Big Bang 2012: The Iron Tongue of Midnight
Part Fourteen
May 1st 2002
Dean stumbled forward as soon as his feet touched solid ground again, and he would’ve fallen for sure if two small but strong Faerie guards hadn’t had a firm grip on his upper arms. His stomach rebelled then, and tried to force its contents up his throat, and Dean moaned and sagged against the hold of the guards. He wondered idly whether throwing up or passing out would be more embarrassing, because they both seemed a possibility at this point.
One of the guards clucked his tongue in irritation and muttered something in that musical language that the Faeries all spoke. Dean immediately felt better. He straightened up and smirked at the guard.
“You do hangovers too buddy? Cuz if you do, I’m definitely takin’ you home with me.”
The guard looked flustered and then terrified and he dropped his hold on Dean’s arm and stepped back, as did his counterpart on Dean’s other side.
Dean glanced forward just in time to see Gwyn Ap Nudd materialize on his throne, and the Faeries around Dean all sunk to their knees. Dean lifted his chin, narrowed his eyes and kept them trained on the Faerie king as he descended from the dais and strutted toward Dean. He stopped right in front of him and then floated upwards until his face was level with Dean’s.
“Golau-llachar,” he whispered. “Beautiful.” He reached out a hand and Dean smacked it away before the Faerie king could touch him.
“I agreed to the ritual,” he growled, “not to be your fuck-buddy for the day. You try to touch me outside of the ritual again and I’ll rip your goddamn lungs out.”
Gwyn Ap Nudd’s thin lips twisted in a parody of a smile. He said something in the Faerie tongue and flicked his wrist and suddenly a crushing weight pinned Dean to the air and he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk; could barely breathe. Gwyn flicked his wrist again and agony tore at Dean’s back. He felt it split open as though he’d been struck by a whip and if the Faerie king’s magick hadn’t been holding him still he would’ve collapsed for sure. He breathed through the pain, nostrils flaring, and then his back exploded in agony again and he cried out, or at least he tried to, but the magick held him completely paralyzed and he couldn’t make a sound. Wave after wave of fiery pain rippled across Dean’s back and he screamed and screamed inside his own head. He was grateful now that Gwyn Ap Nudd was holding him silent; at least this way he was spared the humiliation of having the Faeries hear him begging for mercy. And he would have been begging at this point, if he could talk.
As suddenly as it had begun the torment ended. One moment Dean’s face was contorted in agony, his cheeks streaming with tears, the next the pain had stopped, as though a tap had been turned.
“In this realm,” Gwyn said silkily, “I am king. My word is law. You do not command me. You certainly do not threaten me. And there are consequences for disobedience.” He waved his hand again and Dean’s body was under his own control once more. “Do you understand?” the king demanded.
Dean nodded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he tried to control their trembling.
“Good,” said the king. “Now let’s try that again.”
He reached out a hand and Dean stared at the back wall and tried to ignore the long, probing fingers that wiped his face clean of tears. Gwyn Ap Nudd licked Dean’s tears from his fingertips and then leaned forwards and kissed his lips. Dean refused to react and after a moment the Faerie king pulled away with a chuckle.
“Until later then.” He snapped his fingers and four Faerie women appeared, dressed in long white gowns, their hair pinned with flowers.
“Prepare him for the ritual,” the king instructed before disappearing.
One of the Faerie women reached out and took ahold of Dean’s hand.
“Wait, what-” the air rushed and popped around him, his stomach dropped again and his bones turned to ice as the very essence of his being was torn into a trillion pieces and reassembled somewhere else.
“Goddamn it!” he groaned, collapsing to his knees on the smooth marble floor of a new room. “Why can’t you people just walk? Man, I’m gonna hurl.”
His Faerie escort did the same magick trick as the guard had earlier and Dean felt better again. He sat back, with his hands resting on his thighs and looked around. He was in a small white room which was dominated by a huge sunken spa and decorated with vases of spring flowers; roses mostly, in red, pink, yellow and white, interspersed with vases of lavender. There was a wicker basket of mixed fruit on the side of the spa and a bowl of ripe, red strawberries. Scented pillar candles lined the walls and much of the floor and there were several incense burners around the spa.
“Wow,” he said. “This is very…girly.” He looked up at his escort. “You do know I’m not a chick, right?”
The Faerie’s eyes raked over him.
“I am aware,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up appreciatively. Dean’s self-esteem lifted a little and he returned her smile tentatively. It was weird, though, that he found this Faerie’s interest in him flattering, whereas Gwyn Ap Nudd’s interest merely disgusted him. Maybe not so weird, he mused, as he watched all four of the Faeries flit about lighting the incense, given that this Faerie was just gently flirting, not threatening to fuck him.
“Golau-llachar,” the Faerie who’d been doing all the talking said with a little bow. “You will please remove your clothes and get into the spa.”
And just like that, Dean was brought back to reality. He swallowed. “Dean,” he said softly. “My name’s Dean.”
The Faerie inclined her head. “Dean,” she said, and gestured at the spa.
He nodded and shrugged off his shirt.
“Who are you?”
“I am a priestess.”
Dean met her eyes and looked appraisingly at her, his expression honest, open and quizzical. “A priestess, huh? And you approve of this, what your king is doing?”
The Faerie lowered her gaze. “You need to undress,” she said.
Dean shook his head in disappointment and sighed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“My name doesn’t matter. Please you need to-”
Dean peeled off his tee-shirt.
“Okay. But what should I call you?”
The Faerie looked thoughtful. “You may call me Peaseblossom.”
Dean stood up and toed off his boots and then peeled off his socks.
“What about them?” he nodded at the other Faeries who were standing silently beside the spa. “They don’t talk much, do they?”
“My sisters do not speak your language.”
Dean undid his belt and slid it through the loops in his jeans.
“What should I call your sisters?”
Peaseblossom grinned. “Cobweb, Moth and Mustardseed. What else?”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, okay. Not getting that reference. Guess I don’t really watch a lot of TV that has Faeries in it.”
Peaseblossom laughed and watched with interest as Dean took off his jeans.
Standing in nothing but his briefs, Dean took a very deep breath and became aware of just how thick the air was with sweet, cloying incense. His lungs constricted and he felt suddenly lightheaded, as if he were floating.
“Don’t fight it,” Peaseblossom said. “It’s just a little something to help you relax.”
“Sonovabitch,” Dean gasped, “It’s not enough that he’s forcing me to do this by threatening my dad, now he’s slipping me a date rape drug? You can’t agree with this, Peaseblossom. As a priestess, you can’t agree that this is right; that the Goddess would want this.”
Something that could have been remorse rippled across Peaseblossom’s face and then she moved in close and gripped Dean’s arms with her long, slender hands. “Breathe, Dean,” she urged. “Let the incense do its work; let it relax you, let it remove your inhibitions, let it make you feel good. None of this has to be unpleasant, Dean.”
Her voice was fading in and out and Dean staggered against her as his vision became hazy.
“Just breathe,” she murmured, slipping her hands into the waistband of his briefs and gently lowering them. She dropped to her knees and lifted his feet, one by one; peeling off the briefs and discarding them before shimmying up his body, rubbing against him. When she touched his cock, Dean gasped, unaware until that moment that he was rock hard.
“That’s it,” Peaseblossom murmured. She pushed at the shoulder straps on her gown and let the garment fall to the floor, her wings flaring up behind her. The gown pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it, naked, and took his hands, leading him toward the spa. “Come and bathe with me.”
Dean was vaguely aware that the other Faeries were now naked too, their beautiful dark wings streaming out behind them. Another of them…Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed-he couldn’t tell, so he decided that it was Moth because that was the easiest to say-joined him and Peaseblossom as they lowered themselves into the spa. The other two began to walk around the spa, chanting in their lilting, musical voices and throwing handfuls of petals into the air. Dean was reminded of the movie Coming to America and the way Eddie Murphy’s character was bathed every morning by attendants. He giggled.
“You gonna blow me?” he asked Peaseblossom. “Eddie got a blowjob in the bath.”
Peaseblossom and Moth looked at each other and then Moth disappeared beneath the water. A moment later he felt her warm mouth close around his shaft and he groaned. Peaseblossom was sitting behind him with her legs wrapped around his hips, washing his hair with some sort of soap that smelled amazing. A little girly maybe, given that it smelled of all sorts of spring flowers and…was that vanilla? Anyway, it smelled good, and the mouth on his dick felt good…a little gentle maybe; not exactly how he liked it, but not bad at all. Dean leaned back against Peaseblossom and felt her breasts squish against his back. That was nice. Nice…but not quite right. Where was the hard muscle? Where was the strength? The possessive grip? Dean had no doubt that these Faerie chicks could pick him up, throw him across the floor and lay him out cold if they wanted to, but they were touching him so delicately.
“Not a girl,” he muttered.
“I know you’re not,” Peaseblossom murmured in his ear, as her hands began to pluck at his nipples. Dean arched back against her, and really, this felt very good. He felt so sensual, so…so…Dean’s mind began to slide away and he struggled to hold onto it. There were things he had to remember; important things. Oh God…he felt amazing; like he was flying in a cocoon of pleasure. His skin felt super-charged and oh so sensitive. He began to rub himself against Peaseblossom, writhing and moaning like a cat in heat. Dean reveled in the feel of skin on skin and as his pleasure built his mind short-circuited completely, his awareness floating away on a tide of bliss, his only thoughts more, please, touch me; until slowly, gradually, he became aware that he was no longer in water, but lying face down on a towel, being massaged with sweet-scented oil.
‘S’goin’ on?” he slurred.
“Shhh,” Peaseblossom said, “We are anointing you in preparation for the Great Rite.”
“Oh.” Dean frowned. There was something he needed to remember; something important.
Sam!
Sam was important. He loved Sam. Sam was…everything.
Peaseblossom’s fingers skated in between the cheeks of his ass and Dean tensed.
“Relax,” the Faerie soothed.
Dean settled because, really, it felt quite nice, the way she was stroking him, touching him intimately. Her fingers were too small though; not long enough, not wide enough and her voice was all wrong; too high, too soft. It wasn’t the same as that deep, low voice that went straight to his dick every time. He missed that. Why did he miss it? If it felt so right he should definitely have that voice with him, right now. He would go and look for it…only moving felt like it would be far too much of an effort; especially when he was so warm and comfortable, and nimble fingers were doing such enjoyable things to his ass. Dean sighed contentedly and then frowned. There was something he was supposed to remember. It was important.
Peaseblossom pulled her fingers out of his ass and Dean whimpered at the loss.
“Sshh,” she soothed, hooking a hand under his arm and helping him to sit up. “You’re doing so well, Dean. It’s nearly time.”
“Time for what?”
“The Great Rite.”
“What’s that?”
Peaseblossom smiled at him. “You have been specially prepared to be receptive to the Goddess. When she is summoned you will channel her and join in Hieros Gamos with the king.”
Dean frowned. “The king. Is his name Sam? Sam’s important.”
Peaseblossom shook her head. “His name is Gwyn Ap Nudd.”
Dean’s frown deepened. He knew that name and for some reason it made him feel…uneasy.
“Come, Dean,” Peaseblossom said, and Dean suddenly realized that she was dressed in her white robe once more.
“Where are my clothes?” he asked.
Peaseblossom shook her head.
“You will be skyclad for the ritual.”
“I’ll be what?” Dean glanced at the Faeries, all of whom were once again robed. Two of them were standing behind him holding censors, and Peaseblossom and another Faerie were in front of him, carrying bowls full of petals.
“Skyclad,” Peaseblossom said patiently. “Naked.”
Dean swallowed. “You want me to walk out there naked?”
Peaseblossom looked at him closely. “The incense is wearing off. If you are frightened, I can dull your senses again. Unless you would prefer to undertake the ritual with a clear mind?”
A clear mind sounded good to Dean. He was feeling much less…off with the Faeries…since the sweet, cloying incense from earlier had dissipated, and he figured he should probably keep it that way.
“I’m good,” he said and Peaseblossom smiled approvingly and turned away.
She waved a hand and a section of the stone wall in front of them slid away. Another two Faerie women joined them as they moved out into a corridor. They stood either side of Dean and began to play a hauntingly beautiful tune with instruments that looked a little like flutes. From somewhere in the distance drums began to beat a steady rhythm and voices began to chant. Dean and the Faeries trooped in procession down the long, stone corridor, the floor’s hardness cushioned by the soft rose petals the Faeries were scattering before them. They made their way slowly, inexorably, toward all the noise and then stopped abruptly, before a thick red curtain. Peaseblossom turned and took Dean by the hand.
“Through there is the dais,” she said, gesturing at the curtain. “In a moment you will walk out there and join the king in the pentacle. He will cast a circle, before summoning the deities, and then he will join with you.” Peaseblossom paused and looked at Dean searchingly. “Remember,” she said, “you have been specially prepared to receive the Goddess. She only awaits your summons. Do you understand?”
Dean nodded and Peaseblossom gave him another smile of approval.
“Then it is time.”
She pulled back the curtain and Dean swallowed hard, before stepping through the curtain and out onto the dais.
And then he froze. In a semi-circle before the dais and in elevated seating around the high stone walls of the throne room, were thousands of Faeries, all chanting in a low, mellow hum. Dean faltered and would’ve turned around and run back behind the curtain, if Peaseblossom hadn’t been right at his back.
“You can do this,” she murmured, pulling his hands-which he’d cupped in front of his groin-back to his sides. She pushed gently at his hips and Dean stepped forward, reluctantly, away from the security of the thick curtain and into view on the dais. The tempo of the chanting increased and an excited thrum began to run in undercurrent to the smooth, steady mantra.
The dais itself was encircled by robed priests and priestesses and Dean was a little nervous that he was going to trip over an arrangement of flowers or knock over a fat, white pillar candle, there were so many of them crowding the ritual area. There were several small bonfires lit too and Dean peered through the haze of smoke and incense, trying to figure out what was supposed to happen next; trying desperately to keep his nerves in check and to convince himself that he didn’t feel exposed, humiliated and vulnerable.
A sudden flash of bright light revealed Gwyn Ap Nudd, standing right on the edge of a blood-red pentacle that was marked in the very center of the dais. He was completely naked, his powerful unfurled wings stretching high and proud behind him, and his head adorned with a set of huge buck’s antlers. The Faerie king raised his arms and the chanting abruptly cut off. He proclaimed something loud and passionately in the Faerie tongue and then pointed at Dean and beckoned him forward. Dean swallowed; his mouth tasted like ash. Peaseblossom had to push him forward again.
Okay. He could do this. Oh God. He was doing this. It was no longer just an abstract, something that he could ignore, bury his head in the sand and forget about, because it was happening. Right the fuck now. Dean fixed his eyes on Gwyn Ap Nudd and let the Faerie king’s gaze pull him forward. The chanting became a distant whisper and Dean’s neon surrounds became pastel watercolor; something he could walk past without noticing. It took several lifetimes at least, but eventually he stood before Gwyn Ap Nudd, making sure to keep his eyes on the Faerie King’s face, and not looking down to check out other parts of the man’s anatomy because…Jesus fuck! His eyes had slipped downwards of their own accord. Goddamn it Dean!
Huh. Dean inclined his head; definitely not proportional, but not quite as big as Sam. Dean couldn’t quite contain the self-satisfied smile that the thought provoked, and Gwyn Ap Nudd smiled back at him. Dean shuddered; not smiling at you, he thought and Gwyn’s eyes tightened. He gestured sideways and Dean’s gaze followed his outstretched arm. In the center of the pentacle were a red and yellow woven blanket and a large, square cushion made from the same material. Dean swallowed and glanced back at the Faerie king, who nodded. Oh God. This was getting too real. Dean closed his eyes briefly and then focused them on the cushion. This wasn’t happening. He was somewhere else. He was with Sam. Sam…who’d had to let men use his body over and over again from the time he was fourteen. Dean tried to take strength and courage from that. He looked down at the Faerie king.
“How…” his voice came from deep in his throat, scratchy and uncertain. Dean coughed and tried again. “How do you want me?”
“Face down, with your hips centered on the cushion and your arms and legs spread like a star.”
“Okay,” Dean nodded.
Fuck.
This was like that nightmare people talk about; the one where they’re naked, on stage, in front of the whole school. And then they wake up and they’re so relieved, so grateful that it was just a dream.
Why wasn’t he waking up?
Dean shuffled toward the cushion. He wondered if the Faeries in the front row could see that he was shaking. He dropped to his knees on the pillow and then put his hands down and leaned forward, sliding his legs out behind him and lowering his torso to the floor. Once he was down, he buried his face in the soft blanket and let a few tears leak out of his eyes. Dean felt the Faerie king nudge the inside of his foot and he released the death-grip he’d been holding on the last few remaining shreds of his pride and spread his arms and legs wide.
Gwyn Ap Nudd began to speak again and Dean started to get worried because this whole ceremony was being conducted in whatever language it was that Faeries spoke and Dean didn’t have a clue when he should jump in and demand to invoke the Goddess himself.
“You have been specially prepared to receive the Goddess,” Peaseblossom had told him. “She only awaits your summons.”
Fuck it.
Dean whispered the invocation to himself again and again and suddenly he was a speck of dust in a vast universe; insubstantial, nothing, and the universe was shrinking, racing towards the dimensionless point where all existence must surely cease and yet there She was. She was everything, everywhere; beautiful, terrifying and impersonal. And yet She was him; they were one, and he was loved. An alien presence filled his mind and Dean had no words to describe the joining. She was him and She understood. She made him feel safe even as he felt the Faerie king’s cock pushing at his entrance. Gwyn Ap Nudd slid slowly, inexorably into him. It didn’t hurt; it felt good in a purely physical way, but it was inconsequential. The Faerie king set a fast pace, pounding into Dean with all the force of a rutting stag. There was nothing sacred about it, but Dean couldn’t manage to care because it was only his body; his soul was entwined with a Goddess and his communion with her was the most profound thing he had ever experienced.
Images assaulted him. He saw his mother…so young and beautiful…sitting on the ground and cradling his father in her arms. His father was dead. Another man, who Dean recognized as his Grandpa Campbell was standing beside them, his eyes flashing with yellow. His mother kissed his grandpa-not-his-grandpa on the lips and then his grandpa-not-his-grandpa dropped dead and his dad gasped and writhed and tried to stand up. The scene changed and he saw his mother standing before a bowl filled with herbs. She tossed a match into it and a tall flame flared. A dark-haired man appeared in the room and shadows like wings were thrown up on the wall behind him. His mother took the man into a nursery and over to a crib. The man put his hand on the heart of the baby in the crib and white light blazed around them both, before dimming. The man nodded to his mother and then vanished and his mother picked up the baby and held it tightly. Angels are watching over you, Dean. The scene changed again and Dean saw himself as a little boy, with another man standing over his bed. Little-boy-Dean awoke and the man’s eyes flashed yellow, right before he disappeared. The scene changed yet again and this time Dean saw a baby sleeping in a cardboard box, in a rundown tenement building. A man stood leaning over the box. He drew a knife across his hand and then dripped his blood into the baby’s mouth. In the background a bag-lady with stringy black hair watched, her face etched with horror as the man pulled away from the baby and stared at her with suddenly yellow eyes. That’s Sam, Dean thought, and he felt the Goddess’s confirmation, followed by a wave of approval. The in-brain big-screen changed and this time, the scene almost had Dean blushing; the Goddess was presenting him with Technicolor images of him and Sam making love. It was kind of weird to be watching himself driving into Sam when his own ass was being so thoroughly plowed by the Faerie king. The Goddess seemed amused by his embarrassment. The images changed, but Dean didn’t understand what he was seeing; spirals and double helixes and white mist, and the Goddess seemed frustrated by his confusion. She showed him another image-he and Sam sitting in the Impala together and hugging- and she buzzed with satisfaction at the picture. The in-brain picture show faded away and Dean felt a hand on his dick. He didn’t want it, but it felt good and he knew that he and the Faerie king had to come together; that the ritual wouldn’t finish until they did; so he gave himself up to it. It was a stock-standard orgasm, nothing special, but it seemed to blow the Faerie king’s mind…well it blew something anyway, because as Gwyn Ap Nudd roared his completion his body was torn away from Dean’s and thrown across the room.
The Goddess seized control of Dean’s body then and he stood and strode across the dais to where the king’s unconscious body lay. The Goddess within him raised his arms and turned to face the crowd. She used his voice to say something in the Faerie language and then his head and arms jerked backwards and Dean felt the Goddess’s life force rush from his body.
The last thing he saw before he passed out was his father, in a cage, on the far side of the dais.
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May 1st 2002
Dean stumbled forward as soon as his feet touched solid ground again, and he would’ve fallen for sure if two small but strong Faerie guards hadn’t had a firm grip on his upper arms. His stomach rebelled then, and tried to force its contents up his throat, and Dean moaned and sagged against the hold of the guards. He wondered idly whether throwing up or passing out would be more embarrassing, because they both seemed a possibility at this point.
One of the guards clucked his tongue in irritation and muttered something in that musical language that the Faeries all spoke. Dean immediately felt better. He straightened up and smirked at the guard.
“You do hangovers too buddy? Cuz if you do, I’m definitely takin’ you home with me.”
The guard looked flustered and then terrified and he dropped his hold on Dean’s arm and stepped back, as did his counterpart on Dean’s other side.
Dean glanced forward just in time to see Gwyn Ap Nudd materialize on his throne, and the Faeries around Dean all sunk to their knees. Dean lifted his chin, narrowed his eyes and kept them trained on the Faerie king as he descended from the dais and strutted toward Dean. He stopped right in front of him and then floated upwards until his face was level with Dean’s.
“Golau-llachar,” he whispered. “Beautiful.” He reached out a hand and Dean smacked it away before the Faerie king could touch him.
“I agreed to the ritual,” he growled, “not to be your fuck-buddy for the day. You try to touch me outside of the ritual again and I’ll rip your goddamn lungs out.”
Gwyn Ap Nudd’s thin lips twisted in a parody of a smile. He said something in the Faerie tongue and flicked his wrist and suddenly a crushing weight pinned Dean to the air and he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk; could barely breathe. Gwyn flicked his wrist again and agony tore at Dean’s back. He felt it split open as though he’d been struck by a whip and if the Faerie king’s magick hadn’t been holding him still he would’ve collapsed for sure. He breathed through the pain, nostrils flaring, and then his back exploded in agony again and he cried out, or at least he tried to, but the magick held him completely paralyzed and he couldn’t make a sound. Wave after wave of fiery pain rippled across Dean’s back and he screamed and screamed inside his own head. He was grateful now that Gwyn Ap Nudd was holding him silent; at least this way he was spared the humiliation of having the Faeries hear him begging for mercy. And he would have been begging at this point, if he could talk.
As suddenly as it had begun the torment ended. One moment Dean’s face was contorted in agony, his cheeks streaming with tears, the next the pain had stopped, as though a tap had been turned.
“In this realm,” Gwyn said silkily, “I am king. My word is law. You do not command me. You certainly do not threaten me. And there are consequences for disobedience.” He waved his hand again and Dean’s body was under his own control once more. “Do you understand?” the king demanded.
Dean nodded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he tried to control their trembling.
“Good,” said the king. “Now let’s try that again.”
He reached out a hand and Dean stared at the back wall and tried to ignore the long, probing fingers that wiped his face clean of tears. Gwyn Ap Nudd licked Dean’s tears from his fingertips and then leaned forwards and kissed his lips. Dean refused to react and after a moment the Faerie king pulled away with a chuckle.
“Until later then.” He snapped his fingers and four Faerie women appeared, dressed in long white gowns, their hair pinned with flowers.
“Prepare him for the ritual,” the king instructed before disappearing.
One of the Faerie women reached out and took ahold of Dean’s hand.
“Wait, what-” the air rushed and popped around him, his stomach dropped again and his bones turned to ice as the very essence of his being was torn into a trillion pieces and reassembled somewhere else.
“Goddamn it!” he groaned, collapsing to his knees on the smooth marble floor of a new room. “Why can’t you people just walk? Man, I’m gonna hurl.”
His Faerie escort did the same magick trick as the guard had earlier and Dean felt better again. He sat back, with his hands resting on his thighs and looked around. He was in a small white room which was dominated by a huge sunken spa and decorated with vases of spring flowers; roses mostly, in red, pink, yellow and white, interspersed with vases of lavender. There was a wicker basket of mixed fruit on the side of the spa and a bowl of ripe, red strawberries. Scented pillar candles lined the walls and much of the floor and there were several incense burners around the spa.
“Wow,” he said. “This is very…girly.” He looked up at his escort. “You do know I’m not a chick, right?”
The Faerie’s eyes raked over him.
“I am aware,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up appreciatively. Dean’s self-esteem lifted a little and he returned her smile tentatively. It was weird, though, that he found this Faerie’s interest in him flattering, whereas Gwyn Ap Nudd’s interest merely disgusted him. Maybe not so weird, he mused, as he watched all four of the Faeries flit about lighting the incense, given that this Faerie was just gently flirting, not threatening to fuck him.
“Golau-llachar,” the Faerie who’d been doing all the talking said with a little bow. “You will please remove your clothes and get into the spa.”
And just like that, Dean was brought back to reality. He swallowed. “Dean,” he said softly. “My name’s Dean.”
The Faerie inclined her head. “Dean,” she said, and gestured at the spa.
He nodded and shrugged off his shirt.
“Who are you?”
“I am a priestess.”
Dean met her eyes and looked appraisingly at her, his expression honest, open and quizzical. “A priestess, huh? And you approve of this, what your king is doing?”
The Faerie lowered her gaze. “You need to undress,” she said.
Dean shook his head in disappointment and sighed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“My name doesn’t matter. Please you need to-”
Dean peeled off his tee-shirt.
“Okay. But what should I call you?”
The Faerie looked thoughtful. “You may call me Peaseblossom.”
Dean stood up and toed off his boots and then peeled off his socks.
“What about them?” he nodded at the other Faeries who were standing silently beside the spa. “They don’t talk much, do they?”
“My sisters do not speak your language.”
Dean undid his belt and slid it through the loops in his jeans.
“What should I call your sisters?”
Peaseblossom grinned. “Cobweb, Moth and Mustardseed. What else?”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, okay. Not getting that reference. Guess I don’t really watch a lot of TV that has Faeries in it.”
Peaseblossom laughed and watched with interest as Dean took off his jeans.
Standing in nothing but his briefs, Dean took a very deep breath and became aware of just how thick the air was with sweet, cloying incense. His lungs constricted and he felt suddenly lightheaded, as if he were floating.
“Don’t fight it,” Peaseblossom said. “It’s just a little something to help you relax.”
“Sonovabitch,” Dean gasped, “It’s not enough that he’s forcing me to do this by threatening my dad, now he’s slipping me a date rape drug? You can’t agree with this, Peaseblossom. As a priestess, you can’t agree that this is right; that the Goddess would want this.”
Something that could have been remorse rippled across Peaseblossom’s face and then she moved in close and gripped Dean’s arms with her long, slender hands. “Breathe, Dean,” she urged. “Let the incense do its work; let it relax you, let it remove your inhibitions, let it make you feel good. None of this has to be unpleasant, Dean.”
Her voice was fading in and out and Dean staggered against her as his vision became hazy.
“Just breathe,” she murmured, slipping her hands into the waistband of his briefs and gently lowering them. She dropped to her knees and lifted his feet, one by one; peeling off the briefs and discarding them before shimmying up his body, rubbing against him. When she touched his cock, Dean gasped, unaware until that moment that he was rock hard.
“That’s it,” Peaseblossom murmured. She pushed at the shoulder straps on her gown and let the garment fall to the floor, her wings flaring up behind her. The gown pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it, naked, and took his hands, leading him toward the spa. “Come and bathe with me.”
Dean was vaguely aware that the other Faeries were now naked too, their beautiful dark wings streaming out behind them. Another of them…Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed-he couldn’t tell, so he decided that it was Moth because that was the easiest to say-joined him and Peaseblossom as they lowered themselves into the spa. The other two began to walk around the spa, chanting in their lilting, musical voices and throwing handfuls of petals into the air. Dean was reminded of the movie Coming to America and the way Eddie Murphy’s character was bathed every morning by attendants. He giggled.
“You gonna blow me?” he asked Peaseblossom. “Eddie got a blowjob in the bath.”
Peaseblossom and Moth looked at each other and then Moth disappeared beneath the water. A moment later he felt her warm mouth close around his shaft and he groaned. Peaseblossom was sitting behind him with her legs wrapped around his hips, washing his hair with some sort of soap that smelled amazing. A little girly maybe, given that it smelled of all sorts of spring flowers and…was that vanilla? Anyway, it smelled good, and the mouth on his dick felt good…a little gentle maybe; not exactly how he liked it, but not bad at all. Dean leaned back against Peaseblossom and felt her breasts squish against his back. That was nice. Nice…but not quite right. Where was the hard muscle? Where was the strength? The possessive grip? Dean had no doubt that these Faerie chicks could pick him up, throw him across the floor and lay him out cold if they wanted to, but they were touching him so delicately.
“Not a girl,” he muttered.
“I know you’re not,” Peaseblossom murmured in his ear, as her hands began to pluck at his nipples. Dean arched back against her, and really, this felt very good. He felt so sensual, so…so…Dean’s mind began to slide away and he struggled to hold onto it. There were things he had to remember; important things. Oh God…he felt amazing; like he was flying in a cocoon of pleasure. His skin felt super-charged and oh so sensitive. He began to rub himself against Peaseblossom, writhing and moaning like a cat in heat. Dean reveled in the feel of skin on skin and as his pleasure built his mind short-circuited completely, his awareness floating away on a tide of bliss, his only thoughts more, please, touch me; until slowly, gradually, he became aware that he was no longer in water, but lying face down on a towel, being massaged with sweet-scented oil.
‘S’goin’ on?” he slurred.
“Shhh,” Peaseblossom said, “We are anointing you in preparation for the Great Rite.”
“Oh.” Dean frowned. There was something he needed to remember; something important.
Sam!
Sam was important. He loved Sam. Sam was…everything.
Peaseblossom’s fingers skated in between the cheeks of his ass and Dean tensed.
“Relax,” the Faerie soothed.
Dean settled because, really, it felt quite nice, the way she was stroking him, touching him intimately. Her fingers were too small though; not long enough, not wide enough and her voice was all wrong; too high, too soft. It wasn’t the same as that deep, low voice that went straight to his dick every time. He missed that. Why did he miss it? If it felt so right he should definitely have that voice with him, right now. He would go and look for it…only moving felt like it would be far too much of an effort; especially when he was so warm and comfortable, and nimble fingers were doing such enjoyable things to his ass. Dean sighed contentedly and then frowned. There was something he was supposed to remember. It was important.
Peaseblossom pulled her fingers out of his ass and Dean whimpered at the loss.
“Sshh,” she soothed, hooking a hand under his arm and helping him to sit up. “You’re doing so well, Dean. It’s nearly time.”
“Time for what?”
“The Great Rite.”
“What’s that?”
Peaseblossom smiled at him. “You have been specially prepared to be receptive to the Goddess. When she is summoned you will channel her and join in Hieros Gamos with the king.”
Dean frowned. “The king. Is his name Sam? Sam’s important.”
Peaseblossom shook her head. “His name is Gwyn Ap Nudd.”
Dean’s frown deepened. He knew that name and for some reason it made him feel…uneasy.
“Come, Dean,” Peaseblossom said, and Dean suddenly realized that she was dressed in her white robe once more.
“Where are my clothes?” he asked.
Peaseblossom shook her head.
“You will be skyclad for the ritual.”
“I’ll be what?” Dean glanced at the Faeries, all of whom were once again robed. Two of them were standing behind him holding censors, and Peaseblossom and another Faerie were in front of him, carrying bowls full of petals.
“Skyclad,” Peaseblossom said patiently. “Naked.”
Dean swallowed. “You want me to walk out there naked?”
Peaseblossom looked at him closely. “The incense is wearing off. If you are frightened, I can dull your senses again. Unless you would prefer to undertake the ritual with a clear mind?”
A clear mind sounded good to Dean. He was feeling much less…off with the Faeries…since the sweet, cloying incense from earlier had dissipated, and he figured he should probably keep it that way.
“I’m good,” he said and Peaseblossom smiled approvingly and turned away.
She waved a hand and a section of the stone wall in front of them slid away. Another two Faerie women joined them as they moved out into a corridor. They stood either side of Dean and began to play a hauntingly beautiful tune with instruments that looked a little like flutes. From somewhere in the distance drums began to beat a steady rhythm and voices began to chant. Dean and the Faeries trooped in procession down the long, stone corridor, the floor’s hardness cushioned by the soft rose petals the Faeries were scattering before them. They made their way slowly, inexorably, toward all the noise and then stopped abruptly, before a thick red curtain. Peaseblossom turned and took Dean by the hand.
“Through there is the dais,” she said, gesturing at the curtain. “In a moment you will walk out there and join the king in the pentacle. He will cast a circle, before summoning the deities, and then he will join with you.” Peaseblossom paused and looked at Dean searchingly. “Remember,” she said, “you have been specially prepared to receive the Goddess. She only awaits your summons. Do you understand?”
Dean nodded and Peaseblossom gave him another smile of approval.
“Then it is time.”
She pulled back the curtain and Dean swallowed hard, before stepping through the curtain and out onto the dais.
And then he froze. In a semi-circle before the dais and in elevated seating around the high stone walls of the throne room, were thousands of Faeries, all chanting in a low, mellow hum. Dean faltered and would’ve turned around and run back behind the curtain, if Peaseblossom hadn’t been right at his back.
“You can do this,” she murmured, pulling his hands-which he’d cupped in front of his groin-back to his sides. She pushed gently at his hips and Dean stepped forward, reluctantly, away from the security of the thick curtain and into view on the dais. The tempo of the chanting increased and an excited thrum began to run in undercurrent to the smooth, steady mantra.
The dais itself was encircled by robed priests and priestesses and Dean was a little nervous that he was going to trip over an arrangement of flowers or knock over a fat, white pillar candle, there were so many of them crowding the ritual area. There were several small bonfires lit too and Dean peered through the haze of smoke and incense, trying to figure out what was supposed to happen next; trying desperately to keep his nerves in check and to convince himself that he didn’t feel exposed, humiliated and vulnerable.
A sudden flash of bright light revealed Gwyn Ap Nudd, standing right on the edge of a blood-red pentacle that was marked in the very center of the dais. He was completely naked, his powerful unfurled wings stretching high and proud behind him, and his head adorned with a set of huge buck’s antlers. The Faerie king raised his arms and the chanting abruptly cut off. He proclaimed something loud and passionately in the Faerie tongue and then pointed at Dean and beckoned him forward. Dean swallowed; his mouth tasted like ash. Peaseblossom had to push him forward again.
Okay. He could do this. Oh God. He was doing this. It was no longer just an abstract, something that he could ignore, bury his head in the sand and forget about, because it was happening. Right the fuck now. Dean fixed his eyes on Gwyn Ap Nudd and let the Faerie king’s gaze pull him forward. The chanting became a distant whisper and Dean’s neon surrounds became pastel watercolor; something he could walk past without noticing. It took several lifetimes at least, but eventually he stood before Gwyn Ap Nudd, making sure to keep his eyes on the Faerie King’s face, and not looking down to check out other parts of the man’s anatomy because…Jesus fuck! His eyes had slipped downwards of their own accord. Goddamn it Dean!
Huh. Dean inclined his head; definitely not proportional, but not quite as big as Sam. Dean couldn’t quite contain the self-satisfied smile that the thought provoked, and Gwyn Ap Nudd smiled back at him. Dean shuddered; not smiling at you, he thought and Gwyn’s eyes tightened. He gestured sideways and Dean’s gaze followed his outstretched arm. In the center of the pentacle were a red and yellow woven blanket and a large, square cushion made from the same material. Dean swallowed and glanced back at the Faerie king, who nodded. Oh God. This was getting too real. Dean closed his eyes briefly and then focused them on the cushion. This wasn’t happening. He was somewhere else. He was with Sam. Sam…who’d had to let men use his body over and over again from the time he was fourteen. Dean tried to take strength and courage from that. He looked down at the Faerie king.
“How…” his voice came from deep in his throat, scratchy and uncertain. Dean coughed and tried again. “How do you want me?”
“Face down, with your hips centered on the cushion and your arms and legs spread like a star.”
“Okay,” Dean nodded.
Fuck.
This was like that nightmare people talk about; the one where they’re naked, on stage, in front of the whole school. And then they wake up and they’re so relieved, so grateful that it was just a dream.
Why wasn’t he waking up?
Dean shuffled toward the cushion. He wondered if the Faeries in the front row could see that he was shaking. He dropped to his knees on the pillow and then put his hands down and leaned forward, sliding his legs out behind him and lowering his torso to the floor. Once he was down, he buried his face in the soft blanket and let a few tears leak out of his eyes. Dean felt the Faerie king nudge the inside of his foot and he released the death-grip he’d been holding on the last few remaining shreds of his pride and spread his arms and legs wide.
Gwyn Ap Nudd began to speak again and Dean started to get worried because this whole ceremony was being conducted in whatever language it was that Faeries spoke and Dean didn’t have a clue when he should jump in and demand to invoke the Goddess himself.
“You have been specially prepared to receive the Goddess,” Peaseblossom had told him. “She only awaits your summons.”
Fuck it.
Dean whispered the invocation to himself again and again and suddenly he was a speck of dust in a vast universe; insubstantial, nothing, and the universe was shrinking, racing towards the dimensionless point where all existence must surely cease and yet there She was. She was everything, everywhere; beautiful, terrifying and impersonal. And yet She was him; they were one, and he was loved. An alien presence filled his mind and Dean had no words to describe the joining. She was him and She understood. She made him feel safe even as he felt the Faerie king’s cock pushing at his entrance. Gwyn Ap Nudd slid slowly, inexorably into him. It didn’t hurt; it felt good in a purely physical way, but it was inconsequential. The Faerie king set a fast pace, pounding into Dean with all the force of a rutting stag. There was nothing sacred about it, but Dean couldn’t manage to care because it was only his body; his soul was entwined with a Goddess and his communion with her was the most profound thing he had ever experienced.
Images assaulted him. He saw his mother…so young and beautiful…sitting on the ground and cradling his father in her arms. His father was dead. Another man, who Dean recognized as his Grandpa Campbell was standing beside them, his eyes flashing with yellow. His mother kissed his grandpa-not-his-grandpa on the lips and then his grandpa-not-his-grandpa dropped dead and his dad gasped and writhed and tried to stand up. The scene changed and he saw his mother standing before a bowl filled with herbs. She tossed a match into it and a tall flame flared. A dark-haired man appeared in the room and shadows like wings were thrown up on the wall behind him. His mother took the man into a nursery and over to a crib. The man put his hand on the heart of the baby in the crib and white light blazed around them both, before dimming. The man nodded to his mother and then vanished and his mother picked up the baby and held it tightly. Angels are watching over you, Dean. The scene changed again and Dean saw himself as a little boy, with another man standing over his bed. Little-boy-Dean awoke and the man’s eyes flashed yellow, right before he disappeared. The scene changed yet again and this time Dean saw a baby sleeping in a cardboard box, in a rundown tenement building. A man stood leaning over the box. He drew a knife across his hand and then dripped his blood into the baby’s mouth. In the background a bag-lady with stringy black hair watched, her face etched with horror as the man pulled away from the baby and stared at her with suddenly yellow eyes. That’s Sam, Dean thought, and he felt the Goddess’s confirmation, followed by a wave of approval. The in-brain big-screen changed and this time, the scene almost had Dean blushing; the Goddess was presenting him with Technicolor images of him and Sam making love. It was kind of weird to be watching himself driving into Sam when his own ass was being so thoroughly plowed by the Faerie king. The Goddess seemed amused by his embarrassment. The images changed, but Dean didn’t understand what he was seeing; spirals and double helixes and white mist, and the Goddess seemed frustrated by his confusion. She showed him another image-he and Sam sitting in the Impala together and hugging- and she buzzed with satisfaction at the picture. The in-brain picture show faded away and Dean felt a hand on his dick. He didn’t want it, but it felt good and he knew that he and the Faerie king had to come together; that the ritual wouldn’t finish until they did; so he gave himself up to it. It was a stock-standard orgasm, nothing special, but it seemed to blow the Faerie king’s mind…well it blew something anyway, because as Gwyn Ap Nudd roared his completion his body was torn away from Dean’s and thrown across the room.
The Goddess seized control of Dean’s body then and he stood and strode across the dais to where the king’s unconscious body lay. The Goddess within him raised his arms and turned to face the crowd. She used his voice to say something in the Faerie language and then his head and arms jerked backwards and Dean felt the Goddess’s life force rush from his body.
The last thing he saw before he passed out was his father, in a cage, on the far side of the dais.
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