Control (2/2)
Day 206
Lucifer likes to reminisce. He's good at that. Lately, he's been in the habit of sharing his favorite memories of each of Sam’s body parts.
"Hey, Sammy, do you remember what your own eyeballs taste like? Because I sure do, and lemme tell you, YUM. I think it’s a texture thing mostly. They kind of pop in your mouth and then you’re just overwhelmed with all that jelly. But, viscera flavored instead of strawberry.
Honestly, Sam, I’ll taste any part of you that I can get. You’re that addictive. You should take that as a compliment actually.”
Sam shuts his eyes and tries to sleep, pulling the scratchy motel sheet all the way up over the top of his head.
In the dark, the sheet slips. Lucifer licks across the nape of his neck. Sam shivers and hates himself.
Day 239
Bunk buddy.
Bitch.
My bitch.
Sam shudders. Then he remembers a time when he wasn't even allowed to do that, wasn't allowed that much freedom of movement, and was that the Cage or was that actually before? He’s been ridden in so many ways for so many years now, maybe it’s just that he doesn’t know how to function any other way.
Just to be safe, he stops moving. It occurs to him to wonder if he's allowed to breathe. He tries to hold his breath, but eventually he takes an accidental noisy exhale.
He waits for his punishment.
Dean rolls over in the other bed.
In the corner, he thinks he can hear Lucifer laughing faintly to himself, but the Devil doesn't deign to come any closer.
Lying alone in his bed, Sam feels perversely, sickeningly lonely.
Day 252
His mind is bleeding. That's how he keeps imagining it. Its bleeding Hell, letting Hell seep out into ever corner of his reality until he's too mixed up to understand what the world looks like when it isn't covered in a thin sheen of horror.
God, he just hurts.
God doesn't exist here. God has left the building. Vamoosed. He should know that by now. He should really, really, really know that by now.
He hurts all over these days, in ways that are both hard to articulate and brutally, horrifyingly specific. There are new words being created to accurately describe the ways he hurts. There are no words to describe it.
In the Cage, he barely had a night of peace, a night where he slept without Lucifer pressed up against him, consuming him in every way possible.
When he thinks about the girl in the alley and what he now knows came before, there’s a feeling that’s almost like relief. Almost, but with a different flavor. This time its more like horror.
Lucifer is pressed up against him, skin to skin, and there’s no getting away from anything. He wants to vomit, but he isn’t allowed. He can’t make his limbs move in the right ways, even as his stomach does his best to escape out his rib cage.
"Sam," a voice whispers in his ear. "Sam." He bites his lip hard, tasting blood, but he turns over.
The thing is, one way or another, Sam’s body hasn’t fully been his own since he was 6 months old.
She was squirming underneath him as he pressed her up against the wall.
Sam whimpers quietly and is instantly ashamed. There's a triumphal noise from the corner of the room.
Its day 276 and to celebrate getting out the mental hospital, he picks up a guy outside of Nashville.
He’s actually not into guys as a general rule, but with the way everything has gotten so jumbled up inside his head lately, he figures its worth a shot.
The guy’s name is Carl and he’s got a head full of curls that Sam wouldn’t mind running his fingers through, if he was being honest with himself. More importantly, he’s a huge guy, as big as Sam and just as muscled. He smiles at Sam from across the bar and Sam wonders if maybe this was what he had actually been needing all along.
Carl takes him back to his place, where things start out annoyingly vanilla. He's kissing Sam, soft and careful as he works the buttons open on Sam's shirt. Sam grins into the kiss, then breaks away to whisper something into Carl's ear.
It turns out that Carl is very good at taking suggestions.
In the space of a heart beat, Sam is tossed backwards onto to bed, and this, this is more like what he came for.
Carl's weight is on top of him a moment later, but Sam can move, he's allowed to do that now, so he uses his own bodyweight to roll them over until Carl is now the one pinned underneath him. Carl actually fucking growls at him and grinds his hips into Sam's jeans covered crotch.
He pauses for half a second in surprise, and then his face clears as he winks up at Sam.
"Looks like you need a little encouragement there?" His hands are already at Sam's fly, so there is no mistaking his meaning.
Sam bats him away, a little harder than he means to. "Don't worry about me," he tells Carl. "I'll catch up." Then he leans down to kiss Carl, as slowly and enthusiastically as he can manage. Carl groans extravagantly underneath him, Sam's problem seemingly forgotten. Then all of a sudden, Sam is tipped forward and falling to the floor and its Carl on top again, pressing down on him from behind.
"I'm going to fuck you into the floor," he tells Sam, and the matter of fact promise in his voice makes Sam shiver.
Sam obediently opens his jeans, and starts to push them down over hips while Carl latches onto a spot just above Sam's collarbone and starts sucking a hickey into existence that Sam is going to have hide from Dean for days.
He hears the click of a bottle opening, and then Carl is runs an appreciative hand over Sam's bare ass, sending a wet finger downward to lightly circle his hole. Sam closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut.
But Carl doesn't just stop with his ass, he snakes his other hand around to Sam's front again.
There's another silent pause, another question that doesn't need to be asked.
"I'm okay," Sam says after a moment. "Just keep going."
"Dude," Carl tries, and then seems to give up.
They're both silent again and then Carl rolls off him. Sam stares at the carpet, refusing to look up at him. Its a wordless game of chicken.
"Look," Carl says finally, with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what you want here...but if you aren't...then I'm not gonna..."
And that's all that needs to be said. Sam pulls up his jeans without looking at him, and then he gets the hell out of there. He doesn't try again for a long time.
Day 428
Dean goes to Purgatory and Sam is suddenly left alone with himself. He wanders around in a kind of distracted haze, paralyzed with a level of indecision that he doesn't quite recognize in himself, but which he can't seem to shake.
He looks for Dean but the experience is more like groping in the dark when he's not even sure what he's looking for. Leads come and leads go and he can't even decide which ones might be worth pursuing.
Day 482
Then he hits a dog and the next part is kind of taken care of for him.
Amelia is all sharp edges and sour notes and she hates herself in a way that feels comfortingly familiar to Sam. And yes, he's aware of how fucked up that sounds, but he can't actually bring himself to care because his brother is gone, but they're both here and for once he finds that he is able to just let himself exist inside his own skin and forget everything he's lost for a little while.
Day 484 and onwards
The first time they fuck, its hard and its awkward and over way too fast for either of them to enjoy themselves. Afterwards, Sam excuses himself and throws up in the toilet. Then the next day, they do it again and things are a little easier.
Amelia is a choice that Sam makes for himself and then keeps on making every day.
In the end, he supposes it’s as simple as that.
And he hates himself for making it, hates what it means about himself, what it means for Dean, but he can't deny the fact that there is a thrill in choosing, day in and day out, to stay with her.
But then Dean comes back to him and Sam makes a choice again, only this time it isn't really a choice at all.
Lucifer likes to reminisce. He's good at that. Lately, he's been in the habit of sharing his favorite memories of each of Sam’s body parts.
"Hey, Sammy, do you remember what your own eyeballs taste like? Because I sure do, and lemme tell you, YUM. I think it’s a texture thing mostly. They kind of pop in your mouth and then you’re just overwhelmed with all that jelly. But, viscera flavored instead of strawberry.
Honestly, Sam, I’ll taste any part of you that I can get. You’re that addictive. You should take that as a compliment actually.”
Sam shuts his eyes and tries to sleep, pulling the scratchy motel sheet all the way up over the top of his head.
In the dark, the sheet slips. Lucifer licks across the nape of his neck. Sam shivers and hates himself.
Day 239
Bunk buddy.
Bitch.
My bitch.
Sam shudders. Then he remembers a time when he wasn't even allowed to do that, wasn't allowed that much freedom of movement, and was that the Cage or was that actually before? He’s been ridden in so many ways for so many years now, maybe it’s just that he doesn’t know how to function any other way.
Just to be safe, he stops moving. It occurs to him to wonder if he's allowed to breathe. He tries to hold his breath, but eventually he takes an accidental noisy exhale.
He waits for his punishment.
Dean rolls over in the other bed.
In the corner, he thinks he can hear Lucifer laughing faintly to himself, but the Devil doesn't deign to come any closer.
Lying alone in his bed, Sam feels perversely, sickeningly lonely.
Day 252
His mind is bleeding. That's how he keeps imagining it. Its bleeding Hell, letting Hell seep out into ever corner of his reality until he's too mixed up to understand what the world looks like when it isn't covered in a thin sheen of horror.
God, he just hurts.
God doesn't exist here. God has left the building. Vamoosed. He should know that by now. He should really, really, really know that by now.
He hurts all over these days, in ways that are both hard to articulate and brutally, horrifyingly specific. There are new words being created to accurately describe the ways he hurts. There are no words to describe it.
In the Cage, he barely had a night of peace, a night where he slept without Lucifer pressed up against him, consuming him in every way possible.
When he thinks about the girl in the alley and what he now knows came before, there’s a feeling that’s almost like relief. Almost, but with a different flavor. This time its more like horror.
Lucifer is pressed up against him, skin to skin, and there’s no getting away from anything. He wants to vomit, but he isn’t allowed. He can’t make his limbs move in the right ways, even as his stomach does his best to escape out his rib cage.
"Sam," a voice whispers in his ear. "Sam." He bites his lip hard, tasting blood, but he turns over.
The thing is, one way or another, Sam’s body hasn’t fully been his own since he was 6 months old.
She was squirming underneath him as he pressed her up against the wall.
Sam whimpers quietly and is instantly ashamed. There's a triumphal noise from the corner of the room.
Its day 276 and to celebrate getting out the mental hospital, he picks up a guy outside of Nashville.
He’s actually not into guys as a general rule, but with the way everything has gotten so jumbled up inside his head lately, he figures its worth a shot.
The guy’s name is Carl and he’s got a head full of curls that Sam wouldn’t mind running his fingers through, if he was being honest with himself. More importantly, he’s a huge guy, as big as Sam and just as muscled. He smiles at Sam from across the bar and Sam wonders if maybe this was what he had actually been needing all along.
Carl takes him back to his place, where things start out annoyingly vanilla. He's kissing Sam, soft and careful as he works the buttons open on Sam's shirt. Sam grins into the kiss, then breaks away to whisper something into Carl's ear.
It turns out that Carl is very good at taking suggestions.
In the space of a heart beat, Sam is tossed backwards onto to bed, and this, this is more like what he came for.
Carl's weight is on top of him a moment later, but Sam can move, he's allowed to do that now, so he uses his own bodyweight to roll them over until Carl is now the one pinned underneath him. Carl actually fucking growls at him and grinds his hips into Sam's jeans covered crotch.
He pauses for half a second in surprise, and then his face clears as he winks up at Sam.
"Looks like you need a little encouragement there?" His hands are already at Sam's fly, so there is no mistaking his meaning.
Sam bats him away, a little harder than he means to. "Don't worry about me," he tells Carl. "I'll catch up." Then he leans down to kiss Carl, as slowly and enthusiastically as he can manage. Carl groans extravagantly underneath him, Sam's problem seemingly forgotten. Then all of a sudden, Sam is tipped forward and falling to the floor and its Carl on top again, pressing down on him from behind.
"I'm going to fuck you into the floor," he tells Sam, and the matter of fact promise in his voice makes Sam shiver.
Sam obediently opens his jeans, and starts to push them down over hips while Carl latches onto a spot just above Sam's collarbone and starts sucking a hickey into existence that Sam is going to have hide from Dean for days.
He hears the click of a bottle opening, and then Carl is runs an appreciative hand over Sam's bare ass, sending a wet finger downward to lightly circle his hole. Sam closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut.
But Carl doesn't just stop with his ass, he snakes his other hand around to Sam's front again.
There's another silent pause, another question that doesn't need to be asked.
"I'm okay," Sam says after a moment. "Just keep going."
"Dude," Carl tries, and then seems to give up.
They're both silent again and then Carl rolls off him. Sam stares at the carpet, refusing to look up at him. Its a wordless game of chicken.
"Look," Carl says finally, with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what you want here...but if you aren't...then I'm not gonna..."
And that's all that needs to be said. Sam pulls up his jeans without looking at him, and then he gets the hell out of there. He doesn't try again for a long time.
Day 428
Dean goes to Purgatory and Sam is suddenly left alone with himself. He wanders around in a kind of distracted haze, paralyzed with a level of indecision that he doesn't quite recognize in himself, but which he can't seem to shake.
He looks for Dean but the experience is more like groping in the dark when he's not even sure what he's looking for. Leads come and leads go and he can't even decide which ones might be worth pursuing.
Day 482
Then he hits a dog and the next part is kind of taken care of for him.
Amelia is all sharp edges and sour notes and she hates herself in a way that feels comfortingly familiar to Sam. And yes, he's aware of how fucked up that sounds, but he can't actually bring himself to care because his brother is gone, but they're both here and for once he finds that he is able to just let himself exist inside his own skin and forget everything he's lost for a little while.
Day 484 and onwards
The first time they fuck, its hard and its awkward and over way too fast for either of them to enjoy themselves. Afterwards, Sam excuses himself and throws up in the toilet. Then the next day, they do it again and things are a little easier.
Amelia is a choice that Sam makes for himself and then keeps on making every day.
In the end, he supposes it’s as simple as that.
And he hates himself for making it, hates what it means about himself, what it means for Dean, but he can't deny the fact that there is a thrill in choosing, day in and day out, to stay with her.
But then Dean comes back to him and Sam makes a choice again, only this time it isn't really a choice at all.