Surrender - Part 3 - Claimed, 1/3, Smith/Wesson, NC-17
Surrender - Part 3 - Claimed (1/3)
Masterpost
Sam ran.
Around him all he could see were rocky hills studded with short, stunted trees and bare soil, stretching out to the horizon. Apparently the Facility was located deep the California scrublands, hours away from his apartment in Palo Alto. Glancing behind him, the building from which he had come was only a small, unassuming bunker; clearly most of it must have been located underground.
As he scrambled up the nearest shallow slope, he did his best to keep aiming in the direction that Adam had pointed, telling himself that five miles wasn’t really so far - he had jogged much further, in his high school track days. If he could reach the town by nightfall, there was the possibility he could hide somewhere long enough to call the police, or at least his parents.
But with no shoes, it didn’t take long to cut the soles of his feet open on the jagged ground. And he was out of shape, his breath coming in desperate gasps. He wished he could stop and untie the bindings off his cock and balls, work the plug out of his ass, but he didn’t have even a moment to spare. He forced himself to keep sprinting, hoping he was still headed in the right direction, certain that the men from the Facility would be close behind him. They only had to follow the trail of blood.
When he finally crested the second, taller hill, his heart sank; there, less than a quarter-mile out, was the obvious line of a fence, dark against the landscape. As he got closer he realized it was even worse that he’d feared - the fence was at least twelve feet tall, and well-maintained. It ran in both directions as far as he could see.
Resolutely, he reached it and forced himself to climb, wincing in pain as the wire cut into his injured feet. Maybe if could at least get to the top, he could still find some way over -
The guards appeared out of nowhere. He was no more than a few feet off the ground when they grabbed his legs and pulled, slamming his face into the mesh. Sam groaned, wondering for a moment if they’d broken his nose. There were two of them, one tall enough to reach up and haul him down off the fence.
When his feet hit the dirt, he used his superior height to twist out of the man’s grip, but by then the second guy joined in, assisting his partner in knocking Sam’s legs out from under him and forcing him to the ground. Someone kicked him in the stomach, hard enough to drive the air out of him, and his arms were wrenched painfully behind his back.
Sam had a moment of panic. These guys were really not messing around. They would kick his ass. He was totally screwed.
“Hey, pretty boy,” said one, pushing Sam’s face into the sandy soil while the other one straddled his legs. Sam fought back, but his hands were still pinned. “Settle down, now.”
He managed to kick out, catching someone in the knee, but then his ankles was caught and held. “Hehe, lookit here, he’s practically naked. And he’s got something up his butt.”
“Don’t,” Sam begged, trying to escape the roving hands. “Please, just let me go!”
Somebody chuckled unpleasantly. “Now why would we do something like that?”
“Hey! Get the hell off of him!” Dean. Sam surprised himself with the hot rush of his relief, even before the guards released his arms and legs. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders and pulled him up off of the ground. “Give me a blanket,” he said, talking to someone behind him. “He’s cold. C’mere, baby.”
Sam was sobbing as Dean wrapped him in something soft and warm, then tugged him in against Dean’s chest. Strong arms closed around him, one moving immediately up to bury in his hair.
“It’s alright, baby, I found you, I have you now.”
It shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was.
“You alright, Sammy? You okay?” Dean cupped his neck. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, they’re not trained to deal with subs, they’re just - guards. They’re supposed to keep people away from the Facility. They hurt you?” He took Sam under the chin, squinting at the bruising around his nose, tilting his face to see the damage. “Jesus. Gonna get you some pain killers, doc’ll fix you right up.”
He hauled Sam to his feet and kept him pinned against his side with an arm around his shoulders.
“S’okay, baby, s’okay now. You guys - get back to your posts. I’ll deal with you later.” Dean showed the guards a security badge and they shrugged and walked off, grumbling.
“Help me with him,” said Dean, and Bobby came around on the other side, lifting Sam’s arm over his shoulder. “Cas, bring the truck. I don’t want him walking like this.”
Without trying to resist, Sam moved where he was directed. Still wrapped in the wool blanket, he was loaded into a black jeep and settled at Dean’s side, cinched in close. Dean nuzzled against his hair, his cheek, his neck. “Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he murmured.
“What Adam said …” Sam rasped, momentarily unable to continue - he broke off in a rough cough. “Is it - true?”
Dean rubbed his back, guiding Sam’s head against his shoulder while he regained his breath. “Sam, you’ve got to trust me,” he said finally, “or this is all for nothing. Do you trust me?”
Sam closed his eyes, letting Dean stroke his hair. Slowly, he nodded his head. Of course he trusted Dean, to look out for him and do what was best for him.
Dean kissed his forehead. “Then I guess you have all the information you need, don’t you.”
--
The doctor pronounced nothing broken, but provided anti-inflammatories and Ibuprofen that Dean insisted on feeding him by hand. Sam opened obediently and swallowed when the pills were placed on his tongue. They washed his stinging feet, then swathed them in bandages, and the pain faded.
“I’m sorry you got hurt, baby,” said Dean, studying the bruises.
The door opened and a number of white-coated men came in, talking together in low voices. Sam buried his head in Dean’s shirt, hiding, not listening to what was said.
“It’s alright,” Dean was saying, “he just got a little freaked out. He’s fine now.”
“We’ll take him tonight, just to be sure,” said one of the men. A stranger, no-one Sam recognized. Sam waited for Dean to speak up, to say that Sam wasn’t going anywhere, but instead Dean patted his shoulder and stood up. “I’ll walk with you,” he said.
Dazedly, Sam walked alongside Dean as the men led them back through the maze of hallways and into a familiar room; the dormitory full of cots that Sam remembered from his first night in the Facility.
“He gets cold at night,” said Dean. “Make sure he gets an extra blanket, and cover him well.”
Unresisting, Sam was guided into one of the many beds. An unfamiliar hand on his shoulder pressed him to lie back. He looked around for Dean, who was standing in the doorway, watching quietly. Sam laid down and let his wrists and ankles be restrained, like the night he’d arrived.
“Be good, baby,” said Dean softly, turning away.
Unfamiliar hands spread a thick woolen blanket over Sam. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see a stranger’s face looking down at him.
Then he was left alone.
Sam tested the straps, but he knew already that they wouldn’t give. They weren’t hurting him, not like handcuffs or ropes might have done; they were built for this - utilitarian, unattractive, but rock solid. He would be kept still, almost comfortably but not quite.
Sam was pretty sure that, the last time he had slept in restraints, Dean had actually sat up with him all night. But this time, there was no one to feed him orange slices or pet his hair. Apparently no one worried that he might need to pee. Every few hours he saw the lean shadow of a nurse, stopping by the door to glance in at him; but Dean didn’t come.
It wore on him, more and more as the night went on. Since he had arrived here, he’d barely been out of Dean’s sight; Dean had been there at every step, encouraging him, fussing over him, babying him. Treating him like the most important person in the world. Now he was alone, deserted by the one person who gave a damn about him.
If he had escaped, thought Sam fuzzily, as the hours passed and his shoulders slowly began to cramp - if he had succeeded, escaped the cruel clutch of those linebacker guards, made it somehow over the fence and through the wilderness and back to his old, abandoned life -
He would be alone.
His family was on the other side of the country, and they had been angry with him ever since he dropped out of school, treating him with that icy formality which was so close to distain. He barely heard from them. Over the last few years he had dropped away from his few friends, so that his whole life had become that job, thankless and underpaid and unchallenging. Even his coworkers didn’t seem to like him.
Sam thought back over his life. The realization that he couldn’t hack that last year of school, didn’t want to - trying to make choices for himself about where he wanted to live, what he wanted to do. That strange, formless helplessness - he couldn’t decide, didn’t want to have to make these decisions.
He remembered the relief of dropping out of his computer science program, taking a job where his only responsibility was to please his bosses, fixing computers. But they hadn’t appreciated it, hadn’t responded the way he’d needed them to. He’d become smaller and greyer over the years, fading almost out of sight.
That was what he had to go back to. Granted, he would have his freedom, whatever that meant - he would not be literally strapped down to a bed when he misbehaved. But if it was the freedom to sit alone in his rat-trap apartment, what was that really worth?
Dean believed that he was special - a natural submissive. Dean believed that he would never be happy, never be fulfilled, until he accepted that part of himself, until he embraced it and lived it every day. Until then he would always just be a shadow in his own life, denying what he really wanted.
If he had succeeded in escaping, this is what it would feel like, all the time. Neglected, isolated, ignored.
Sam knew he was crying through his punishment like a little bitch, but he didn’t care. He wanted his master to come and comfort him, like he had all those other times - wanted Dean’s warm hands on his cheek, Dean’s gruff voice calling him sweetheart. But Dean wasn’t coming, because Sam tried to run away, and he hurt his master’s feelings, and he’d been a bad, disobedient sub. Sam sobbed, shaking with the force of it, until finally the light in his head switched off and he finally fell into a miserable sleep.
Sam woke up snotty and headache-y, and he was still strapped down on the hospital cot. But he couldn’t have been lying awake and wretched for more than an hour or two before the door opened.
“There’s my good boy,” said a voice, the voice he’d been waiting for all night. Now Sam fought the straps for real, pulling uselessly on his limbs, trying to get to his master.
“Shh, baby, easy,” said Dean. “Lie back and let me get you out of these.”
Sam went limp, whining in his throat as Dean worked the buckles at his wrists, then helped him sit up. Dean undid his ankles and then went to the side table for a glass of water. “How’s that, sweetheart? You want something to drink?”
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, delicately accepting a sip from the glass Dean held to his lips. “I’m so, so, sorry.”
“Sh, your punishment is over now,” Dean said, coaxing him to take another swallow. “You’re forgiven, okay? The slate is clean. Now come back to the room, we’ll find you something for that headache.”
Sam nodded, preparing to get down off the cot. But Dean stopped him, his eyes fixed on Sam’s. “Listen,” he said, seriously. “I want you to know that you can leave here any time you want. Okay? You don’t need to run away. If you don’t want to be here - I’ve got a sweet ride, I’ll drive you back to your apartment myself. Okay?”
Not sure what to say, Sam didn’t answer. Gently, Dean guided Sam’s chin up so he could see in his face. “You understand me, Sammy?” he asked, holding eye contact.
“Yes,” Sam whispered. “I understand.”
“So, do you want me to go get the car? You can be home by tonight. Is that what you want?”
The thing Sam had fought for was being offered to him, freely. But everything was so different now. Sam felt like an entirely different person. “I want to stay,” he whispered.
“You sure, baby?” Dean almost sounded like he was trying to convince him the other way.
Sam nodded. Whatever happened, he was on this track until the end.
“Okay.” Dean kissed his forehead. “Well, come on, then.”
--
The next day was spent entirely in Dean’s bed. Sam lay with an ice pack on his nose, and Dean’s hand on some part of his body at all times.
Sam spent much of the time sleeping, but when he was awake he wanted Dean’s eyes on him, wanted to be close to him, to feel the heat of him. He was terrified that Dean would make a move to go, but he didn’t. He didn’t leave Sam for a second. They laid together, Dean reading over some kind of automotive manual with his hand absentmindedly scratching Sam’s scalp, his thumb pressing a warm oval in the secret space behind Sam’s ear. Sam did nothing, thought nothing. He just laid still and soaked up the warmth of Dean’s touch. One small part of him was embarrassed to be so needy - but most of him loved the attention, and craved it.
Lunch was brought to them by one of the guards, and Sam looked over to Dean, prepared to kneel on the floor. “Go ahead and feed yourself,” Dean said. “But good boy, waiting for directions.”
They ate together, in silence.
“Are you mad at me?” asked Sam, finally, when they finished.
“Sweetheart, I’m just sorry that you got hurt,” said Dean, stroking the back of his hand. “I’m not angry. I expected you to make mistakes. I would be worried if you didn’t screw up at some point; everyone does.”
“Not Cas,” Sam muttered darkly.
“Cas?” Dean looked blank. “What does he have to do with this?”
Sam looked away. “Nothing,” he said. Stupid to bring it up, stupid to still be worrying about it.
“It was different with Cas -” started Dean, immediately correcting himself. “Different with every sub. They each need special handling to be secure.”
That wasn’t what Sam wanted to hear. He wanted to hear that Dean loved him most, that he didn’t care about Cas that way. Mutinously, he looked away.
Dean sighed. “Cas came to the Facility having already been a 24/7 sub,” he said, carefully. “He didn’t have as much to learn as you.”
Sam’s ears perked up.
“His dom sponsored him to be professionally trained,” Dean continued. “He was my first assignment. But his dom was an asshole, didn’t have any idea how to treat a sub like Cas. And Cas didn’t understand that he deserved better. The Facility ended up refunding his money and keeping Cas ourselves.”
Sam thought about Cas, about his confidence, his surety. It seemed difficult to believe he would have had the kind of self-esteem that Dean was describing.
“Do you still sleep with him?” asked Sam. It was the question that had been tearing in his gut ever since he’d seen that video of the two of them together, although he had only just realized it now.
“Of course I’ll dom Cas whenever he needs me to,” said Dean, looking hurt at the implication that Sam would think otherwise. “He’s my friend, and he needs to be fucked pretty regularly.”
Sam shook his head, not wanting to hear any more.
“I’m a trainer, Sam,” said Dean. “It’s what I do - for you, for Cas, for anybody who comes to the Facility to learn.”
Sam understood that, he knew that ... but he wanted Dean all to himself. He wanted them to live together, to be everything to each other.
“I’m not going to get to stay with you, am I,” he asked, his voice choked. That was what Adam had said, what he had never wanted to believe.
Dean was quiet, playing with Sam’s fingers. “A Master is different from a trainer, baby,” he said, gently. “They have to demonstrate that they have the resources to support a sub for life, that they can take care of you forever. The Facility finds the perfect Master for each of our subs. Why do you think they’re so eager to train here?”
Sam pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. His eyes were blurred with tears.
“Sammy,” said Dean. “It’s not your job to make these decisions. You don’t have to think about anything other than being a good boy, doing what you’re told. Trust me to do the right thing for you.”
Sam nodded. That was all he wanted, after all. A tear rolled down his cheek, and Dean leaned forward to gently wipe it away.
“You’re tired, baby,” he said. “You’re still sore from last night. Lay down on your tummy for me, and let me take care of you.”
Willingly Sam went, burying his face in the pillow. Dean pulled off his white tunic, then lathered up his hands with the scented oil he dug out of a drawer by the bed.
“Let’s help get you relaxed, huh?” Dean set his hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, letting the heat soak in. The air smelled like sandalwood and cedar. Sam moaned, softly.
Dean slid his hand down Sam’s spine, using his strong fingers to chase away the lingering ache in Sam’s lower back, sore from sleeping in an unnatural position. “Does that feel good, baby?” he asked.
Sam nodded into the pillow. Dean made his way smoothly up and down Sam’s back, from his collarbones to the cradle of his hips, moving his hands in slow, steady circles, pushing the knots out from their hiding places. Gently, he took hold of Sam’s hips and rearranged him, tugging him down by his hips until his lower half was settled in front of him, and working hard on the sore muscles right above his ass. It felt so good.
Dean eased his thighs apart. “Does your hole hurt?”
Sam nodded. The doctors had pulled out his plug when he’d been recovered by the Facility, but he was still dry and sore. And empty.
Dean reached for what must be an intercom in the wall. “Hey Cas, can you come in here a second?”
Sam squawked, not sure about the thought of someone seeing him like this. “Easy,” said Dean, a hand between his shoulder blades.
Someone came through the door, and Sam closed his eyes. “Just lie still and let him make you feel good, baby,” said Dean, pressing his shoulders down. Sam felt his ass cheeks being spread apart by careful, delicate fingers. “Go on, Angel - work your magic.”
It was a tongue, licking into the sweaty crevasse of Sam’s ass. Kittenish licks around his hole. Sam moaned aloud, squirming at the sensation.
“That better?” Dean cooed. “You like this?”
“Mmm,” Sam managed, drowsy again with pleasure. He was drifting off again, the warm pressure at his asshole strangely soothing. He would either come, or fall asleep, and he was leaning towards the latter.
He felt Dean sitting on the bed, then fingers stroking through his hair.
“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean whispered. “You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine.”
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