Fanfic - SPN: Walking Nightmares - Ch. 5: Modified
Title: Walking Nightmares [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Five: Modified
[015.Concerned]
"You're telling me that I should give up?" It was unsettling to be arguing with Sam here. That wasn't how this place was supposed to work. It was like the peace had been tainted by that other Sam's presence. The magic veneer was peeling off.
"No. I'm telling you to give him what he wants." Sam slowed his words as he repeated himself like Dean had to translate it all into Deanese or something.
"He wants me to wave the fucking white flag, Sam!"
"So surrender!"
They both glared at each other, arms flung open in animated exasperation, but Dean couldn't stand holding onto tension in exactly the place where he was supposed to be able to rest. He dropped his arms, shaking his head with confusion. "I thought you wanted me to fight, to find a way to fix him - fix you."
"I do." Sam dropped his arms too, his voice sad but earnest. "But I think surrender is the only way to do that now."
Dean's gaze wandered away and then down, bitterness spreading over his tongue. "So ... what? I'm gonna fuck him all better?"
"Dean- ..."
"Tell me. I really wanna know." He knew his eyes were flashing fire when they caught his brother's again, but he was well-past done with illogical, impossible reasoning. "How the fuck does giving in fix anything?!"
Sam didn't flinch at Dean's outburst, his stance solidifying and his shoulders even better squared. "He has to trust you."
Instantly, Dean's anger deflated, a new kind of fear, founded in doubt, filling the hole in the center of his mind. "... I can't."
"Yes, you can. You already are."
"No. I mean, yeah, I'm trying, but I can't just let him- ... I don't feel like me when I don't fight and I can't fake it because he knows the difference."
"So don't fake it." Sam seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, but Dean had nothing yet to offer. "If you can't give it up the easy way, he'll teach you the hard way. You know that. You just have to be willing to learn. ... I think you know that too."
He shrugged, like the idea would fall off of him and fade away, even though it stuck, seeping in through his skin. "I could run."
"Could you? Even if it was possible? Could you leave me twisted up like that, lost? When you could've saved me and everyone in my path?"
Dean wanted to say 'yes', wanted to be some coulda-been-hero-cum-coward, but he couldn't and he wasn't.
"Maybe he knows the way out. Hell, maybe he is the way out. I mean, maybe escape isn't possible because he doesn't want it to be, but he could be persuaded. Or maybe- ... maybe he needs a way out too. Maybe that's why he needs you."
It was hard classifying Sam's obsessive ownership as being about 'need', but even at his most cynical, Dean could feel the way he blurred the lines between love and possession for Sam. So maybe, as counterintuitive as it seemed, even hard-won surrender could be a way to save Sam, a way to save them both.
"Maybe." Dean nodded. The truth was, though, that seeing his plight as a solution as much as a problem didn't inherently make it easier, no matter how 'good' the cause was.
* * *
Dean woke up alone, or not technically alone, but alone in wakefulness. It had been days, a week at least, since they'd started this stricter routine and Dean hadn't been awake before his brother on any morning since the first day. Even then, it had only been because his brother's restlessness had woken him. This morning, though, Dean woke to utter stillness and quiet.
He watched Sam breathing deeply for a long time, wondering how this could feel so real and so dreamlike at the same time. It occurred to him that he'd had very few occasions to watch Sam sleep here and none that he could recall when the sun was high enough so he could really see his brother. In sleep, Sam looked like the man that Dean remembered, the one who might open his eyes any second and thwap Dean with a pillow for staring at him like he was a zoo animal. Dean wanted to smile at that, but the laughter died in his throat before it could reach the rubber that was waxing an unnatural taste onto his tongue and out to wet his lips. These days he was the zoo animal: tied, contorted, and stuffed like a pig for the roast.
Yet, this was not where he was supposed to be and he knew it. He was supposed to awaken upright with his legs spread just waiting for the intimate discipline of a cock whipping. Why was Sam still asleep? Dean knew he hadn't earned any extra punishment the day before - a first, so far - so Sam couldn't have worn himself out issuing the basic daily flogging. It was only fifty strokes. Then again, Sam had been running on low for days, maybe even the whole time since the nightmares had returned. Maybe he was really just that exhausted. That very real possibility left Dean unsure about how to proceed, though. Would a good whore let his master sleep undisturbed or would he wake him to make sure he didn't miss any especially important meetings or activities, even if that included disciplining his slave?
He could feel his brow furrow as he lay there, restrained by uncertainty and fear just as much as rope. The slow realization of barely tingling numbness in his feet made the decision for him, however, and he nudged his way closer to his brother, an increasing awareness of potential physical harm making his announcing grunt particularly loud. "Nnnngghh!"
Sam's eyes snapped open, wary and dangerous at the same time, but then his eyebrows tilted inward and even though his gaze still held his brother's, Dean could tell that he was listening, like the hunter he once was, trying to determine what had caused Dean's distress. Apparently hearing nothing, he slowly pushed himself up by one arm, giving the room a quick once-over before peering back down at Dean with no small level of confusion. In blinks, though, he'd composed himself and looked away, lifting a hand to rake through his sleep-matted hair.
"Slept in." Even though his voice was rough and dry, Sam said it both like he'd meant to do this and like he knew neither of them really believed that. When he looked back at Dean, though, his expression was softer somehow, his lips hinting at curves in the corners. "You make a nice alarm clock, though." He smirked, eyes suddenly sparkling as he reached over to undo the gag, and before Dean's newly-freed mouth could say anything, Sam was laughing against his slick lips and tonguing his way in, urgent in a way that made Dean blink because it was infused with excitement, joy even, more than authority and need.
When Sam finally pulled away enough to let them both breathe separate air, Dean felt blown over, something nervous bubbling in his stomach as he tried to make sense of Sam's behavior without accessing his increasingly resistant stores of hope. "Are you- …" He stopped himself before being too forward, revealing too much. Whores were adaptive and service-oriented, not investigation-oriented. Whores were - he was - for pleasure. Dropping his gaze from his brother's, he worked to make his statement something more than self-serving. "I think the ropes may be … damaging your property … and maybe not the way you want … sir."
Sam's hand on his cheek, thumb tracing his lips, made Dean still, but he tried not to resent it, kind as it was for the moment. "Did you rub yourself raw, whore?"
Dean shook his head without dislodging Sam's hand. "I can't feel everything. Circulation's no good."
"Hmmm." Sam hummed a response, but his fingers were already shifting away, pressing themselves under taut lengths of rope and pulling at knots.
Before long, Dean was achy and tingling all over but no longer bound or numb, his brother's hands rubbing warmth into his cooler spots. It felt unexplainable for his body to relax with his owner's hands everywhere, with every moment dragging him closer to his daily duties, endurances, and disciplines. Still, he found himself breathing easier when Sam finished and slid back about an inch, enough to see more of him, Dean presumed.
"Better?"
Dean nodded absently, psyching himself up before opening his mouth to begin the day properly, his teeth half-gritted as he worked to shutdown thought and just whore. "Yes, sir. … Thank you, sir." He looked up at his brother and licked his lips, a move that always caught Sam's attention, whether it signaled arousal or anxiety. Then he stretched, hesitantly turning, and pressed his front into the mattress before lifting his ass and spreading his still-weak legs. "May I thank you properly, sir?" Eager was good, was right, for a whore, but he couldn't help wondering if good whores still got a little nauseous like this, still felt exposed and wanted to close themselves off in a corner instead of- … Shhh. Not helping.
The base of the plug in his ass was only tapped twice before Dean's angle started to slip and he repositioned, digging his knees in for the long haul. Sam, however, seemed content to tap, just there, just enough to make Dean's insides flutter and his breath begin to pant. His voice seemed equally rhythmic and unhurried. "You're right to beg for use, to show your gratitude, and I'm tempted, really I am … but do you think fun like that should take precedence over the discipline you still need today, whore?"
Swallowing, Dean shook his head into the pillow, mumbling. "No, sir."
"Has the discipline not helped your dick behave better? I could've sworn we'd- …" Sam's tone was almost playful, but Dean wasn't playing.
"It's helped! I- … I'm sorry. I should've asked for what I needed … sir." Instead of whoring it up, so easy, so quick, like getting fucked is some goddamned daily multivitamin. He felt dizzy and angry, but less at his brother and more- … Whore. Property. Owned. The discipline reminded him and he both hated and needed that right then. "Please, sir, will you … whip my dick?" He was edging on misery, wretched, but knew this was inevitable and he was trying, tongue bitten and body open, to heed the lessons being taught at the end of that whip.
"Good boy." Sam smacked his ass, then rolled onto his back. "Get everything out for me."
With thoughts skidding to a halt like race cars at a red light, Dean blinked into the pillow before turning a concerned eye on his brother. Sam's eyes were closed, though, and his fingers were wound together under his head like he could stay there all day, relaxed and patient. This was not their routine. Sam tied him first, got out his tools second, and beat him to screaming third. Period. It wasn't that Dean was looking forward to it - he wasn't - but it was- … He couldn't find a word that fit the strange taste in his mouth that was leftover from the way things usually went here. It wasn't 'right', but it was … understandable? Feeling alarmingly untethered, he almost wanted to say so, to beg for the familiar constraints of the regimen they had, but he couldn't bring himself to risk it. He just slowly climbed off the bed toward the toybox, lifting the top as Sam power-opened the lock, and then he rummaged inside until his arms were full of everything that he could remember Sam using on him over the past week or so.
Laying everything out on the desk, then setting up two chairs facing each other next to the bed, Dean was both relieved and made more anxious by the sight of Sam's nod of approval as he slid off of the bed. Sam motioned his brother into the proper seat and Dean steeled himself to be tied down, but Sam didn't. He just perched on the opposing chair and looked at Dean long enough to make Dean's worry spike.
"You're not up for discipline this morning, whore?"
"What? I- …" He looked around, cataloguing the items he'd laid out for Sam's use and going over the arrangement of the chairs in his recent memories. Maybe it would be easier for Sam if he put the toys on the bed, which he hadn't done because there'd been no room at the time, but now- … He stood and moved to gather up the toys, but he just ended up gasping instead, his full height going rigid as Sam's hand wrapped around his soft cock with a warning squeeze.
"Fix it. No cock ring, though. I know this is what you want."
Dean's dick apparently knew better than he did, struggling to prove itself beneath Sam's still fingers even though Dean's mind was torn between all the remembered pain and all the rewarded pleasure at the end. With neither was he prepared to have Sam shift, grasping his hand and pressing it against the budding erection, directing him to stroke himself to full hardness. Dean stole a wary glance at his brother, even more uncertain than he'd been when he was setting up for this session.
This, his dick, was Sam's property.
After being forced to be docile, to just take it, while Sam hurt and teased, cleaned and trained, this part of him, it felt- … He didn't let go, but he felt like he should, like touching himself like this wasn't his right and might not even be a privilege he'd earned. Sam had ordered him to do it, though, so that should have been enough to push the worries away. Should've been, but wasn't really. He fisted his cock just enough to get as hard as Sam wanted him to be, but he still felt off-kilter, his world seeming to tip precariously. It meant he fell heavily back into his chair when he was through, almost grateful that he'd be secured soon, his arms and legs winding themselves efficiently around the chair in preparation for being tied.
Sam didn't move.
Long moments ticked by, the intensity in Sam's eyes pressing against him and making his cock twitch, owned and wanton even for the stroke of Sam's crop. Finally, Dean couldn't take the mystery and silence any longer. "Umm- …" Slam. He was panting instantly, the weighted heat of Sam's powers molding onto and around him, fusing him to the chair as his cock strained in its heat-drawn cage. He could barely even shiver when Sam immediately reached for the flogger specially made for this kind of discipline: no warmup, no pretence, and no bit.
"Be good."
"Yes, sir." Dean nodded through his quickfire fear, knowing that 'good' meant being still and free of pleas. He watched the pullback of the first strike and cringed, but barely gasped when the hit fell, soft and stingy. The flick of the ball whip continued in that way, its strength and speed only rising until Dean had crossed the threshold from discomfort to actual pain. Then, Sam stopped, his features no less focused than they'd previously been, and he took Dean's cock in hand, leading him to a lazy climax. The ending felt perfunctory, though, making the discipline seem even more so and Dean struggled to contain and name his frustration and unease.
When Sam let his powers retract and fade, rising to put away the little mess he'd made, Dean felt … something that wasn't really gratitude, even though a part of him thought such an emotion would be the proper response. He couldn't deny his visceral reaction, though. He felt wrong and not like 'I'm no good' wrong. No, he felt … like what was happening wasn't right, like he should be disciplined more harshly, almost like something had been stolen from him, like he would be within his rights and within the bounds of reason to say something about it. Yet, even with the strength of his gut-based disappointment, a part of him knew to be even more disturbed by his own reaction than by Sam's actions alone.
He shouldn't be upset and confused by, even resistant to, comfort or independence. It shouldn't seem so utterly … weird and wrong. The urgent ignorance of his fears shouldn't have him scrambling to maintain a status quo as fucked up as their punishment scenario, but that didn't negate the acid churning in his stomach. It manifested just how much he felt off-balance and anxious, how much he just didn't like the uncertainty stirred up by this unexpected departure from Sam's twisted norm. So, he ate his pride and tried to face the risk. "Sir?"
"Hmm?" Sam turned back to face him.
Dean opened his mouth, but realized that he couldn't really ask any of the basic questions regarding what was going on or whether or not Sam was feeling okay, not if he wanted to stay on Sam's good side. It would be too much like being a hunter and not enough like being a whore. Still, he couldn't fight the urge to fix the unbalanced feeling that was stretched between them like sagging taffy. That was why he went back to the script he knew, deliberately pouring all his concern and questions into it like it was a profound piece of poetry more than the trained solicitation of a whore. "May I … service you in the shower, sir?" Will you let me go back to the routine, please?
Sam tipped his head for a moment, his eyes narrowing their focus like a flashlight-turned-laser-beam, and Dean almost wondered if he'd say something more than yes or no, something telling or somehow sharply hurtful. He didn't, though, just hummed thoughtfully and let his lips twitch into a sort of half-smile as he turned away, en route to the bathroom. "I guess. If you're good."
Dean was.
* * *
They'd been through a slightly altered version of their daily grind - the discipline, the sex machine, the showers, the oral, and the meals - and Dean had all but drown in confusion over the not-quite-rightness of Sam's actions and expectations. The sense that he kept missing something big, that he was staring the answer in the face but was somehow blinded by it, had exhausted him as much as the physical exertion of the day. He wasn't even sure if the new addition to the activities list - a fumbled but firmly requested massage - was a bit of calm before a storm, a herald of his punishment's end, or just an excuse to give him more work to do.
Night was a blanket all around them, now, and one bedside lamp stood out, the only spot of light that Sam had allowed him. They were mostly just lazing about, though, Dean's body nestled between Sam's legs, his back against Sam's chest as Sam leaned against the headboard, quietly stroking his arms and breathing softly into his hair. Despite the strangeness of the day, Dean felt mellower than he had in a long time. Yes, Sam frustrated, confused, and even frightened him throughout the day, but he was ever the owner, just one with an edge that was both softer and somehow more demanding than Dean had come to expect. It no longer seemed like something was wrong or worse, however, just … different, maybe even better.
Dean nodded softly to himself as he decided to try to end the day while it still had a positive note. "Should I get out the night rope and everything, sir?"
Sam didn't answer immediately, continuing to stroke Dean's skin. "Do you understand what you are now and what you're for?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Tell me."
It had been on his mind, so he didn't hesitate. "I'm your property. I'm your whore. Always and everywhere." That wasn't the complete answer, though. He knew better now. "… And I exist solely for your pleasure - not my own - like the Litany says."
Sam's approving nod brushed the back of Dean's head with the wind of his words. "Then I don't think we need that stuff tonight. I'm taking you off of punishment."
Dean sighed, slow and long like he hadn't breathed in a week. "Thank you, sir." His mind was already churning, trying to figure out how to make his thanks tangible.
"You're welcome, Dean."
His name. It was like getting a bouquet of flowers and a punch in the chest at the same time: strange, sweet, unexpected, and aching. How long had it been since the last time he'd heard it? Eight days? Nine? The way it sent both peace and pain through him made his insides quake and the question came unbidden: What would it be like to never hear his own name again, to just be 'whore' and 'boy' and 'slut' and 'slave' for the rest of his life, like all those others Sam mentioned? Even as this world and his brother's part in it chilled him, he couldn't keep himself from feeling grateful for even these small kindnesses. Sam was right about that part, at least. It made him wonder what else Sam might be right about.
In the quiet, Dean prodded, maybe more than he should, reverent but relishing in the return of his privileges. "Sam … are the nightmares gone now?" It felt like a question Sam would've posed to him late at night in some motel room decades earlier.
"For now, yeah, I think so."
Dean nodded, relieved in many ways but still worried in others. "Can I ask you a question without you getting mad at me?"
Sam's hand paused for a moment before starting again. "Maybe."
He went out on a limb. "How did you know I'd thought about escape?"
Sam chuckled, unanxious. "Other than knowing you?"
Dean took the brush-off for what it was. "But … why would it matter to you that I think about it?" Present tense. "I mean, you said it wasn't possible so … ?"
"That doesn't mean you won't try." Present tense again with some future on the side. A thrum of tension slid into Sam's body, but he kept petting Dean and it was hard not to hear the resignation in his voice.
"... Would you kill me?" Their heartbeats sounded loud in the silence as it fell and then stretched on and on without an end in sight. Dean let his eyes fall closed, the hush frightening despite the unspoken possibilities that might have lingered in its ambiguity. Still, he couldn't leave it at that, couldn't let it go. "You don't want to."
Sam held his words back for long moments again and when he finally spoke, his words were barely a whisper, like he was scared to speak them though his body betrayed no such fear. "Does it really matter to you?"
"Of course it does." Dean felt winded, his words breathless. There were so many things tangled up in that question, pieces that he couldn't parse out. He moved to twist around, to seek out his brother's eyes, but Sam's arm grabbed his, lightning-fast, as if Dean was bordering on violence instead of empathy.
"Eyes front."
Dean's body halted midstream, then he slowly resumed his previous position, wary now but still glad to know that Sam might care on some level, even if Sam seemed to be complicating things in his mind. Without a better sense of Sam's headspace, though, he didn't know what to say or even what to think to help them through this, to keep them both connected and sane. "I just want to know that you're still in there."
Sam broke the uneasy quiet with harsh and bitter laughter. "You just got off of punishment, Dean. Do you really want to keep talking?"
"Why does it bother you so much when I talk about him- … you?"
"If it bothers me, that's because it shows just how little you understand, how poorly your training is going, how much work we have to do. You keep mulling over me like I'm some puzzle that you're supposed to fix, but you're not. You have one job here, Dean, one."
Dean mumbled, automatic. "Pleasing you."
"Yes. Focus on that. Whenever you feel your mind wandering, thinking things it shouldn't, just remember what you're for." Dean tensed as Sam's hand closed tightly around his wrist, dragging it back behind him until his fingers met the rising hardness of his brother's cock. "If you're doing your job right, then you shouldn't really have time or energy to waste on anything that isn't pleasing to me, right, whore?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you doing your job right, now, whore?"
Dean closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, part sadness, part shame. "Probably not, sir."
"Then focus. This week should've taught you that much."
Nodding, he reined in the parts of himself that were less whore and more something else, presenting himself for use like he'd learned, his voice schooled to override his anxiety. "How can I please you, sir?"
Sam's voice was low and hot against his nape. "On your back."
Dean's head dropped as he shivered, but he knew what mattered here. He climbed over Sam's leg so that Sam could move over and down on the bed, and then he settled onto his back, head in the pillows and knees propped up wide like a good boy.
"Spread that hole for me, whore." Inhaling deep and shaky, Dean reached around his legs to hold his ass open, but Sam's eyebrows shifted with the low sling of his cock. "You want it fucked dry?"
He knew this wasn't about lube or there wouldn't be any discussion, just lube in his hand or dripping onto his brother's dick, but there were still multiple possibilities, including begging Sam to do something, if that was what Sam wanted. He decided to go for the simplest solution, however, prepared to escalate things further, if needed. Slowly, deliberately waiting for confirmation or alternative direction, Dean pulled his right hand up and pushed two fingers into his mouth, sucking them wet before reaching back down to fuck them into his hole until it seemed less likely to tear.
"Wetter."
The movement of Dean's fingers stuttered as he looked up at his brother, uncomprehending, but Sam just gripped his hard-working hand and dragged it back to Dean's mouth again, defining his command as he stuffed those first two fingers back in for re-wetting.
"I want it slick enough to swim in, whore, so repeat until it feels and sounds like you've already been used."
The tang on his tongue didn't stop Dean from doing as he was told, a good whore with some training and some discipline, a good whore who wouldn't have to wake up to the feel of a flogger beating his dick again unless he forgot himself, unless he was dumb. He shuddered and averted his eyes, but he sucked his fingers again and then fucked them back into his hole, wet and pumping, over and over until his ass was stretched and slippery, squeaking like the whore hole that it was. Looking up at his brother when he was through, though, had Dean shaking from the sick gleam in Sam's eyes, his body sweating and tense as it fought to contain everything Dean knew would be unleashed just for him.
"Pull me in and open your mouth."
Hesitant but obedient, Dean repositioned to get a grip on Sam's cock and guided it towards his entrance, both of their breaths labored as the tip began to push in. Then Dean let his hands drop to the bed as he tilted his head up, parting his lips for the man who was fucking his way into the hole he'd prepared. As the cock settled more and more deeply into Dean's passage, however, filling him with warmth and aching strength, Sam's lowered lips only barely brushed his and there was no real kiss. There was something else, though, the crush of open mouths and the feel of something heavy-wet hitting the back of Dean's throat as Dean arched up and Sam slammed the rest of the way in. Everything seemed to stop as Sam pulled away enough to grin, the shock in Dean's brain leaving his mouth O-shaped as he blinked, lashes twitching, at his twisted fuck of a brother … owner … master.
"Swallow."
The air seemed to throb in his chest, but he numbly closed his mouth and looked away, swallowing. When Sam's mouth crashed into his again as his cock began a slow pull-out, the frantic swipe of tongue and dent of teeth were like being devoured and Dean could do little more than to let himself be thoroughly plundered. The gradually rising speed and strength of Sam's thrusts didn't hurt for distraction either and he succumbed, his back bending as Sam maneuvered a leg over his shoulder and tried to fuck his way deep enough to find new territory.
"Filthy." Sam panted as he fucked what was his. "Fucking pretty whore and so damn filthy for me."
Dean shivered and bit his dirty lips, trying to breathe hard with his mouth closed.
"Open up, whore. Even if that top hole isn't in use by my dick right now, it's still for me … for my pleasure. You said you knew that."
Still looking away, Dean shakily forced his lips to open, head nodding enough to say that yeah, he knew that, he just- … His fists clenched as Sam's thumb found his bottom lip, turning him and tugging it down as his tongue flicked at the top lip before spitting into his mouth again. Then Sam pressed Dean's chin up in time for him to swallow, nearly choking, as he rammed cock into him harder, like inner pain was the point, the backs of Dean's thighs straining and aching as Sam's hips pushed them wider apart.
"This filthy whore body belongs to me, is for me."
"I- I know, sir." Dean didn't know if these acts, this fuck, was supposed to be proof, but he knew that truth even in a world this unreal, and when Sam spat in his mouth again, holding his jaw as he fucked him and held his burning gaze, Dean felt himself begin to shake like ice had overtaken him with the soul-deep sense of his slavery.
"You best not forget that, whore."
Something twisted wrong-right-yes-no inside him. "Won't … sir. Won't." So hard that he could beg, the ache of cock in his ass after days full of cock made him crazy for a counterpoint, low and in front, to get him where he wanted, needed, to go. He lost his brother's eyes, because he couldn't watch his reflection begging like this, slutting it up like this. "Fuck." His licked lips made the plea even more obscene. "Please touch me, sir … please."
Sam pulled his mouth open again and Dean anticipated it all, hips bearing down as he accepted his owner's taste in his mouth before getting the reward of his kisses. "What is this filthy mouth for?"
"You." He fucked himself up onto Sam's cock as their bodies crashed, his arms coming up to wrap around Sam's shoulders so he could growl in his ear. "For pleasing you, sir."
"Yeah." Sam groaned against Dean's cheek. "And this dirty hole that I'm fucking?"
"You- … Fuck, please." The sweat-wet friction of Sam's abs over Dean's cock was not and would not be enough. "For pleasing you. For you, for you."
"Then come for me, whore … come because you're filthy and used … because you're learning how to shut up and love it."
Dean keened as Sam finally took his cock in hand between them, stroking him just as hard and fast as they were fucking, and Dean could damn near feel his spine tighten as he writhed and bent and rode his way to a pleasure that seemed to grip his very muscles all the way to the bone. Sam's mouth found the crook of Dean's neck as he arched up and pressed down, Sam's teeth cutting tight lines of bruises into him as the scent of blood spilled into the air. Dean's body ripped its way over the edge, then, a shout tearing up from the base of his lungs, and every part of him quaked like a bomb went off in his core.
As his shaky breaths became the echoes of aftershocks, Dean's mind spun up, out, and around, until it dropped back to Earth like lead, his arms sticky-hot around his brother and his muscles shivering away their tension. Every scent, taste, and ache branded status memories under his skin like slivers now, as he met his brother's final thrusts, unable to steal back his former calm, even behind closed eyelids. He didn't want to go back to being 'on punishment', a path strewn with perpetual pain, but he couldn't see the way forward yet and he couldn't shut out the present if he wanted to survive it.
In the end, he knew that his exit remained shrouded and that every fight-based fix had proved in vain. So, for now, he just endured, surrendered, knowing that he wasn't even a half-bad whore anymore, his kisses messy and his thighs squeezed tight as he spurred his brother towards the release that a good owner deserved. Then, in the mounting grey of this, his must-be-temporary whoredom, Dean lost himself, deeply entered but alone, draped in all the quilted nightmares of slick sounds and grunts and darkness.
Chapters: 1.Lost - 2.Exposed - 3.Used - 4.Hurt - 5.Modified
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Five: Modified
[015.Concerned]
"You're telling me that I should give up?" It was unsettling to be arguing with Sam here. That wasn't how this place was supposed to work. It was like the peace had been tainted by that other Sam's presence. The magic veneer was peeling off.
"No. I'm telling you to give him what he wants." Sam slowed his words as he repeated himself like Dean had to translate it all into Deanese or something.
"He wants me to wave the fucking white flag, Sam!"
"So surrender!"
They both glared at each other, arms flung open in animated exasperation, but Dean couldn't stand holding onto tension in exactly the place where he was supposed to be able to rest. He dropped his arms, shaking his head with confusion. "I thought you wanted me to fight, to find a way to fix him - fix you."
"I do." Sam dropped his arms too, his voice sad but earnest. "But I think surrender is the only way to do that now."
Dean's gaze wandered away and then down, bitterness spreading over his tongue. "So ... what? I'm gonna fuck him all better?"
"Dean- ..."
"Tell me. I really wanna know." He knew his eyes were flashing fire when they caught his brother's again, but he was well-past done with illogical, impossible reasoning. "How the fuck does giving in fix anything?!"
Sam didn't flinch at Dean's outburst, his stance solidifying and his shoulders even better squared. "He has to trust you."
Instantly, Dean's anger deflated, a new kind of fear, founded in doubt, filling the hole in the center of his mind. "... I can't."
"Yes, you can. You already are."
"No. I mean, yeah, I'm trying, but I can't just let him- ... I don't feel like me when I don't fight and I can't fake it because he knows the difference."
"So don't fake it." Sam seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, but Dean had nothing yet to offer. "If you can't give it up the easy way, he'll teach you the hard way. You know that. You just have to be willing to learn. ... I think you know that too."
He shrugged, like the idea would fall off of him and fade away, even though it stuck, seeping in through his skin. "I could run."
"Could you? Even if it was possible? Could you leave me twisted up like that, lost? When you could've saved me and everyone in my path?"
Dean wanted to say 'yes', wanted to be some coulda-been-hero-cum-coward, but he couldn't and he wasn't.
"Maybe he knows the way out. Hell, maybe he is the way out. I mean, maybe escape isn't possible because he doesn't want it to be, but he could be persuaded. Or maybe- ... maybe he needs a way out too. Maybe that's why he needs you."
It was hard classifying Sam's obsessive ownership as being about 'need', but even at his most cynical, Dean could feel the way he blurred the lines between love and possession for Sam. So maybe, as counterintuitive as it seemed, even hard-won surrender could be a way to save Sam, a way to save them both.
"Maybe." Dean nodded. The truth was, though, that seeing his plight as a solution as much as a problem didn't inherently make it easier, no matter how 'good' the cause was.
* * *
Dean woke up alone, or not technically alone, but alone in wakefulness. It had been days, a week at least, since they'd started this stricter routine and Dean hadn't been awake before his brother on any morning since the first day. Even then, it had only been because his brother's restlessness had woken him. This morning, though, Dean woke to utter stillness and quiet.
He watched Sam breathing deeply for a long time, wondering how this could feel so real and so dreamlike at the same time. It occurred to him that he'd had very few occasions to watch Sam sleep here and none that he could recall when the sun was high enough so he could really see his brother. In sleep, Sam looked like the man that Dean remembered, the one who might open his eyes any second and thwap Dean with a pillow for staring at him like he was a zoo animal. Dean wanted to smile at that, but the laughter died in his throat before it could reach the rubber that was waxing an unnatural taste onto his tongue and out to wet his lips. These days he was the zoo animal: tied, contorted, and stuffed like a pig for the roast.
Yet, this was not where he was supposed to be and he knew it. He was supposed to awaken upright with his legs spread just waiting for the intimate discipline of a cock whipping. Why was Sam still asleep? Dean knew he hadn't earned any extra punishment the day before - a first, so far - so Sam couldn't have worn himself out issuing the basic daily flogging. It was only fifty strokes. Then again, Sam had been running on low for days, maybe even the whole time since the nightmares had returned. Maybe he was really just that exhausted. That very real possibility left Dean unsure about how to proceed, though. Would a good whore let his master sleep undisturbed or would he wake him to make sure he didn't miss any especially important meetings or activities, even if that included disciplining his slave?
He could feel his brow furrow as he lay there, restrained by uncertainty and fear just as much as rope. The slow realization of barely tingling numbness in his feet made the decision for him, however, and he nudged his way closer to his brother, an increasing awareness of potential physical harm making his announcing grunt particularly loud. "Nnnngghh!"
Sam's eyes snapped open, wary and dangerous at the same time, but then his eyebrows tilted inward and even though his gaze still held his brother's, Dean could tell that he was listening, like the hunter he once was, trying to determine what had caused Dean's distress. Apparently hearing nothing, he slowly pushed himself up by one arm, giving the room a quick once-over before peering back down at Dean with no small level of confusion. In blinks, though, he'd composed himself and looked away, lifting a hand to rake through his sleep-matted hair.
"Slept in." Even though his voice was rough and dry, Sam said it both like he'd meant to do this and like he knew neither of them really believed that. When he looked back at Dean, though, his expression was softer somehow, his lips hinting at curves in the corners. "You make a nice alarm clock, though." He smirked, eyes suddenly sparkling as he reached over to undo the gag, and before Dean's newly-freed mouth could say anything, Sam was laughing against his slick lips and tonguing his way in, urgent in a way that made Dean blink because it was infused with excitement, joy even, more than authority and need.
When Sam finally pulled away enough to let them both breathe separate air, Dean felt blown over, something nervous bubbling in his stomach as he tried to make sense of Sam's behavior without accessing his increasingly resistant stores of hope. "Are you- …" He stopped himself before being too forward, revealing too much. Whores were adaptive and service-oriented, not investigation-oriented. Whores were - he was - for pleasure. Dropping his gaze from his brother's, he worked to make his statement something more than self-serving. "I think the ropes may be … damaging your property … and maybe not the way you want … sir."
Sam's hand on his cheek, thumb tracing his lips, made Dean still, but he tried not to resent it, kind as it was for the moment. "Did you rub yourself raw, whore?"
Dean shook his head without dislodging Sam's hand. "I can't feel everything. Circulation's no good."
"Hmmm." Sam hummed a response, but his fingers were already shifting away, pressing themselves under taut lengths of rope and pulling at knots.
Before long, Dean was achy and tingling all over but no longer bound or numb, his brother's hands rubbing warmth into his cooler spots. It felt unexplainable for his body to relax with his owner's hands everywhere, with every moment dragging him closer to his daily duties, endurances, and disciplines. Still, he found himself breathing easier when Sam finished and slid back about an inch, enough to see more of him, Dean presumed.
"Better?"
Dean nodded absently, psyching himself up before opening his mouth to begin the day properly, his teeth half-gritted as he worked to shutdown thought and just whore. "Yes, sir. … Thank you, sir." He looked up at his brother and licked his lips, a move that always caught Sam's attention, whether it signaled arousal or anxiety. Then he stretched, hesitantly turning, and pressed his front into the mattress before lifting his ass and spreading his still-weak legs. "May I thank you properly, sir?" Eager was good, was right, for a whore, but he couldn't help wondering if good whores still got a little nauseous like this, still felt exposed and wanted to close themselves off in a corner instead of- … Shhh. Not helping.
The base of the plug in his ass was only tapped twice before Dean's angle started to slip and he repositioned, digging his knees in for the long haul. Sam, however, seemed content to tap, just there, just enough to make Dean's insides flutter and his breath begin to pant. His voice seemed equally rhythmic and unhurried. "You're right to beg for use, to show your gratitude, and I'm tempted, really I am … but do you think fun like that should take precedence over the discipline you still need today, whore?"
Swallowing, Dean shook his head into the pillow, mumbling. "No, sir."
"Has the discipline not helped your dick behave better? I could've sworn we'd- …" Sam's tone was almost playful, but Dean wasn't playing.
"It's helped! I- … I'm sorry. I should've asked for what I needed … sir." Instead of whoring it up, so easy, so quick, like getting fucked is some goddamned daily multivitamin. He felt dizzy and angry, but less at his brother and more- … Whore. Property. Owned. The discipline reminded him and he both hated and needed that right then. "Please, sir, will you … whip my dick?" He was edging on misery, wretched, but knew this was inevitable and he was trying, tongue bitten and body open, to heed the lessons being taught at the end of that whip.
"Good boy." Sam smacked his ass, then rolled onto his back. "Get everything out for me."
With thoughts skidding to a halt like race cars at a red light, Dean blinked into the pillow before turning a concerned eye on his brother. Sam's eyes were closed, though, and his fingers were wound together under his head like he could stay there all day, relaxed and patient. This was not their routine. Sam tied him first, got out his tools second, and beat him to screaming third. Period. It wasn't that Dean was looking forward to it - he wasn't - but it was- … He couldn't find a word that fit the strange taste in his mouth that was leftover from the way things usually went here. It wasn't 'right', but it was … understandable? Feeling alarmingly untethered, he almost wanted to say so, to beg for the familiar constraints of the regimen they had, but he couldn't bring himself to risk it. He just slowly climbed off the bed toward the toybox, lifting the top as Sam power-opened the lock, and then he rummaged inside until his arms were full of everything that he could remember Sam using on him over the past week or so.
Laying everything out on the desk, then setting up two chairs facing each other next to the bed, Dean was both relieved and made more anxious by the sight of Sam's nod of approval as he slid off of the bed. Sam motioned his brother into the proper seat and Dean steeled himself to be tied down, but Sam didn't. He just perched on the opposing chair and looked at Dean long enough to make Dean's worry spike.
"You're not up for discipline this morning, whore?"
"What? I- …" He looked around, cataloguing the items he'd laid out for Sam's use and going over the arrangement of the chairs in his recent memories. Maybe it would be easier for Sam if he put the toys on the bed, which he hadn't done because there'd been no room at the time, but now- … He stood and moved to gather up the toys, but he just ended up gasping instead, his full height going rigid as Sam's hand wrapped around his soft cock with a warning squeeze.
"Fix it. No cock ring, though. I know this is what you want."
Dean's dick apparently knew better than he did, struggling to prove itself beneath Sam's still fingers even though Dean's mind was torn between all the remembered pain and all the rewarded pleasure at the end. With neither was he prepared to have Sam shift, grasping his hand and pressing it against the budding erection, directing him to stroke himself to full hardness. Dean stole a wary glance at his brother, even more uncertain than he'd been when he was setting up for this session.
This, his dick, was Sam's property.
After being forced to be docile, to just take it, while Sam hurt and teased, cleaned and trained, this part of him, it felt- … He didn't let go, but he felt like he should, like touching himself like this wasn't his right and might not even be a privilege he'd earned. Sam had ordered him to do it, though, so that should have been enough to push the worries away. Should've been, but wasn't really. He fisted his cock just enough to get as hard as Sam wanted him to be, but he still felt off-kilter, his world seeming to tip precariously. It meant he fell heavily back into his chair when he was through, almost grateful that he'd be secured soon, his arms and legs winding themselves efficiently around the chair in preparation for being tied.
Sam didn't move.
Long moments ticked by, the intensity in Sam's eyes pressing against him and making his cock twitch, owned and wanton even for the stroke of Sam's crop. Finally, Dean couldn't take the mystery and silence any longer. "Umm- …" Slam. He was panting instantly, the weighted heat of Sam's powers molding onto and around him, fusing him to the chair as his cock strained in its heat-drawn cage. He could barely even shiver when Sam immediately reached for the flogger specially made for this kind of discipline: no warmup, no pretence, and no bit.
"Be good."
"Yes, sir." Dean nodded through his quickfire fear, knowing that 'good' meant being still and free of pleas. He watched the pullback of the first strike and cringed, but barely gasped when the hit fell, soft and stingy. The flick of the ball whip continued in that way, its strength and speed only rising until Dean had crossed the threshold from discomfort to actual pain. Then, Sam stopped, his features no less focused than they'd previously been, and he took Dean's cock in hand, leading him to a lazy climax. The ending felt perfunctory, though, making the discipline seem even more so and Dean struggled to contain and name his frustration and unease.
When Sam let his powers retract and fade, rising to put away the little mess he'd made, Dean felt … something that wasn't really gratitude, even though a part of him thought such an emotion would be the proper response. He couldn't deny his visceral reaction, though. He felt wrong and not like 'I'm no good' wrong. No, he felt … like what was happening wasn't right, like he should be disciplined more harshly, almost like something had been stolen from him, like he would be within his rights and within the bounds of reason to say something about it. Yet, even with the strength of his gut-based disappointment, a part of him knew to be even more disturbed by his own reaction than by Sam's actions alone.
He shouldn't be upset and confused by, even resistant to, comfort or independence. It shouldn't seem so utterly … weird and wrong. The urgent ignorance of his fears shouldn't have him scrambling to maintain a status quo as fucked up as their punishment scenario, but that didn't negate the acid churning in his stomach. It manifested just how much he felt off-balance and anxious, how much he just didn't like the uncertainty stirred up by this unexpected departure from Sam's twisted norm. So, he ate his pride and tried to face the risk. "Sir?"
"Hmm?" Sam turned back to face him.
Dean opened his mouth, but realized that he couldn't really ask any of the basic questions regarding what was going on or whether or not Sam was feeling okay, not if he wanted to stay on Sam's good side. It would be too much like being a hunter and not enough like being a whore. Still, he couldn't fight the urge to fix the unbalanced feeling that was stretched between them like sagging taffy. That was why he went back to the script he knew, deliberately pouring all his concern and questions into it like it was a profound piece of poetry more than the trained solicitation of a whore. "May I … service you in the shower, sir?" Will you let me go back to the routine, please?
Sam tipped his head for a moment, his eyes narrowing their focus like a flashlight-turned-laser-beam, and Dean almost wondered if he'd say something more than yes or no, something telling or somehow sharply hurtful. He didn't, though, just hummed thoughtfully and let his lips twitch into a sort of half-smile as he turned away, en route to the bathroom. "I guess. If you're good."
Dean was.
* * *
They'd been through a slightly altered version of their daily grind - the discipline, the sex machine, the showers, the oral, and the meals - and Dean had all but drown in confusion over the not-quite-rightness of Sam's actions and expectations. The sense that he kept missing something big, that he was staring the answer in the face but was somehow blinded by it, had exhausted him as much as the physical exertion of the day. He wasn't even sure if the new addition to the activities list - a fumbled but firmly requested massage - was a bit of calm before a storm, a herald of his punishment's end, or just an excuse to give him more work to do.
Night was a blanket all around them, now, and one bedside lamp stood out, the only spot of light that Sam had allowed him. They were mostly just lazing about, though, Dean's body nestled between Sam's legs, his back against Sam's chest as Sam leaned against the headboard, quietly stroking his arms and breathing softly into his hair. Despite the strangeness of the day, Dean felt mellower than he had in a long time. Yes, Sam frustrated, confused, and even frightened him throughout the day, but he was ever the owner, just one with an edge that was both softer and somehow more demanding than Dean had come to expect. It no longer seemed like something was wrong or worse, however, just … different, maybe even better.
Dean nodded softly to himself as he decided to try to end the day while it still had a positive note. "Should I get out the night rope and everything, sir?"
Sam didn't answer immediately, continuing to stroke Dean's skin. "Do you understand what you are now and what you're for?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Tell me."
It had been on his mind, so he didn't hesitate. "I'm your property. I'm your whore. Always and everywhere." That wasn't the complete answer, though. He knew better now. "… And I exist solely for your pleasure - not my own - like the Litany says."
Sam's approving nod brushed the back of Dean's head with the wind of his words. "Then I don't think we need that stuff tonight. I'm taking you off of punishment."
Dean sighed, slow and long like he hadn't breathed in a week. "Thank you, sir." His mind was already churning, trying to figure out how to make his thanks tangible.
"You're welcome, Dean."
His name. It was like getting a bouquet of flowers and a punch in the chest at the same time: strange, sweet, unexpected, and aching. How long had it been since the last time he'd heard it? Eight days? Nine? The way it sent both peace and pain through him made his insides quake and the question came unbidden: What would it be like to never hear his own name again, to just be 'whore' and 'boy' and 'slut' and 'slave' for the rest of his life, like all those others Sam mentioned? Even as this world and his brother's part in it chilled him, he couldn't keep himself from feeling grateful for even these small kindnesses. Sam was right about that part, at least. It made him wonder what else Sam might be right about.
In the quiet, Dean prodded, maybe more than he should, reverent but relishing in the return of his privileges. "Sam … are the nightmares gone now?" It felt like a question Sam would've posed to him late at night in some motel room decades earlier.
"For now, yeah, I think so."
Dean nodded, relieved in many ways but still worried in others. "Can I ask you a question without you getting mad at me?"
Sam's hand paused for a moment before starting again. "Maybe."
He went out on a limb. "How did you know I'd thought about escape?"
Sam chuckled, unanxious. "Other than knowing you?"
Dean took the brush-off for what it was. "But … why would it matter to you that I think about it?" Present tense. "I mean, you said it wasn't possible so … ?"
"That doesn't mean you won't try." Present tense again with some future on the side. A thrum of tension slid into Sam's body, but he kept petting Dean and it was hard not to hear the resignation in his voice.
"... Would you kill me?" Their heartbeats sounded loud in the silence as it fell and then stretched on and on without an end in sight. Dean let his eyes fall closed, the hush frightening despite the unspoken possibilities that might have lingered in its ambiguity. Still, he couldn't leave it at that, couldn't let it go. "You don't want to."
Sam held his words back for long moments again and when he finally spoke, his words were barely a whisper, like he was scared to speak them though his body betrayed no such fear. "Does it really matter to you?"
"Of course it does." Dean felt winded, his words breathless. There were so many things tangled up in that question, pieces that he couldn't parse out. He moved to twist around, to seek out his brother's eyes, but Sam's arm grabbed his, lightning-fast, as if Dean was bordering on violence instead of empathy.
"Eyes front."
Dean's body halted midstream, then he slowly resumed his previous position, wary now but still glad to know that Sam might care on some level, even if Sam seemed to be complicating things in his mind. Without a better sense of Sam's headspace, though, he didn't know what to say or even what to think to help them through this, to keep them both connected and sane. "I just want to know that you're still in there."
Sam broke the uneasy quiet with harsh and bitter laughter. "You just got off of punishment, Dean. Do you really want to keep talking?"
"Why does it bother you so much when I talk about him- … you?"
"If it bothers me, that's because it shows just how little you understand, how poorly your training is going, how much work we have to do. You keep mulling over me like I'm some puzzle that you're supposed to fix, but you're not. You have one job here, Dean, one."
Dean mumbled, automatic. "Pleasing you."
"Yes. Focus on that. Whenever you feel your mind wandering, thinking things it shouldn't, just remember what you're for." Dean tensed as Sam's hand closed tightly around his wrist, dragging it back behind him until his fingers met the rising hardness of his brother's cock. "If you're doing your job right, then you shouldn't really have time or energy to waste on anything that isn't pleasing to me, right, whore?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you doing your job right, now, whore?"
Dean closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, part sadness, part shame. "Probably not, sir."
"Then focus. This week should've taught you that much."
Nodding, he reined in the parts of himself that were less whore and more something else, presenting himself for use like he'd learned, his voice schooled to override his anxiety. "How can I please you, sir?"
Sam's voice was low and hot against his nape. "On your back."
Dean's head dropped as he shivered, but he knew what mattered here. He climbed over Sam's leg so that Sam could move over and down on the bed, and then he settled onto his back, head in the pillows and knees propped up wide like a good boy.
"Spread that hole for me, whore." Inhaling deep and shaky, Dean reached around his legs to hold his ass open, but Sam's eyebrows shifted with the low sling of his cock. "You want it fucked dry?"
He knew this wasn't about lube or there wouldn't be any discussion, just lube in his hand or dripping onto his brother's dick, but there were still multiple possibilities, including begging Sam to do something, if that was what Sam wanted. He decided to go for the simplest solution, however, prepared to escalate things further, if needed. Slowly, deliberately waiting for confirmation or alternative direction, Dean pulled his right hand up and pushed two fingers into his mouth, sucking them wet before reaching back down to fuck them into his hole until it seemed less likely to tear.
"Wetter."
The movement of Dean's fingers stuttered as he looked up at his brother, uncomprehending, but Sam just gripped his hard-working hand and dragged it back to Dean's mouth again, defining his command as he stuffed those first two fingers back in for re-wetting.
"I want it slick enough to swim in, whore, so repeat until it feels and sounds like you've already been used."
The tang on his tongue didn't stop Dean from doing as he was told, a good whore with some training and some discipline, a good whore who wouldn't have to wake up to the feel of a flogger beating his dick again unless he forgot himself, unless he was dumb. He shuddered and averted his eyes, but he sucked his fingers again and then fucked them back into his hole, wet and pumping, over and over until his ass was stretched and slippery, squeaking like the whore hole that it was. Looking up at his brother when he was through, though, had Dean shaking from the sick gleam in Sam's eyes, his body sweating and tense as it fought to contain everything Dean knew would be unleashed just for him.
"Pull me in and open your mouth."
Hesitant but obedient, Dean repositioned to get a grip on Sam's cock and guided it towards his entrance, both of their breaths labored as the tip began to push in. Then Dean let his hands drop to the bed as he tilted his head up, parting his lips for the man who was fucking his way into the hole he'd prepared. As the cock settled more and more deeply into Dean's passage, however, filling him with warmth and aching strength, Sam's lowered lips only barely brushed his and there was no real kiss. There was something else, though, the crush of open mouths and the feel of something heavy-wet hitting the back of Dean's throat as Dean arched up and Sam slammed the rest of the way in. Everything seemed to stop as Sam pulled away enough to grin, the shock in Dean's brain leaving his mouth O-shaped as he blinked, lashes twitching, at his twisted fuck of a brother … owner … master.
"Swallow."
The air seemed to throb in his chest, but he numbly closed his mouth and looked away, swallowing. When Sam's mouth crashed into his again as his cock began a slow pull-out, the frantic swipe of tongue and dent of teeth were like being devoured and Dean could do little more than to let himself be thoroughly plundered. The gradually rising speed and strength of Sam's thrusts didn't hurt for distraction either and he succumbed, his back bending as Sam maneuvered a leg over his shoulder and tried to fuck his way deep enough to find new territory.
"Filthy." Sam panted as he fucked what was his. "Fucking pretty whore and so damn filthy for me."
Dean shivered and bit his dirty lips, trying to breathe hard with his mouth closed.
"Open up, whore. Even if that top hole isn't in use by my dick right now, it's still for me … for my pleasure. You said you knew that."
Still looking away, Dean shakily forced his lips to open, head nodding enough to say that yeah, he knew that, he just- … His fists clenched as Sam's thumb found his bottom lip, turning him and tugging it down as his tongue flicked at the top lip before spitting into his mouth again. Then Sam pressed Dean's chin up in time for him to swallow, nearly choking, as he rammed cock into him harder, like inner pain was the point, the backs of Dean's thighs straining and aching as Sam's hips pushed them wider apart.
"This filthy whore body belongs to me, is for me."
"I- I know, sir." Dean didn't know if these acts, this fuck, was supposed to be proof, but he knew that truth even in a world this unreal, and when Sam spat in his mouth again, holding his jaw as he fucked him and held his burning gaze, Dean felt himself begin to shake like ice had overtaken him with the soul-deep sense of his slavery.
"You best not forget that, whore."
Something twisted wrong-right-yes-no inside him. "Won't … sir. Won't." So hard that he could beg, the ache of cock in his ass after days full of cock made him crazy for a counterpoint, low and in front, to get him where he wanted, needed, to go. He lost his brother's eyes, because he couldn't watch his reflection begging like this, slutting it up like this. "Fuck." His licked lips made the plea even more obscene. "Please touch me, sir … please."
Sam pulled his mouth open again and Dean anticipated it all, hips bearing down as he accepted his owner's taste in his mouth before getting the reward of his kisses. "What is this filthy mouth for?"
"You." He fucked himself up onto Sam's cock as their bodies crashed, his arms coming up to wrap around Sam's shoulders so he could growl in his ear. "For pleasing you, sir."
"Yeah." Sam groaned against Dean's cheek. "And this dirty hole that I'm fucking?"
"You- … Fuck, please." The sweat-wet friction of Sam's abs over Dean's cock was not and would not be enough. "For pleasing you. For you, for you."
"Then come for me, whore … come because you're filthy and used … because you're learning how to shut up and love it."
Dean keened as Sam finally took his cock in hand between them, stroking him just as hard and fast as they were fucking, and Dean could damn near feel his spine tighten as he writhed and bent and rode his way to a pleasure that seemed to grip his very muscles all the way to the bone. Sam's mouth found the crook of Dean's neck as he arched up and pressed down, Sam's teeth cutting tight lines of bruises into him as the scent of blood spilled into the air. Dean's body ripped its way over the edge, then, a shout tearing up from the base of his lungs, and every part of him quaked like a bomb went off in his core.
As his shaky breaths became the echoes of aftershocks, Dean's mind spun up, out, and around, until it dropped back to Earth like lead, his arms sticky-hot around his brother and his muscles shivering away their tension. Every scent, taste, and ache branded status memories under his skin like slivers now, as he met his brother's final thrusts, unable to steal back his former calm, even behind closed eyelids. He didn't want to go back to being 'on punishment', a path strewn with perpetual pain, but he couldn't see the way forward yet and he couldn't shut out the present if he wanted to survive it.
In the end, he knew that his exit remained shrouded and that every fight-based fix had proved in vain. So, for now, he just endured, surrendered, knowing that he wasn't even a half-bad whore anymore, his kisses messy and his thighs squeezed tight as he spurred his brother towards the release that a good owner deserved. Then, in the mounting grey of this, his must-be-temporary whoredom, Dean lost himself, deeply entered but alone, draped in all the quilted nightmares of slick sounds and grunts and darkness.
Chapters: 1.Lost - 2.Exposed - 3.Used - 4.Hurt - 5.Modified