The Gift 2/5
Title: The Gift
Pairings: Alastair/Dean, Meg/Dean, Demons/Dean, Sam/Dean, Hellhounds/Dean
Rating: NC/17
Genre: Slash, AU
Word Count: About 22,000
Summary: The Boy King is coming. Hell prepares the perfect gift to offer him on his arrival.
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, torture, cbt, oral sex, anal sex, bestiality, knotting.
A/N: Written for the
slaveexchange for the prompt: Alastair trains Dean for Sam.
This fic was meant to be done by now, but it just won't stop. I have one more chapter to work on, but the end is finished so it all should be posted by early next week. My artist suffered a debilitating chicken coop related accident over the holidays so the art is postponed for a bit also. I'll put up a Masterpost when everything is where it should be, but I wanted to post at least something on time. Sorry OP!
Additional A/N: This is AU in that there are no angels, no vessels, just Sam as Hell's new king.
Many thanks to my betas, the lovely smidgeson who caught a multitude of errors and the talented lylithj2 without whom Dean would never have had his dirty talking skills. Thanks so much, ladies!
Alastair begins the next session with a kiss. Soft and searching, the demon’s tongue probes Dean’s; fingers and thumb of one hand forcing his jaw open as the other cards softly through his hair. Dean chokes and gags as the forked tongue slithers down his throat and he tries in vain to evade Alastair’s unyielding penetration.
When Alastair leans back and releases him, Dean gasps, “What is it with you demons? I told that crossroads bitch and I’ll tell you: I like to be warned before I’m violated by demon tongue.”
“Oh, Dean,” Alastair chuckles harshly, “you’ll be violated by much worse than my tongue before we’re through.”
“Don’t swing that way, dude,” Dean smirks, but the memory of yesterday is stark in his eyes, and Alastair can see how badly he’s shaken beneath the cocky façade.
“Doesn’t matter how you swing,” the demon hisses, forcing his tongue past Dean’s lips again.
“Wait,” Dean groans, “did we just make some sort of deal? Is that what this is about?”
“No,” Alastair reassures him, running a claw along his bottom lip. “Not yet, anyway. But there is an offer on the table.”
“What offer?” Dean’s eyes narrow suspiciously.
“The next time I kiss you, kiss me back and I won’t hurt you for twenty-four hours. That’s my offer for today.”
“Jesus,” Dean spits, revulsion twisting his features, “no! Kiss you back, my ass.”
“Oh, such spunk. Good for you. I really didn’t expect you to capitulate on just your second day and I do so love a challenge.”
“I’m not going to capitulate on any day. I’d rather kiss a snake.”
“Really?” Alastair chuckles and pats Dean’s cheek. “We’ll see.”
The demon’s still laughing when he begins to change and a satisfied hiss escapes his throat at Dean’s shocked gasp. Alastair undulates the muscles of his new form until he’s coiled in front of the rack, the slit pupils of his lidless eyes staring into Dean’s horrified face from waist level. His tongue’s serpentine no matter what shape he’s taken, but the panic on Dean’s face as it flicks out, tasting the skin of his cock and balls, makes using it in this form especially satisfactory.
Dean’s trying to jut his hips back; retreat from the serpent’s probing touch, but he can only move a few inches and Alastair just extends himself until his blunt nose presses the flesh behind Dean’s testicles. Dean’s grinding out curses from between his locked jaws, but Alastair just moves forward and up, winding around Dean’s leg, then through his crotch, a heavy coil pressing into Dean’s genitals as his upper body circles around Dean’s chest. Dean’s muscles jerk and twitch as the snake tastes his nipples, then moves up until the broad head is swaying hypnotically in front of Dean’s freaked out eyes.
Alastair tilts his head, then, without warning, he strikes. Dean howls as massive fangs penetrate his skull and Alastair takes advantage of the opening to flick his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean gasps as the tip tickles his palate and, with a thought, Alastair releases his bindings. They crash to the floor, the snake’s heavy body coiling around Dean as the fangs tighten their hold on his head. Arms and legs flail and twist but Alastair’s coils ripple, constricting Dean’s movement. Alastair takes his time; squeezing a little more every time Dean exhales until he finally stills; lungs no longer able to expand, face buried between the bony jaws. Alastair retracts his fangs with a wet squelch of grey matter and presses his nose against Dean’s blue lips, brushing them gently with his tongue.
“How’s that kiss for you, Dean?” he hisses, relishing the terror in his victim’s eyes. Dean can’t answer, of course, but his fear intensifies as the jaws in front of his face open impossibly wide. Dean’s enforced silence disappoints Alastair a little, but he contents himself with imagining the screaming that’s occurring in Dean’s mind as the muscles of Alastair’s throat contract around him; undulating coils pushing his body down the snake’s gullet.
The next morning Alastair returns to his normal form and takes in Dean’s bones scattered across the workroom floor. With a wave of his hand, they’re reassembled, covered with muscle and skin and hanging from the rack. Dean’s chest heaves; taking in frantic gulps of air and Alastair leans in to whisper in his ear. “Anything else you’d rather kiss?”
Dean’s stubbornly silent until Alastair speaks again. “Speak up, my boy, or I’ll think the answer is yes. I can become absolutely anything and my imagination is first rate.”
“No.” It’s barely a whisper, but Alastair nods.
“As you wish. So, just me then?”
“Don’t want to kiss you either,” Dean manages and the demon grins hotly.
“Good boy, Dean, good boy. Make me earn it.” Dean shudders under Alastair’s hand as the demon steps back.
“You can be anything?” Dean’s still panting like he’s out of breath.
“Anything.”
“How about Angelina Jolie…Lindsay Lohan…Princess Leia in that gold bikini thing.”
“Sorry,” Alastair murmurs insincerely. “Those ladies are not quite in keeping with our theme here. I’ve got to go now and take care of some other business, but I’ll be back tonight and we’ll get back to work.” Alastair grins and pats his stomach. “Got to burn off some of those calories I took in yesterday. You make a wonderful meal, my boy. We’ll have to have dinner again sometime.”
Alastair kisses Dean again and smiles as his lips don’t give an inch under his own. “All right, then. Tonight it is.”
Dean’s muttering profanities at Alastair’s back as he leaves and the demon stops in the doorway for a parting admonition. “I’d save my breath if I were you, Dean. My voice too. You’re going to need them later.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Months pass; years, and each morning, Alastair forces his kisses upon Dean. The day can go any way after that; flaying, burning, eviscerating...there are thousands of ways to keep himself entertained. As long as he’s with Dean, the demon really doesn’t care how he gets his hands dirty.
Today the work table holds a hatchet, a saw, a hammer and chisel and scalpels honed to varying degrees of sharpness. Alastair starts with Dean’s feet, peeling the skin back, then filleting out the bones of each toe, one at a time, humming happily as he works.
“You know,” he muses, though he’s pretty sure Dean can’t hear him over his screams, “if things had been different, I’d be giving you an anatomy lesson here. Unfortunately, there’s no need for you to know how all the bones come apart now. They really aren’t the body parts we’ll be training you on.”
Alastair moves up Dean’s body, parting his flesh with the scalpels; then hacking away at his joints with whatever other implement suits his fancy. Dean’s crying, screaming, begging for it just to stop, but he’d spurned Alastair’s advances at the beginning of the session and there’s no let up as his vertebrae are sawed off, one at a time. They’ve almost reached the home stretch; Alastair snapping Dean’s ribs from his sternum, when the demon feels something brush his face. Dean’s head’s been lolling since Alastair sent his patellas flying, but now he’s lifted it far enough to touch his blood soaked lips to Alastair’s chin.
The demon pauses for a moment; then twists his wrist to finish detaching the bone he’d been working on, using it to lift Dean’s chin higher. Dean’s lips are crusted with blood and Alastair licks them clean while staring into pain dulled eyes. “That’s a good start, my boy,” he praises, “but it’s far too late to do you any good today.” He picks up the saw and gets back to work. “Show that kind of initiative tomorrow though, and you just might earn yourself a break.”
There’s a spring in Alastair’s step as he enters his workroom the next day; the first chink in a soul’s armor is always a cause for celebration. Sometimes it just takes a little more pressure to crack them wide open. He stops in front of the rack, purses his lips and mimes a kiss.
Dean grimaces, and tilts his head up. “We do this, you leave me alone for the rest of the day,” he growls. “That’s the deal, right?”
“If we do this I don’t hurt you for the rest of the day, is the deal,” Alastair responds. “Still interested? Because if you’re not...” A brazier appears beside the rack, white hot irons nestled in its coals. “I’ve got another idea how we can spend our time.”
Dean’s gaze flashes between the brazier and the demon, hatred and fear warring in his eyes. He swallows hard, then nods jerkily. “Okay.”
“Okay what, Dean?”
“Okay, you can kiss me,” Dean manages to force out.
Alastair huffs out a breath and pulls an iron from the fire. “I’ve been kissing you, my boy. Me kissing you is not the point of this exercise." The iron hovers near Dean’s eye as the demon continues. “Now why don’t you think about rephrasing that.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Dean whispers and Alastair shakes his head in annoyance.
“Yes, you do. And if you don’t say it in the next ten seconds, we’re playing with fire.”
“Okay,” Dean grates out. “Okay, I’ll kiss you.”
Alastair drops the iron back in the fire and cups Dean’s face between his hands. The kiss is everything he’d imagined it would be; plush lips parting beneath his leathery skin, soft and, if not welcoming, at least not fighting his advances. Dean’s pulse is racing beneath Alastair’s fingers and his breath puffs in erratic bursts, mingling with the demon’s fetid exhalations.
The kiss stretches into minutes, then hours. Alastair drags it out until the tension is radiating off of Dean from the strain of submitting. When he finally breaks it off, Dean shudders and gags and Alastair chuckles as he runs a claw along Dean’s swollen lips.
“Now wasn’t that better than, well, just about anything that’s happened since you got here?”
“Define ‘better’.” Dean mutters.
“Well, you’re not bleeding or screaming and you’re basically intact.”
“My virtue’s not.” Dean’s still trying for a smart ass tone, but the despair behind his statement bleeds through.
Alastair laughs and pats Dean’s cheek. “Oh, my boy. There’s no such thing down here.” He briefly considers telling Dean that his non-existent virtue will be far less intact by the time he’s done with him, but letting Dean discover that as it happens will be much more fun. “A deal’s a deal, Dean. I’ll see you in twenty-four hours.”
Alastair’s exit is even more sprightly than his entrance, as the sound of a choked off sob follows him down the hallway.
Twenty-four hours out of all eternity isn’t very long, but the time after Alastair leaves drags interminably. It’s not like the demon’s never left him alone before, he does it every day. A brief respite from pain makes its resumption all the sweeter, Alastair always says. The pain Dean’s feeling from today’s session with Alastair isn’t physical, though remembered agony continuously sings through his nerve endings. He’d given in and his chest tightens in humiliation at the memory of demon tongue invading his mouth.
Dean twitches in his restraints as the kiss plays in a revolving loop in his mind. Long before the allotted time has passed, he finds himself staring into the gloom of the doorway, trying to penetrate the darkness of the hallway beyond; straining to hear approaching footsteps over the constant wailing that fills the air. Dread pools in his belly at the thought of Alastair’s return and he’s not sure what he’s more afraid of; whatever torture the demon has devised for him, or another offer to forestall it.
By the time Alastair makes his entrance, Dean’s made up his mind that he’s not going to give the bastard anything, no matter what incentive is put before him, but the demon takes one look at the determination on his face and laughs.
“Gonna play hard to get today, Dean? What’s the matter, one little kiss put you out that much?” He pauses inside the doorway and a fond smile plays on his lips before he lets out a low whistle.
Dean breath freezes in his chest as the darkness behind the demon swirls and coalesces into a hell hound at least three times the size of the one that had taken him down all those years ago. He knew they were here, has heard them countless times baying in the distance, but this is the first time he’s actually seen one since coming to the pit.
“Eyes on me, Dean.” Alastair’s voice is low and threatening but Dean can’t tear his gaze from the enormous animal. “They take it as a challenge if you stare at them, and I think you’re in enough trouble right now without challenging him, don’t you?”
Dean chokes in a gasp of air and looks at Alastair, just a thin ring of green visible in his panicked eyes. The beast settles onto its haunches at Alastair’s side; seated its head is level with Dean’s chest and he can feel its hot stare burning into his face.
Alastair strokes the hound’s head and smiles pleasantly at Dean. “Good boy,” he murmurs and Dean’s skin heats; it’s obvious the demon is talking to him. The hound remains by the door, tongue lolling over impossibly large teeth, as Alastair approaches. The demon runs a hand down Dean’s side and traces a claw through the soft skin under his eye. “You sold yourself to us, Dean. You’re Hell’s bitch now to do with as it pleases. And we have been doing as we please; oh, yes we have. But that kiss...I can’t stop with just one. I’ve got to have more. And that leaves you with a decision to make, my boy.” Dean’s shuddering beneath Alastair’s touch and claws punch into his abdomen to hold him still. “Within the context of being Hell’s bitch in general you need to decide whose bitch in particular you want to be. Mine?” Alastair licks the sweat from Dean’s neck then motions toward the hound, “or his?”
Dean tears his eyes from Alastair’s menacing gaze and stares in panic at the hound. It stares back, the intelligence in its eyes gauging Dean’s reaction as it shifts its stance, revealing its massive phallus; bone white against the black of its fur. Red liquid drips from the tip, crackling as it hits the stone floor. Dean moans and jerks, but only succeeds in impaling himself further on the demon’s claws. “No,” he begs. “I’ll take the irons, skin me...anything. Just not that.”
“Those options aren’t on the table, my boy.” Alastair reaches up to undo the restraint around Dean’s right wrist as the hound rises with a grace that should be impossible in something that size. Dean’s hyperventilating and his eyes are glazed with fear and Alastair shows his displeasure with the lack of focus by ripping his claws from Dean’s flesh. The hound snarls as blood pours from the wound and its weight slams against Dean’s back, erection burning against the delicate human skin.
Dean’s screaming as he struggles in Alastair’s grip, but the demon runs a finger across his lips and a thick line follows it, sewing them shut. The demon allows himself a tiny moment of regret for not having the time to use a needle, but the thought of what’s coming cheers him immensely.
“That’s better,” he says into the relative silence. “Now, I need an answer Dean. You’re coming off the rack either way. Zrgrb here, can drag you back to his den, and I do mean drag, to meet the rest of his pack. You’ll be low human on the hell hound pole, so you’ll be fresh meat for whatever doggy pastimes they care to indulge in with you. Or,” Alastair takes Dean’s free hand and guides it down until it’s wrapped around his own impressive erection, “you can come home with me.”
Dean’s screaming behind his sealed lips as the hell hound adjusts its stance, front limbs wrapped around his waist, cock edging closer to his hole with each frantic thrust. The beast knows its business; Alastair’s not worried about it actually penetrating Dean, but Dean doesn’t know that and Alastair can feel him falling apart. He wants to cheer as the first tears he’s managed to wring from John Winchester’s eldest seep down his cheeks. The sound is almost audible as Dean cracks wide open and his hand begins to move on Alastair’s cock.
Alastair’s grin is triumphant as he frees Dean’s lips, but they’re not done yet and he doesn’t allow the hound to release its punishing grip. Dean’s staring down at his hand like he can’t believe what it’s doing. “Eyes up, Dean,” Alastair instructs, and Dean slowly raises his head, the despair in his eyes so deep the demon could drown in it.
“Your decision is...?”
“You,” Dean whispers brokenly and Alastair runs his claws through the gash in Dean’s side.
“I need a little bit more than that, my boy.”
“I want to be yours,” Dean moans in desperation as the hound’s dick slides over his anus.
“My what?” Alastair prompts. “And ask nicely.”
“Your...bitch,” Dean chokes out. “Please, let me be your bitch.”
Alastair snaps his fingers and the hound backs off, but doesn’t leave, whining hopefully as it once again settles by the door. Dean’s gaze flits around the room; to the hound, to Alastair, to all the implements still hanging on the walls, until the demon grabs his hair and brutally yanks his head back.
“I already told you once to keep your eyes on me, Dean,” he growls. “I’m not going to have to be continually repeating things to you, am I? Just because you’re off the rack for the moment doesn’t mean you can’t go right back on it again if you don’t learn your lessons promptly.”
Dean stares straight into Alastair’s chest and the demon chuckles darkly.
“You’re obeying the letter of the command, but I think you know better than this. You look at my face, or pay attention to the work you’re doing on my cock. Either is acceptable.”
Dean nods silently and lifts his head until he’s staring into the demon’s satisfied eyes.
“That’s better,” Alastair praises. “In fact, it’s perfect, because now I want another kiss. A real kiss like you’d have given to one of those women you used to tomcat after on Earth.”
The demon dips his head and Dean tries to think of Cassie; to think of Lisa, then he remembers where he is and what he’s doing and he banishes them from his mind in horror. This is all on him and they’ve got no place here. This is what he is now, what he’s chosen and he swallows his despair as he works his lips against Alastair’s.
The demon sighs in contentment as he breaks the kiss and frees Dean from the rest of his bindings. Dean stumbles as Alastair leads him forward a few steps then forces him to his knees.
“Keep that hand moving, bitch,” Alastair instructs, “and wipe that look off of your face. Whores love cock and that’s all you are now. My whore.”
Dean can’t control his breathing, but he tries to school his face to the familiar blankness that worked so well when he was alive. His stomach is rolling at the thought of what Alastair’s going to want next and he keeps his eyes firmly on the demon’s face and away from the scabrous appendage that’s dangling in front of him.
“Mmmmm,” Alastair murmurs, “it’s a start. I’m looking for enthusiasm from you, slut, not ennui, but we’ll work on that.” He barks a laugh and adds, “we’ll work on that a lot.”
Alastair’s knobbled dick is wet with foul smelling pre-come and he moans as Dean’s hand jerks him steadily. He grips Dean’s hair and pulls him forward until the head of his cock brushes the kneeling man’s lips. “Beg to suck it, whore,” he orders
Dean’s lips part, but he can’t bring himself to speak until the hound growls and surges to its feet. “Please,” he gasps, straining against the demon’s hold, “I’ve never done this. I don’t know...”
The hound snarls again and Alastair sounds just as vicious. “Is that what I asked you, whore? You want to suck my hound’s cock instead? Beg to put your fucking mouth on me, and do it now.”
Sulfurous breath heats Dean’s back as he shudders before panting out, “please let me suck you.”
Alastair snorts in displeasure. “We’ll work on your begging too, you pathetic bitch. Now put those pretty lips to work and make sure to use lots of tongue. You may have never given a blow job before, but I’m sure you remember getting them.”
Dean tries not to gag as he leans forward to wrap his lips around the demon’s putrid flesh. It turns out to be a futile attempt as the demon shoves his dick into Dean’s mouth and down his throat, groaning as Dean chokes around it. He begins to thrust, quick and brutal, spreading Dean’s jaws wide around the thick intrusion.
Dean’s slumped limply against Alastair’s thighs by the time the demon’s finished battering his throat. He feels the demon’s balls contract against his chin before he’s flooded with the thick sludge of his come. Alastair pulls out slowly and Dean’s afraid the disgusting fluid he’d just swallowed is going to follow. The demon sees it on his face and grips his chin tightly.
“Keep it down, or you’ll lick it off the floor while Zrgrb fucks you.”
Dean clenches his jaw and keeps it down as Alastair runs a hand over his head. “Good boy,” he says. “You need a lot of work on your oral skills, but you’ll suck my cock until I think you’re a pro. You want to be a good bitch for me, don’t you?”
Dean’s game face is a thing of the long past and tears stream down his face. “Yes, I want to be a good bitch,” he replies in a shaking voice.
Alastair pulls him to his feet and leaves him swaying in the center of the room while he pulls a thick leather collar and thin chain leash from pegs on the wall. “I’ve been saving these for so long,” he whispers as he buckles the collar around Dean’s neck. “I want to dress you up pretty. This is just the beginning.”
Alastair tugs on the leash and drags Dean to the door where he turns and lashes Dean’s cock with the chain. “You follow when I’ve got your leash in my hand,” he admonishes Dean. “One pull and I want you three steps behind me. If I have to drag you again, you’ll be punished more severely. Now walk.”
Dean follows Alastair along the curving corridors, feeling as if all the burning stone of hell is crushing him. “Your choice,” he tells himself. “Your choice.”
Part 3