wincest: violate all the love that I'm missing [demon!Sam/Dean, Jo | NC-17]
This isn't betaed, but it's been audienced by several of you. I'm just going to go ahead and put it out here because honestly, i don't know how I feel about it and I'm not sure I want to sic it on anyone to proofread. So...um, that being said, I'd love to hear what you all think. *bites lip*
Title: violate all the love that I'm missing
Pairing: demon!Sam/Dean, Jo
Rating/Warning: NC-17 | m/m slash, incest, dub-con
Word Count: 1, 133
Summary: short what-if based on Born Under a Bad Sign. Deviates from the point Dean shows up to confront/ensnare evildemon!Sam and save Jo. But things don’t go as planned, and now Sam has a new playtoy…
Notes: I don’t even know what prompted me to write this. I’m not a fan of non-con or even evil!Sam, but…this literally wouldn’t leave my brain until it was given a voice. So. There it is. And there will be a schmoopy aftermath sequel somehow, so help me Jeebus. *crosses fingers*
“Open your mouth.” It’s not a request, and Dean glares up at Sam, silent and tight-lipped, before looking away. Sam sighs, then on the next quicksilver breath he reaches for Dean’s head. Jerks him back by the hair and locks their gazes together. Tears prickle at the corners of Dean’s eyes, but he swallows a reflexive, pained hiss and meets his brother’s (not Sam not Sam) flat stare dead on.
“I said, open. Your. Mouth,” Sam repeats slowly, purrs, thumbing at Dean’s bottom lip until he tastes the tang of gun powder, grease, salty skin. Sam. It’s so fucking familiar that Dean gives in on a low rumbling moan and parts his lips, drawing Sam’s thumb in, sucking, not wanting to think about the rush of satisfaction when Sam’s black eyes flicker and his breath comes out shaky and distorted.
“That’s good. That’s good. Sweet little brotherfucker.” Sam traces Dean’s mouth with spit-slick skin, then leans in close. “Mmm…gonna screw that smirk right off your face, Dean. You like that? Wanna suck my cock, taste pretty Sammy coming down your throat?" His breath is too-warm against Dean's cheek, tongue touching a freckle at the edge of Dean's mouth. "My gift to you.”
Dean’s shaken, disturbed, and so fucking turned on he’s ashamed. When he tilts his head up, he catches sight of Jo across the bar, expression terrified, confused, and pitches his voice to a low drawl only Sam will hear. “Fuck you.”
Sam makes a considering sound, teeth flashing. “We’ll see. But first things first.” The mischievous sing-song melts into a razor’s edge, and Dean grits his teeth when those long fingers pull at his neck, pressing his mouth against the hard line of Sam’s cock. Sam’s eyes flare again, hips rolling, and anticipation’s thick in his voice when he croons, “Now open up and suck me off, you sick, twisted little bitch. Do it good, and maybe I won’t rip her insides out when you’re done.”
“Go back to hell, you demonic son of a--” He gets as much out before Sam’s palm swings at him, snapping his neck back like a twig. Before he can even curse, even think to feel the burning sting, he’s got a faceful of Sam’s cock and can taste bitter, leaking drops against his lips. Jo makes a nervous sound, but Sam’s blocking their actions, so Dean knows she’s worried about the slap and not…whatever else. “Gonna kill you,” he gasps, staring up at Sam and feeling something inside him come apart. Every sigh of breath sends his lips fluttering against Sam’s thick cockhead, and all he can do is watch while the creature inhabiting his brother shudders and purrs deep down in his throat.
Sam’s chuckle says that’s real cute. “Not in this body.” Grin stretching wide, he cups Dean’s face in both hands, fingers spread out along the reddened, swelling flesh. “You’re a soldier, right, Dean? A Winchester.” Sam rolls the word around on his tongue, disgust shaping lazy vowels, and heat skims down Dean’s spine despite himself.
Oh, Christ Sam, I’m sorry.
Sam’s gaze glitters with malicious pleasure when he juts his hips, cock flirting with Dean’s mouth, just letting it slip and slide and tease. “But not too sorry, huh?” he clucks, and Dean doesn’t hide his surprise fast enough. Sam laughs again, dark and manic. “That’s right, I’m in your heeeeead, and you know what I see, Dean?”
Dean’s heart crawls up into his throat, wrists flexing at the bonds holding him captive. “Dead people, Haley Joel?” Not his best comeback, but hell.
Sam grabs his jaw, pulling down and wide until Dean lets out a groan. All amusement’s gone from those painfully familiar features, and Sam fucks past his lips without a word of warning, not that Dean really expected one. Sam’s thick and heavy on his tongue, so achingly familiar, but the strokes are harder. Rougher, bruising the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, but there’s a part of Dean that can’t fucking get enough of it. Sam’s not treating him like glass, like everything about this is wrong, and it has Dean bursting at the seams of his jeans the third time Sam thrusts into him.
Not Sam Not Sam Not Sam. But it tastes like Sam, feels like Sam, and if Dean closes his eyes, he could make himself believe, and how fucked up and twisted is that?
“Oh, that’s good,” Sam sighs, chewing his bottom lip, eyes tracking the flick of Dean’s tongue against his dick. Then, in a louder voice, “Pout really nice and pretty around it, baby. Don’t cut corners or I’ll cut her throat.”
“What’s he talking about? Dean?” Jo’s voice goes higher than normal, almost a squeak, and Dean freezes, horror lighting his features as Sam smirks down at him.
He laughs, a deliciously low, shivery, evil sound that makes Dean’s belly curl, his pulse thrumming in his veins. His blood’s not running cold, it’s pumping hot and wicked -- sinful -- and the amusement coloring Sam’s features makes it obvious that his “baby brother” knows exactly what’s going on here.
“Dean’s too much of a gentleman to tell you, pretty little girl,” Sam purrs, licking his lips and rocking his hips again, pulling out, cock working like a knifepoint against Dean’s throat and leaving behind a slippery trail. “So I’ll just let him show you instead.”
He shifts, and Dean meets Jo’s rounded gaze, breathing hard and knowing exactly what he must look like -- lips pink-swollen and shiny, cheeks flushed. He watches confusion, denial sweep across her features, and sees the exact second realization dawns.
Unable to keep looking at her pale face, Dean swallows when Sam twists around, pulling at his lips and keening for Dean to open on up again for me, baby. Show me how much you want that little girl to live.
“Jo, don’t…” He can’t get it out, caught between the purposeful thrust of Sam’s hips and the tears glittering on Jo’s lashes. Anger, desire, guilt, shame all claw at his belly, and Sam’s laughter rings in his ears.
“Look, see how much he wants it? I told you it wasn’t anything against you, Jo.” Sam huffs out a breath, petting Dean on the head like a goddamn kitten. His voice is sugar-sweet and all for the girl across the room, having to watch the object of her affections get used like a cock-hungry whore. “Dean here…well, he’s just a big ol’ pervert, aren’t you Dean? Too busy fucking your own brother to make time for sweet romance.”
Dean nearly chokes on a particularly deep thrust, throat closing up around Sam and making his brother groan happily. “And you know what?” Sam pants, head whipping in disjointed, erratic movements. “That’s just fine by me.”
Title: violate all the love that I'm missing
Pairing: demon!Sam/Dean, Jo
Rating/Warning: NC-17 | m/m slash, incest, dub-con
Word Count: 1, 133
Summary: short what-if based on Born Under a Bad Sign. Deviates from the point Dean shows up to confront/ensnare evildemon!Sam and save Jo. But things don’t go as planned, and now Sam has a new playtoy…
Notes: I don’t even know what prompted me to write this. I’m not a fan of non-con or even evil!Sam, but…this literally wouldn’t leave my brain until it was given a voice. So. There it is. And there will be a schmoopy aftermath sequel somehow, so help me Jeebus. *crosses fingers*
“Open your mouth.” It’s not a request, and Dean glares up at Sam, silent and tight-lipped, before looking away. Sam sighs, then on the next quicksilver breath he reaches for Dean’s head. Jerks him back by the hair and locks their gazes together. Tears prickle at the corners of Dean’s eyes, but he swallows a reflexive, pained hiss and meets his brother’s (not Sam not Sam) flat stare dead on.
“I said, open. Your. Mouth,” Sam repeats slowly, purrs, thumbing at Dean’s bottom lip until he tastes the tang of gun powder, grease, salty skin. Sam. It’s so fucking familiar that Dean gives in on a low rumbling moan and parts his lips, drawing Sam’s thumb in, sucking, not wanting to think about the rush of satisfaction when Sam’s black eyes flicker and his breath comes out shaky and distorted.
“That’s good. That’s good. Sweet little brotherfucker.” Sam traces Dean’s mouth with spit-slick skin, then leans in close. “Mmm…gonna screw that smirk right off your face, Dean. You like that? Wanna suck my cock, taste pretty Sammy coming down your throat?" His breath is too-warm against Dean's cheek, tongue touching a freckle at the edge of Dean's mouth. "My gift to you.”
Dean’s shaken, disturbed, and so fucking turned on he’s ashamed. When he tilts his head up, he catches sight of Jo across the bar, expression terrified, confused, and pitches his voice to a low drawl only Sam will hear. “Fuck you.”
Sam makes a considering sound, teeth flashing. “We’ll see. But first things first.” The mischievous sing-song melts into a razor’s edge, and Dean grits his teeth when those long fingers pull at his neck, pressing his mouth against the hard line of Sam’s cock. Sam’s eyes flare again, hips rolling, and anticipation’s thick in his voice when he croons, “Now open up and suck me off, you sick, twisted little bitch. Do it good, and maybe I won’t rip her insides out when you’re done.”
“Go back to hell, you demonic son of a--” He gets as much out before Sam’s palm swings at him, snapping his neck back like a twig. Before he can even curse, even think to feel the burning sting, he’s got a faceful of Sam’s cock and can taste bitter, leaking drops against his lips. Jo makes a nervous sound, but Sam’s blocking their actions, so Dean knows she’s worried about the slap and not…whatever else. “Gonna kill you,” he gasps, staring up at Sam and feeling something inside him come apart. Every sigh of breath sends his lips fluttering against Sam’s thick cockhead, and all he can do is watch while the creature inhabiting his brother shudders and purrs deep down in his throat.
Sam’s chuckle says that’s real cute. “Not in this body.” Grin stretching wide, he cups Dean’s face in both hands, fingers spread out along the reddened, swelling flesh. “You’re a soldier, right, Dean? A Winchester.” Sam rolls the word around on his tongue, disgust shaping lazy vowels, and heat skims down Dean’s spine despite himself.
Oh, Christ Sam, I’m sorry.
Sam’s gaze glitters with malicious pleasure when he juts his hips, cock flirting with Dean’s mouth, just letting it slip and slide and tease. “But not too sorry, huh?” he clucks, and Dean doesn’t hide his surprise fast enough. Sam laughs again, dark and manic. “That’s right, I’m in your heeeeead, and you know what I see, Dean?”
Dean’s heart crawls up into his throat, wrists flexing at the bonds holding him captive. “Dead people, Haley Joel?” Not his best comeback, but hell.
Sam grabs his jaw, pulling down and wide until Dean lets out a groan. All amusement’s gone from those painfully familiar features, and Sam fucks past his lips without a word of warning, not that Dean really expected one. Sam’s thick and heavy on his tongue, so achingly familiar, but the strokes are harder. Rougher, bruising the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, but there’s a part of Dean that can’t fucking get enough of it. Sam’s not treating him like glass, like everything about this is wrong, and it has Dean bursting at the seams of his jeans the third time Sam thrusts into him.
Not Sam Not Sam Not Sam. But it tastes like Sam, feels like Sam, and if Dean closes his eyes, he could make himself believe, and how fucked up and twisted is that?
“Oh, that’s good,” Sam sighs, chewing his bottom lip, eyes tracking the flick of Dean’s tongue against his dick. Then, in a louder voice, “Pout really nice and pretty around it, baby. Don’t cut corners or I’ll cut her throat.”
“What’s he talking about? Dean?” Jo’s voice goes higher than normal, almost a squeak, and Dean freezes, horror lighting his features as Sam smirks down at him.
He laughs, a deliciously low, shivery, evil sound that makes Dean’s belly curl, his pulse thrumming in his veins. His blood’s not running cold, it’s pumping hot and wicked -- sinful -- and the amusement coloring Sam’s features makes it obvious that his “baby brother” knows exactly what’s going on here.
“Dean’s too much of a gentleman to tell you, pretty little girl,” Sam purrs, licking his lips and rocking his hips again, pulling out, cock working like a knifepoint against Dean’s throat and leaving behind a slippery trail. “So I’ll just let him show you instead.”
He shifts, and Dean meets Jo’s rounded gaze, breathing hard and knowing exactly what he must look like -- lips pink-swollen and shiny, cheeks flushed. He watches confusion, denial sweep across her features, and sees the exact second realization dawns.
Unable to keep looking at her pale face, Dean swallows when Sam twists around, pulling at his lips and keening for Dean to open on up again for me, baby. Show me how much you want that little girl to live.
“Jo, don’t…” He can’t get it out, caught between the purposeful thrust of Sam’s hips and the tears glittering on Jo’s lashes. Anger, desire, guilt, shame all claw at his belly, and Sam’s laughter rings in his ears.
“Look, see how much he wants it? I told you it wasn’t anything against you, Jo.” Sam huffs out a breath, petting Dean on the head like a goddamn kitten. His voice is sugar-sweet and all for the girl across the room, having to watch the object of her affections get used like a cock-hungry whore. “Dean here…well, he’s just a big ol’ pervert, aren’t you Dean? Too busy fucking your own brother to make time for sweet romance.”
Dean nearly chokes on a particularly deep thrust, throat closing up around Sam and making his brother groan happily. “And you know what?” Sam pants, head whipping in disjointed, erratic movements. “That’s just fine by me.”