounds like it, because he actually is. Bruised and begging for cock and comfort is his favorite look on Dean; contrite and solicitous, and bleeding, really works for her.
It’s not so much that he likes either of them hurt, as that they’re always most deferential when they’ve worn out their aggressions on each other and need him to make everything right. That, he really likes. In his darkest moments, he hangs onto that, that the reason he did it, the reason he still does it, and the only thing that makes it good for him, is taking care of Dean -- and Ruby, though they talk about that even less than he and Dean.
At the moment though, they’re ignoring him, and he’s had enough of it. So as much as the idea of Ruby straddling Dean with her long, slender fingers around his throat does it for Sam, and it really, really does - his dick’s about strangled in his jeans - he inserts himself between them, and sets a hand on Dean’s chest.
Ruby takes that moment to clear her throat. “I can hear you thinking, you know, Sam.”
Actually he forgot, well, not forgot because he knows he can hear her thinking too if he tries hard enough. But he gets tired of listening to her deciding whether she’d rather peg Dean or kill him, and frankly he wishes she’d get over it. “You’re not going to kill him, and I’m not letting you peg him,” he says without really thinking about it. Then frowns, and adds, Unless he’s sucking me off while you do, then maybe, for her ears only.
Her eyes go wide, and she raises her hand to her mouth. Ruby has an entire range of fake innocent expressions. Usually it’s comical, but Dean’s reaching for the supernaturally-charged Beretta Sam forced her to make for him - it won’t kill either Sam or Ruby, but it packs a hell of a punch. Sam knows, from the first time he made the two of them fuck. Dean had been pissed, well, actually, homicidal might be more accurate. Saying he was pissed would be about as accurate as saying things had gotten “bad” upstairs.
“Were those my out loud thoughts?” She blinks, sweet and coy, looking suddenly like his mental images of Mary Quite Contrary or the Little Girl with a Curl, and Sam almost lets Dean shoot her for ruining his childhood.
“I swear to God-” Dean’s saying when Sam slides his hand up around Dean’s neck and squeezes, possibly not as gently as he’d meant to, because Dean grits his teeth at him.
“Ahahah, Dean,” Ruby chides. “Not Him again. You wouldn’t want to offend our liege, would you?”
Dean rolls his eyes and pockets the Beretta, but damned soul or not, he’s still Dean. He can’t help checking to see if maybe Sam’s taking this wrong. Personally, Sam thinks it’s hilarious, the brother of the King of Hell swearing to a God he never believed in. He does actually have a sense of humor, always did. It just runs more to Beckett than the Three Stooges.
“Ruby.” Sam arches an brow and tsks, playing along, but this existential farce would be much more entertaining if Dean didn’t have hurt-angry-disappointed eyes. That always spoils his fun.
“Apologies, my liege.” Ruby steeples her fingers, and softens her eyes again. If you didn’t know she could spring off that throne, spin kick, and take out the next three demons through the door behind him before his eyes went black, and they weren’t, well, the King and Queen of Hell, you might imagine her a normal girlfriend. Both the spin kick and the imagining are why he hasn’t tried to get rid of her, yet.
“You know I’d never lay a hand on your brother.” Without your permission, of course.
Dirty pool, he thinks back at her, because they both know how much he gets off on her asking him for anything in bed. Especially when it comes to Dean. He shrugs, smiles the old bright-eyed eager Sam smile and thumbs Dean’s jaw. “Of course, my queen, but my brother may not be as certain of your good will. With good reason.”
Lips parting despite his murderous glare, Dean’s breath catches - yet another thing to be thankful for in dark moments, Dean’s deep-down kink for Sam being a toppy bastard just like Dad. Sam shudders off the direction of that thought, because some things are too perverse even for the lords of Hell. Jesus Christ, he hopes Ruby’s not listening to that thought but of course she is and smiling her little cat-smile at Sam, which, in this moment, is a grave miscalculation on her part.
“Apologize to Dean.” There’s not a hint of give in his voice, he makes Damned sure of it.
Besides the speed and the girl-next-door-gorgeous, his queen’s got intelligence. He loves that about her, how fast she picks up his ideas and runs with them, but it makes her arrogant and stubborn -- just like him, he knows Dean would say and he’s possibly, probably, okay almost certainly right. So instead of doing the smart thing and politely offering Dean her apology, she turns sultry eyes and voice on Sam, purring, “As you wish, my liege. Would you have me suck him off for you? Or perhaps he’s in need of a good, hard-”
Before she can say it, he slices the air with his free arm, flinging her off the throne to the ground. He watches her roll backwards onto her feet, thinking, in her place, he’d have been equally insolent. Of course, embracing his inner demon means he doesn’t have to worry about anything so trifling as a little hypocrisy, and he throws her again, this time smashing her into the wall of the antechamber.
Her eyes go black and fingers of lightning race the rails of his spine. Usually she lets him toss her around like a rag doll, as long as it improves his mood. If she wants to fight, then they’ll fight.
Sam shoves Dean away, lets the black take his own eyes, and begins the slow spiral dance.
She lashes out. The strike connects but Sam deflects. There’s a flash, and she chokes on a scream.
He spins, finds Dean leaning up on one hip and the Beretta smoking in his hand.
Blowing out an aggravated sigh, Sam flicks his wrist and the gun rips out of Dean’s grip. When it hits the ground, it spins in tight circles until it hits the wall and stops. Sam likes things coming into contact with the wall and stopping. In fact-
He turns his attention back to Dean, bangs falling in his eyes, and with a sweep of his arm, lifts Dean and sends him smashing into the wall near where Ruby’s cursing under her breath and holding her chest. The only difference between Dean and the gun is that Sam holds Dean suspended off the ground. By the throat.
And tsks, lips pursed, as he blinks away the demon-black and crouches beside his queen. Gently, because he can afford to be gentle now, he smoothes the hair out of her face and tucks it behind her shoulder. “Sooner or later you will learn that there’s nothing you can do to divide us.”
Instead of the savage fight she wanted, the biting, bleeding, bruising fuck she was looking for, he lifts her in his arms, kissing her forehead before he sets her on her throne to rest until she heals.
“You’re such a bastard, Sam,” she says, trying for casual, but the words, like her mouth, are a little bloody from the wound slowly healing in her chest.
He strokes his knuckles down her cheek, and smiles like the bastard that he is. “Yes, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
He thinks, in fact he’s reasonably certain, that Dean’s choking sounds are as much for their twisted romance as for the grip on his throat. Ruby snarls and pulls her face away, then winces and subsides into the cushions of her throne, sulking.
One insolent courtier down, Sam smirks and spins on his heel. “Now you,” he growls and strides off toward Dean. “Need to learn that little brother or no, I am the King of Hell with full demon powers, and I can Goddamned well take care of myself.”
Though he thinks away his telekinetic grip on Dean’s throat, he doesn’t give him a chance to respond, at least not in words. Instead he surges in, crushing Dean’s mouth beneath his own, demanding Dean acknowledge him, demanding his due with brutal thrusts of his tongue and the full press of his body.
Because Dean’s his brother, his lover, and his best friend, in addition to his Enforcer and general pain in his ass, Sam leaves his arms and legs free. In some ways, it’s all that much more humiliating for Dean that way, and the demon part of Sam really appreciates that. He’ll yell at himself for getting off on Dean’s humiliation later. Right now Sam wants him to have the choice.
He always gives him the choice, and Dean always fights it at first. As long as he fights it, as long as he pretends not to want it, he’s not as screwed up as Sam and Ruby. He tells himself that, he tells Sam and Ruby that, as often as he talks about crossing lines - in fact, this is one of his least favorite lines to cross, to hear him tell it. Too bad for him Sam’s not inclined to listen, or give a hot day in Hell about what he says.
Little by little, Dean stops kicking and shoving and starts arching and holding. Behind them, Ruby’s definitely watching; Sam can feel her getting hotter, wetter, her thoughts stalking him like a jungle cat, but he focuses on Dean, on the heat of him against Sam’s thigh and the taste of impending surrender, until-
Yes, there. Dean yields, tangles a hand in Sam’s hair. Sam bears down, accepting this tribute - for a moment, then backs away and lets Dean down to his feet. “We’ll continue this later,” Sam promises, at once husky and, he imagines anyway, lordly.
“That’s not fair, Sammy.” There’s a soft plea hidden beneath the armor of Dean’s defiant use of the hated nickname, and the part of Sam that is brother, lover, friend considers giving in, taking him to bed.
His queen, dearly beloved, saves him from that moment of weakness with a timely interjection. “Nothing’s fair, Dean.”
The bitterness in it surprises him. Perhaps, probably, it shouldn’t anymore -- after all, she tells him almost as often as Dean talks about lines that “you’ll never understand what it’s like, Sam, bowing to an inferior creature like you” - but it always does.
He’s a good king, definitely a more benevolent despot than Azazel, though that’s not much of a challenge, he’ll grant. She’s second only to him and they’re remaking the world above, through fire and blood and the visitation of judgment on evil-doers as the angels did before Lucifer Fell. It’s not like she can’t have diamonds, sushi, and a pony just for the taking, so what the Hell does she want, actually?
Ask me again in a thousand years she thinks, in a rare fit of unguarded honesty that makes Sam wonder what she’s playing at now.
Then he decides he doesn’t care. Dean’s red-faced and still panting, Ruby’s brooding quietly and bleeding, and he’s feeling like…well, like the King of Hell, actually.
Deliberately ostentatious, he reaches down the front of his jeans and straightens his dick, then throws his arms out and spins around to head back to the planning table. “Now then, where were we? Oh yes-” He picks up a pen and cross-hatches over first Ruby’s invasion route then Dean’s. “We were deciding who to send in as double agents.”
As one, Ruby and Dean raise protest. He slaps his palm down on the table, and, pleasantly, they both stop talking. Of course it doesn’t stop them shooting looks at each other behind his back, or Ruby thinking she’s going to slit his throat as soon as he falls asleep.
“Alithiel?” he asks Dean, appeasing him with the suggestion of his favorite, most trusted, least hated, whatever. Dean scowls but considers, and Sam takes the moment to think, Oh, my bad, it was double penetration I was thinking of in Ruby’s direction. She scowls too, but Sam just smiles.
He might be stuck with the little brother gig, the screwy time, the bickering and the red-shift light, but here in Hell, he’s the King, and that means he’s got an eternity to torment - and love - them both.
Title: Hell 2.0
Author: technosage
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Ruby, Sam/Ruby/Dean
Rating/Warnings: R, violence, language, innuendo, vaguely dubious consent, very AU.
Word count: 2916
Disclaimer: Not mine, and not serious. Not my usual writing fare.
Beta: just_katarin and way2busymom.
Summary: He might be King of Hell, but he’s still their little brother. That’s not always as bad as it seems.
They’ve been at it for hours, days, could be months, really; time works different down here. They all agree, the King, his Queen, and their Enforcer, that Wyndham Hill is the next target. The problem is, they can’t agree on a strategy.
Sam wants to infiltrate and take it over from the inside, failing that, he thinks his operatives can force a treaty. He wants Duke Melchior on his knees; it might be a theme, since he’d like Ruby and Dean on their knees too, just differently. Ruby thinks they ought to take out power and water, then bring a squadron through in the pitch dark. She always wants to move in the dark, because, and he quotes, “shadows are my friends.” Dean wants to lead a small strike force in to take out the Duke and his lords, because he figures the rest will bow to Sam without the Duke’s protection.
Frankly, Sam’s a little tired of it, between the red-shift light and the constant pacing and bickering. Finally, he slams his palm down on the heavy wood table. Ruby makes an approving sound, almost a purr, in the back of her throat. Dean jumps, then glares at Sam. “You’re scaring the Hell out of me, Sam.”
“Afraid that’s not possible, Dean.” Sam twists his head on his neck, lets the black take his eyes. “Dontcha remember, that’s how we ended up here in the first place?”
“Hah hah hah. You know, you’re no funnier now than when you were my geek sidekick.” Dean’s playing it cool, still leaning across the table, chin on his hand. He knows it’s a good look for him these days, because Ruby tells him even when Sam won’t, mostly to spite them both. She doesn’t now; now she gives a long sigh and hops up onto her throne to watch. She likes to do that, too.
“Your problem is that you’re arrogant. Always has been, and I gotta tell you, it’s gonna get you…well, all right, it probably won’t get you killed, but it’ll probably make you wish it had.” Dean cocks his head, pulls out his Dad face. “You’re walking a thin line here, Sammy. A damned thin line.”
Up on the dais, Ruby rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Dean.” She sounds bored.
Sam knows the feeling. Dean talks about lines and crossing them a thousand times a day, month, whatever, so often it hardly registers anymore. Besides, Sam’s been walking the monomolecular filament since Ruby first explained her plan to get Dean out of his deal by taking over Hell.
“You hear that?” Sam turns to his queen, his demonic half-sister wouldn’t you know it, arms out and spread wide. “’Sammy.’ I’m the Goddamned King of Hell and still he calls me ‘Sammy’.”
“Now, Sam,” Ruby starts in, and already he knows he’s not going to like it. Dean’s saying, “I don’t care what you are,” at the same time, and he’s tempted to translocate. “You’ll always be” they say almost in unison “our,” Ruby says over top of Dean’s “my,” and they both finish “younger brother.”
Dean glares, Ruby smiles beatifically, and Sam knows he’s been O.D.ing on the demon-powers because he’s seriously considering backhanding both of them. “I’m pretty sure ‘leige-lord’ trumps ‘younger brother.’ At least when it comes to deciding the fate of the known world.” It’s pissy and petty, but if he’s saddled with being the younger brother for all eternity, at least he ought to get the perks of the job.
“Leige-lord, my ass.” Dean knows better than to scoff outright, unless he wants to end up bent over a table and taking it hard, but there’s enough sarcasm in his tone that Ruby shoots him a look like there’s nothing better she’d like than to see it happen. Partly, Sam figures, that’s the watching thing she’s got going on, but part of it’s how much she loves seeing Sam put Dean in his place.
“You oughtta know,” Dean drawls, conversational, but his eyes go flat and narrow enough when he rakes his gaze down her face to her over-exposed cleavage even Sam’s a bit impressed. “In my book, you’re an it not a chick. That makes you fair game for me beating the crap out of you.”
“Such tough, tough talk, Dean.” She bats her eyelashes, smiles her prettiest and somehow most deranged smile, and tilts her head in clear invitation. “You always know just what to say to get a demon hot and bothered.”
“Hhm.” Sam’s hhming really ought to warn them. It’s high, eyebrows arched, and sounds like he’s seriously considering letting the two of them beat each other bloody. It sounds like it, because he actually is. Bruised and begging for cock and comfort is his favorite look on Dean; contrite and solicitous, and bleeding, really works for her.
It’s not so much that he likes either of them hurt, as that they’re always most deferential when they’ve worn out their aggressions on each other and need him to make everything right. That, he really likes. In his darkest moments, he hangs onto that, that the reason he did it, the reason he still does it, and the only thing that makes it good for him, is taking care of Dean -- and Ruby, though they talk about that even less than he and Dean.
At the moment though, they’re ignoring him, and he’s had enough of it. So as much as the idea of Ruby straddling Dean with her long, slender fingers around his throat does it for Sam, and it really, really does - his dick’s about strangled in his jeans - he inserts himself between them, and sets a hand on Dean’s chest.
Ruby takes that moment to clear her throat. “I can hear you thinking, you know, Sam.”
Actually he forgot, well, not forgot because he knows he can hear her thinking too if he tries hard enough. But he gets tired of listening to her deciding whether she’d rather peg Dean or kill him, and frankly he wishes she’d get over it. “You’re not going to kill him, and I’m not letting you peg him,” he says without really thinking about it. Then frowns, and adds, Unless he’s sucking me off while you do, then maybe, for her ears only.
Her eyes go wide, and she raises her hand to her mouth. Ruby has an entire range of fake innocent expressions. Usually it’s comical, but Dean’s reaching for the supernaturally-charged Beretta Sam forced her to make for him - it won’t kill either Sam or Ruby, but it packs a hell of a punch. Sam knows, from the first time he made the two of them fuck. Dean had been pissed, well, actually, homicidal might be more accurate. Saying he was pissed would be about as accurate as saying things had gotten “bad” upstairs.
“Were those my out loud thoughts?” She blinks, sweet and coy, looking suddenly like his mental images of Mary Quite Contrary or the Little Girl with a Curl, and Sam almost lets Dean shoot her for ruining his childhood.
“I swear to God-” Dean’s saying when Sam slides his hand up around Dean’s neck and squeezes, possibly not as gently as he’d meant to, because Dean grits his teeth at him.
“Ahahah, Dean,” Ruby chides. “Not Him again. You wouldn’t want to offend our liege, would you?”
Dean rolls his eyes and pockets the Beretta, but damned soul or not, he’s still Dean. He can’t help checking to see if maybe Sam’s taking this wrong. Personally, Sam thinks it’s hilarious, the brother of the King of Hell swearing to a God he never believed in. He does actually have a sense of humor, always did. It just runs more to Beckett than the Three Stooges.
“Ruby.” Sam arches an brow and tsks, playing along, but this existential farce would be much more entertaining if Dean didn’t have hurt-angry-disappointed eyes. That always spoils his fun.
“Apologies, my liege.” Ruby steeples her fingers, and softens her eyes again. If you didn’t know she could spring off that throne, spin kick, and take out the next three demons through the door behind him before his eyes went black, and they weren’t, well, the King and Queen of Hell, you might imagine her a normal girlfriend. Both the spin kick and the imagining are why he hasn’t tried to get rid of her, yet.
“You know I’d never lay a hand on your brother.” Without your permission, of course.
Dirty pool, he thinks back at her, because they both know how much he gets off on her asking him for anything in bed. Especially when it comes to Dean. He shrugs, smiles the old bright-eyed eager Sam smile and thumbs Dean’s jaw. “Of course, my queen, but my brother may not be as certain of your good will. With good reason.”
Lips parting despite his murderous glare, Dean’s breath catches - yet another thing to be thankful for in dark moments, Dean’s deep-down kink for Sam being a toppy bastard just like Dad. Sam shudders off the direction of that thought, because some things are too perverse even for the lords of Hell. Jesus Christ, he hopes Ruby’s not listening to that thought but of course she is and smiling her little cat-smile at Sam, which, in this moment, is a grave miscalculation on her part.
“Apologize to Dean.” There’s not a hint of give in his voice, he makes Damned sure of it.
Besides the speed and the girl-next-door-gorgeous, his queen’s got intelligence. He loves that about her, how fast she picks up his ideas and runs with them, but it makes her arrogant and stubborn -- just like him, he knows Dean would say and he’s possibly, probably, okay almost certainly right. So instead of doing the smart thing and politely offering Dean her apology, she turns sultry eyes and voice on Sam, purring, “As you wish, my liege. Would you have me suck him off for you? Or perhaps he’s in need of a good, hard-”
Before she can say it, he slices the air with his free arm, flinging her off the throne to the ground. He watches her roll backwards onto her feet, thinking, in her place, he’d have been equally insolent. Of course, embracing his inner demon means he doesn’t have to worry about anything so trifling as a little hypocrisy, and he throws her again, this time smashing her into the wall of the antechamber.
Her eyes go black and fingers of lightning race the rails of his spine. Usually she lets him toss her around like a rag doll, as long as it improves his mood. If she wants to fight, then they’ll fight.
Sam shoves Dean away, lets the black take his own eyes, and begins the slow spiral dance.
She lashes out. The strike connects but Sam deflects. There’s a flash, and she chokes on a scream.
He spins, finds Dean leaning up on one hip and the Beretta smoking in his hand.
Blowing out an aggravated sigh, Sam flicks his wrist and the gun rips out of Dean’s grip. When it hits the ground, it spins in tight circles until it hits the wall and stops. Sam likes things coming into contact with the wall and stopping. In fact-
He turns his attention back to Dean, bangs falling in his eyes, and with a sweep of his arm, lifts Dean and sends him smashing into the wall near where Ruby’s cursing under her breath and holding her chest. The only difference between Dean and the gun is that Sam holds Dean suspended off the ground. By the throat.
And tsks, lips pursed, as he blinks away the demon-black and crouches beside his queen. Gently, because he can afford to be gentle now, he smoothes the hair out of her face and tucks it behind her shoulder. “Sooner or later you will learn that there’s nothing you can do to divide us.”
Instead of the savage fight she wanted, the biting, bleeding, bruising fuck she was looking for, he lifts her in his arms, kissing her forehead before he sets her on her throne to rest until she heals.
“You’re such a bastard, Sam,” she says, trying for casual, but the words, like her mouth, are a little bloody from the wound slowly healing in her chest.
He strokes his knuckles down her cheek, and smiles like the bastard that he is. “Yes, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
He thinks, in fact he’s reasonably certain, that Dean’s choking sounds are as much for their twisted romance as for the grip on his throat. Ruby snarls and pulls her face away, then winces and subsides into the cushions of her throne, sulking.
One insolent courtier down, Sam smirks and spins on his heel. “Now you,” he growls and strides off toward Dean. “Need to learn that little brother or no, I am the King of Hell with full demon powers, and I can Goddamned well take care of myself.”
Though he thinks away his telekinetic grip on Dean’s throat, he doesn’t give him a chance to respond, at least not in words. Instead he surges in, crushing Dean’s mouth beneath his own, demanding Dean acknowledge him, demanding his due with brutal thrusts of his tongue and the full press of his body.
Because Dean’s his brother, his lover, and his best friend, in addition to his Enforcer and general pain in his ass, Sam leaves his arms and legs free. In some ways, it’s all that much more humiliating for Dean that way, and the demon part of Sam really appreciates that. He’ll yell at himself for getting off on Dean’s humiliation later. Right now Sam wants him to have the choice.
He always gives him the choice, and Dean always fights it at first. As long as he fights it, as long as he pretends not to want it, he’s not as screwed up as Sam and Ruby. He tells himself that, he tells Sam and Ruby that, as often as he talks about crossing lines - in fact, this is one of his least favorite lines to cross, to hear him tell it. Too bad for him Sam’s not inclined to listen, or give a hot day in Hell about what he says.
Little by little, Dean stops kicking and shoving and starts arching and holding. Behind them, Ruby’s definitely watching; Sam can feel her getting hotter, wetter, her thoughts stalking him like a jungle cat, but he focuses on Dean, on the heat of him against Sam’s thigh and the taste of impending surrender, until-
Yes, there. Dean yields, tangles a hand in Sam’s hair. Sam bears down, accepting this tribute - for a moment, then backs away and lets Dean down to his feet. “We’ll continue this later,” Sam promises, at once husky and, he imagines anyway, lordly.
“That’s not fair, Sammy.” There’s a soft plea hidden beneath the armor of Dean’s defiant use of the hated nickname, and the part of Sam that is brother, lover, friend considers giving in, taking him to bed.
His queen, dearly beloved, saves him from that moment of weakness with a timely interjection. “Nothing’s fair, Dean.”
The bitterness in it surprises him. Perhaps, probably, it shouldn’t anymore -- after all, she tells him almost as often as Dean talks about lines that “you’ll never understand what it’s like, Sam, bowing to an inferior creature like you” - but it always does.
He’s a good king, definitely a more benevolent despot than Azazel, though that’s not much of a challenge, he’ll grant. She’s second only to him and they’re remaking the world above, through fire and blood and the visitation of judgment on evil-doers as the angels did before Lucifer Fell. It’s not like she can’t have diamonds, sushi, and a pony just for the taking, so what the Hell does she want, actually?
Ask me again in a thousand years she thinks, in a rare fit of unguarded honesty that makes Sam wonder what she’s playing at now.
Then he decides he doesn’t care. Dean’s red-faced and still panting, Ruby’s brooding quietly and bleeding, and he’s feeling like…well, like the King of Hell, actually.
Deliberately ostentatious, he reaches down the front of his jeans and straightens his dick, then throws his arms out and spins around to head back to the planning table. “Now then, where were we? Oh yes-” He picks up a pen and cross-hatches over first Ruby’s invasion route then Dean’s. “We were deciding who to send in as double agents.”
As one, Ruby and Dean raise protest. He slaps his palm down on the table, and, pleasantly, they both stop talking. Of course it doesn’t stop them shooting looks at each other behind his back, or Ruby thinking she’s going to slit his throat as soon as he falls asleep.
“Alithiel?” he asks Dean, appeasing him with the suggestion of his favorite, most trusted, least hated, whatever. Dean scowls but considers, and Sam takes the moment to think, Oh, my bad, it was double penetration I was thinking of in Ruby’s direction. She scowls too, but Sam just smiles.
He might be stuck with the little brother gig, the screwy time, the bickering and the red-shift light, but here in Hell, he’s the King, and that means he’s got an eternity to torment - and love - them both.