Fic: Broken Differently by Lara, NC17, Alistair/Dean, Prompt #13
Title: Broken Differently
Author: Lara
Rating: NC17
Characters/Pairings: Alistair/Dean
Prompt: #13, Alistair/Dean--possession
Spoilers: Season 4
Word count: 778
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing with them.
Warnings: allusions to rape and torture, darkness
Summary: Dean always has to be different, even in Hell.
Notes: This isn't as dark as the first Alistair/Dean fic but I've kept the rating at NC17 because how can anything with this pairing not be dark and painful and horrific?
Alistair has seen a million humans pass before his eyes and under his knives, but there is something special about this one. He is lovely with such pretty green eyes and those intriguing freckles, but there have been ten thousand more beautiful broken beneath his lash.
No, Dean is lovely because of who he is. He is the destined one. That prophesied righteous man who will break the first seal to free the Morningstar from his hidden cage. He is a beautiful soul in Alistair's malevolent care and he was to be broken quickly.
Alistair had the care of John, as well, but his instructions had been lax. Break him if you want, but he's not the one we really want, were the whispers in Hell, so he ignored him for years at a time, returning to him when he was bored with others. A hundred years and John never broke, though he bled and screamed like any tortured soul.
But, Dean, his beautiful Dean, he needed to break as soon as possible to get the ball rolling, so Alistair spent all his time with him. For thirty years there was barely a respite from the torture and pain and bloody death he inflicted on Dean, and Alistair is impressed that he held out as long as he did.
The inevitable happens, though. Dean breaks and begs for release from the rack and the torture, and frankly Alistair is surprised there's enough mind left in him to use the knife he hands him in any way correctly.
He shouldn't be surprised though. Even in agony, Dean learned. He learned from the master how to torture, to slice and dice a soul yet leave it intact enough to shriek. It was done enough times to him.
When the soul on the rack is a gibbering heap of bone and blood, Dean turns to him and looks at him with narrowed, green eyes.
Alistair is surprised. All he suffered, and now the quick turn to torturer should have turned him. His eyes should be black as ink. Instead they retain their original color but are full of such intense hatred. The knife in his hand raises and Alistair waits, his surprise turning to intrigue.
Will he use the weapon on him? Or himself.
Dean turns the blade to his lips and his tongue licks it clean before he tosses it aside and swaggers towards Alistair, the hatred still vivid in those lovely eyes. "So, you broke me, turned me into a monster, got me to torture for you. What's next?"
He's coherent, also a surprise. Usually a broken soul turned demon takes awhile to recover thought and speech. Sometimes they never do.
Dean always has to be different.
Wrapping his hand around the back of his neck, Alistair drags him into a brutal, biting kiss, before hissing, "I fuck you, like I do every night, but this time, my boy, this time, you enjoy it."
"You think I'm yours?" Dean snarls, pushing his fists against Alistair's chest, forcing them both against a rough stone wall.
"You have never been, you will never be, anything but mine. I tore you to shreds, broke you to pieces, and rebuilt you. I created you. Every bit of your blackened ruined soul belongs to me."
A nasty grin crosses Dean's bloody lips and he shakes his head. "Maybe you're the one who belongs to me. You can't seem to stay away. Thirty years, Alistair, and all your focus was on me. I think I own you, not the other way around."
Alistair smirks and flings Dean over a table, sending implements of torture scattering. "One soul under your belt and you're already getting too big for your britches." As he laughs, he yanks down Dean's ragged pants, shoves up his shirt, admiring the healing whip marks and the bruises on his ass from the night before. "But, we have all the time in Hell to make you see the truth. I will always be your master."
"Fuck you!"
"Maybe I need to remove your tongue for a couple years," Alistair muses as he causes chains to bind Dean's struggling body to the table and fastidiously removes his own clothes. As he leans down over him, he whispers, "Though, that would be a pity, as it does have a few uses."
For a moment Alistair actually worries that the boy isn't as broken as he should be, but another look into those hatred filled eyes shows him the truth.
Hatred, anger, frustration, bitterness--those can be signs of a broken soul as much as terror and pleas and emptiness.
Dean always has to be different.
End
Author: Lara
Rating: NC17
Characters/Pairings: Alistair/Dean
Prompt: #13, Alistair/Dean--possession
Spoilers: Season 4
Word count: 778
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing with them.
Warnings: allusions to rape and torture, darkness
Summary: Dean always has to be different, even in Hell.
Notes: This isn't as dark as the first Alistair/Dean fic but I've kept the rating at NC17 because how can anything with this pairing not be dark and painful and horrific?
Alistair has seen a million humans pass before his eyes and under his knives, but there is something special about this one. He is lovely with such pretty green eyes and those intriguing freckles, but there have been ten thousand more beautiful broken beneath his lash.
No, Dean is lovely because of who he is. He is the destined one. That prophesied righteous man who will break the first seal to free the Morningstar from his hidden cage. He is a beautiful soul in Alistair's malevolent care and he was to be broken quickly.
Alistair had the care of John, as well, but his instructions had been lax. Break him if you want, but he's not the one we really want, were the whispers in Hell, so he ignored him for years at a time, returning to him when he was bored with others. A hundred years and John never broke, though he bled and screamed like any tortured soul.
But, Dean, his beautiful Dean, he needed to break as soon as possible to get the ball rolling, so Alistair spent all his time with him. For thirty years there was barely a respite from the torture and pain and bloody death he inflicted on Dean, and Alistair is impressed that he held out as long as he did.
The inevitable happens, though. Dean breaks and begs for release from the rack and the torture, and frankly Alistair is surprised there's enough mind left in him to use the knife he hands him in any way correctly.
He shouldn't be surprised though. Even in agony, Dean learned. He learned from the master how to torture, to slice and dice a soul yet leave it intact enough to shriek. It was done enough times to him.
When the soul on the rack is a gibbering heap of bone and blood, Dean turns to him and looks at him with narrowed, green eyes.
Alistair is surprised. All he suffered, and now the quick turn to torturer should have turned him. His eyes should be black as ink. Instead they retain their original color but are full of such intense hatred. The knife in his hand raises and Alistair waits, his surprise turning to intrigue.
Will he use the weapon on him? Or himself.
Dean turns the blade to his lips and his tongue licks it clean before he tosses it aside and swaggers towards Alistair, the hatred still vivid in those lovely eyes. "So, you broke me, turned me into a monster, got me to torture for you. What's next?"
He's coherent, also a surprise. Usually a broken soul turned demon takes awhile to recover thought and speech. Sometimes they never do.
Dean always has to be different.
Wrapping his hand around the back of his neck, Alistair drags him into a brutal, biting kiss, before hissing, "I fuck you, like I do every night, but this time, my boy, this time, you enjoy it."
"You think I'm yours?" Dean snarls, pushing his fists against Alistair's chest, forcing them both against a rough stone wall.
"You have never been, you will never be, anything but mine. I tore you to shreds, broke you to pieces, and rebuilt you. I created you. Every bit of your blackened ruined soul belongs to me."
A nasty grin crosses Dean's bloody lips and he shakes his head. "Maybe you're the one who belongs to me. You can't seem to stay away. Thirty years, Alistair, and all your focus was on me. I think I own you, not the other way around."
Alistair smirks and flings Dean over a table, sending implements of torture scattering. "One soul under your belt and you're already getting too big for your britches." As he laughs, he yanks down Dean's ragged pants, shoves up his shirt, admiring the healing whip marks and the bruises on his ass from the night before. "But, we have all the time in Hell to make you see the truth. I will always be your master."
"Fuck you!"
"Maybe I need to remove your tongue for a couple years," Alistair muses as he causes chains to bind Dean's struggling body to the table and fastidiously removes his own clothes. As he leans down over him, he whispers, "Though, that would be a pity, as it does have a few uses."
For a moment Alistair actually worries that the boy isn't as broken as he should be, but another look into those hatred filled eyes shows him the truth.
Hatred, anger, frustration, bitterness--those can be signs of a broken soul as much as terror and pleas and emptiness.
Dean always has to be different.
End