Promises Made, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Promises Made
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to of sorts to the "Points" ( Which Begins Here)and "Pieces" ( Which Begins Here) and "Paints" ( Which begins here") Verse, this follows The Promise of More......Dean gets his turn...Dudes...yeah...sorry...
Warnings/Author's Notes: I apologize in advance. Dark, ugly, sexy, violent...includes incest, rape and memory of rape, m/m, torture...is painful folks...
“Dean, please” Sam’s voice is the sound of broken glass being dragged over concrete, wrecked and ragged, nearly lost to the ruined comforter beneath him.
Dean isn’t touching him, but Sam keeps rasping the words. Over and over. Like a litany that will save him, that will reach through to some soft center and make Dean stop…or push him to end it all.
Sam is stretched out on the bed beside him, his long body naked and spent, sweaty and bloody. His skin is a tapestry of pain, bruises deep and dark blooming in blue and purple and black so deep it almost looks unreal…color flowering over the welts, and under cuts on skin that once gleamed gold in the light…but Sam’s skin hasn’t seen the light for days. Dean keeps him in easy reach, and reaches from time to time, even if just to remind Sam that he’s there, that Sam is alive. The promise has been made, the promise of a price, of payment…and once made, Dean always keeps his promises.
He presses against clotting cuts, bringing blood to the surface. He touches raised skin. He waits for Sam to find enough of himself to move away.
Sam won’t move. Dean knows.
Blood pools in the shallow hollow above the curve of Sam’s ass and Dean leans down to pull a finger through it. It’s slightly cooled…clotting as he pulls it up, painting the line of Sam’s spine in vivid red. “Pretty,” he whispers as he reaches Sam’s neck and slides his hand into Sam’s sweat soaked hair. He rubs lightly, gently against Sam’s scalp.
“Dean, please…please…please…” It’s broken and raw and he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking, Dean thinks.
He presses kisses to his brother’s temple. “Shh…easy, baby…I’m here.” Though he imagines that isn’t as comforting as it might once have been. He sighs and looks around the room. There’s blood and come on almost every surface. Sam’s blood. Dean’s come. He never did get the name of the pizza boy he’d killed after he stripped him naked and made him suck Sam off. Ropes hang from the ceiling and walls.
It should be odd, the stamina that has come with the embracing of the dark inside…with the choosing to be this…this thing Sam pushed him toward. But Dean had the choice. Dean made the choice to become this. Dean had knelt and offered it all up, surrendered everything he had ever been for no more reward than to be Sam’s…because Dean was nothing without him.
That he could even be considering more as the smell of blood and come mix with the sight of his Sammy begging was a testament to the power of the dark side of Dean Winchester. He’s fucked his little brother over every imaginable surface over the last two days…fucked him and cut him and whipped him, beat him…until Sam was this long puddle of bruised flesh begging mindlessly beside him.
He thinks maybe it’s time for them to move on, that he’s wrung all he can out of this town, out of Sam in this town. But for the moment he’s sated, unwilling to disturb the sort of peace that had settled over him when he’d last slipped out of Sam and down onto the bed.
He doesn’t have Sam’s skills, can’t kill with his brain…can’t see the things coming at them in the dark days before they do. That hasn’t mattered though, not since Sam snapped back to himself. He’d never understood that power, always afraid of using it…and now he couldn’t…because his conscience had returned, his dirty soul sang out his shame…and even as badly as he wanted it to be over, he knew he deserved worse than Dean could ever give him…and Sam wanted it, what Dean had to offer…the punishment…the promise to pay for his sin.
Dean idly picks up the bamboo cane and brings it down hard on Sam’s already welted ass. Sam doesn’t move, though a breath of air escapes him.
“Tell me Sam,” he orders, his hand fisting in Sam’s hair to pull his head back.
Sam’s eyes roll, slowly focusing on Dean. “Please…” It’s a whispered whine and Dean tightens his fingers in Sam’s hair.
“Tell me.”
“S-seven.” Sam’s eyes close and Dean pulls. “Seven times…fucked me. Eighteen cuts.”
Dean loosens his grip and pets Sam’s hair. “And your mouth?”
“Four times.”
“That’s my good boy, Sammy. What about you. How many?”
“Three…three times.”
Dean’s cock is half hard just from the sound of his voice. “Ready to make it four?”
“Please Dean…please…I can’t…no more…”
“Now, as I recall I said that to you once. Do you remember?”
“Dean…I didn’t want this…I never wanted you to be…”
Dean’s smile is slow, dangerous. “You don’t get to choose anymore Sam. You did this. You made me. Do you remember me begging? Do you remember me on my knees while you fucked my mouth until I passed out?”
Dean climbed up off the bed and pulled Sam off, dragging him over to the mirror on the bathroom door. “Stand up.”
“Can’t…”
Dean fisted a hand in Sam’s hair and dragged him up…off the floor until he was standing. He took his time, spreading Sam’s legs, arranging his arms behind his back. Then Dean stepped up behind him. “Look.” Sam lifted his head slowly. “See what you are Sam? Do you see?”
“Yes Dean. I see.”
“What do you see Sam?”
“Nothing.”
Dean’s hand snaked around and grabbed Sam’s flaccid cock. “I want you hard.” He pulled and felt Sam respond. His cock was angry and red, even limp. “You want it Sam? Want me to fuck you again? Want me to use you like the whore you are?”
Sam’s eyes closed, even as his dick hardened in Dean’s ungentle hand. “That’s it. Tell me what you’re thinking about, Sammy? What’s getting you hard for me?”
“Jo.” Sam said softly. Dean smiled into the skin of his brother’s back.
“Which part…when you fucked her, or when I did?”
“You.”
Dean twists and Sam yelps, leaning forward. “Open your eyes and watch Sam. I want you to see what a sick fuck you are. I want you to know.”
Sam’s eyes open, and their filled with disgust and horror as Dean’s cock slides inside him. He’s open and spread and come is dried all inside him, making the intrusion painful anyway. Sam keens, high and long, and Dean can feel it in his bones as he thrusts and Sam takes him and he pulls Sam’s pulsing cock.
“Fucking whore…can you taste her, Sammy?” And he knows he can, because Dean can…he can feel the tendons and skin give way under his teeth, can taste the faint hint of perfume…the sweat and fear…the copper burst as her blood floods his mouth the way his come was flooding her body. “Tell me.”
“Yeah…Dean…taste her…please.”
Let me die. He doesn’t say it, but Dean can hear it anyway. He shoves in all the harder and Sam’s head cracks against the mirror. Dean pulls him back, presses his hands to Sam’s chest, leaving his cock hard and dripping. “Finish.”
At first Sam doesn’t understand, then slowly his hands move, one taking his cock and stroking slowly. Dean’s buried in his ass, and just holding Sam against him. “Finish it Sam.”
Sam’s hand skips over the skin, and he stops pretending. Dean can see it in his eyes when he gives in, when the glaze of lust and desire sweeps through him and there’s an echo of the Sam he had been there in his eyes. “That’s it.” Dean whispers…because this is part of the promise…to bring him along for the ride…to keep him forever…and Sam comes with a strangled cry, spilling come over his hand before Dean pulls out and lets him fall to the floor.
Dean squats beside him. “Love you.”
Sam’s eyes close, and Dean thinks there might be tears, but he stands and goes into the bathroom to start a shower. He doesn’t care about tears. There aren’t enough tears in the world for this fucked up mess. He knew that before Sam took him back…and Dean’s done with tears.
Title: Promises Made
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to of sorts to the "Points" ( Which Begins Here)and "Pieces" ( Which Begins Here) and "Paints" ( Which begins here") Verse, this follows The Promise of More......Dean gets his turn...Dudes...yeah...sorry...
Warnings/Author's Notes: I apologize in advance. Dark, ugly, sexy, violent...includes incest, rape and memory of rape, m/m, torture...is painful folks...
“Dean, please” Sam’s voice is the sound of broken glass being dragged over concrete, wrecked and ragged, nearly lost to the ruined comforter beneath him.
Dean isn’t touching him, but Sam keeps rasping the words. Over and over. Like a litany that will save him, that will reach through to some soft center and make Dean stop…or push him to end it all.
Sam is stretched out on the bed beside him, his long body naked and spent, sweaty and bloody. His skin is a tapestry of pain, bruises deep and dark blooming in blue and purple and black so deep it almost looks unreal…color flowering over the welts, and under cuts on skin that once gleamed gold in the light…but Sam’s skin hasn’t seen the light for days. Dean keeps him in easy reach, and reaches from time to time, even if just to remind Sam that he’s there, that Sam is alive. The promise has been made, the promise of a price, of payment…and once made, Dean always keeps his promises.
He presses against clotting cuts, bringing blood to the surface. He touches raised skin. He waits for Sam to find enough of himself to move away.
Sam won’t move. Dean knows.
Blood pools in the shallow hollow above the curve of Sam’s ass and Dean leans down to pull a finger through it. It’s slightly cooled…clotting as he pulls it up, painting the line of Sam’s spine in vivid red. “Pretty,” he whispers as he reaches Sam’s neck and slides his hand into Sam’s sweat soaked hair. He rubs lightly, gently against Sam’s scalp.
“Dean, please…please…please…” It’s broken and raw and he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking, Dean thinks.
He presses kisses to his brother’s temple. “Shh…easy, baby…I’m here.” Though he imagines that isn’t as comforting as it might once have been. He sighs and looks around the room. There’s blood and come on almost every surface. Sam’s blood. Dean’s come. He never did get the name of the pizza boy he’d killed after he stripped him naked and made him suck Sam off. Ropes hang from the ceiling and walls.
It should be odd, the stamina that has come with the embracing of the dark inside…with the choosing to be this…this thing Sam pushed him toward. But Dean had the choice. Dean made the choice to become this. Dean had knelt and offered it all up, surrendered everything he had ever been for no more reward than to be Sam’s…because Dean was nothing without him.
That he could even be considering more as the smell of blood and come mix with the sight of his Sammy begging was a testament to the power of the dark side of Dean Winchester. He’s fucked his little brother over every imaginable surface over the last two days…fucked him and cut him and whipped him, beat him…until Sam was this long puddle of bruised flesh begging mindlessly beside him.
He thinks maybe it’s time for them to move on, that he’s wrung all he can out of this town, out of Sam in this town. But for the moment he’s sated, unwilling to disturb the sort of peace that had settled over him when he’d last slipped out of Sam and down onto the bed.
He doesn’t have Sam’s skills, can’t kill with his brain…can’t see the things coming at them in the dark days before they do. That hasn’t mattered though, not since Sam snapped back to himself. He’d never understood that power, always afraid of using it…and now he couldn’t…because his conscience had returned, his dirty soul sang out his shame…and even as badly as he wanted it to be over, he knew he deserved worse than Dean could ever give him…and Sam wanted it, what Dean had to offer…the punishment…the promise to pay for his sin.
Dean idly picks up the bamboo cane and brings it down hard on Sam’s already welted ass. Sam doesn’t move, though a breath of air escapes him.
“Tell me Sam,” he orders, his hand fisting in Sam’s hair to pull his head back.
Sam’s eyes roll, slowly focusing on Dean. “Please…” It’s a whispered whine and Dean tightens his fingers in Sam’s hair.
“Tell me.”
“S-seven.” Sam’s eyes close and Dean pulls. “Seven times…fucked me. Eighteen cuts.”
Dean loosens his grip and pets Sam’s hair. “And your mouth?”
“Four times.”
“That’s my good boy, Sammy. What about you. How many?”
“Three…three times.”
Dean’s cock is half hard just from the sound of his voice. “Ready to make it four?”
“Please Dean…please…I can’t…no more…”
“Now, as I recall I said that to you once. Do you remember?”
“Dean…I didn’t want this…I never wanted you to be…”
Dean’s smile is slow, dangerous. “You don’t get to choose anymore Sam. You did this. You made me. Do you remember me begging? Do you remember me on my knees while you fucked my mouth until I passed out?”
Dean climbed up off the bed and pulled Sam off, dragging him over to the mirror on the bathroom door. “Stand up.”
“Can’t…”
Dean fisted a hand in Sam’s hair and dragged him up…off the floor until he was standing. He took his time, spreading Sam’s legs, arranging his arms behind his back. Then Dean stepped up behind him. “Look.” Sam lifted his head slowly. “See what you are Sam? Do you see?”
“Yes Dean. I see.”
“What do you see Sam?”
“Nothing.”
Dean’s hand snaked around and grabbed Sam’s flaccid cock. “I want you hard.” He pulled and felt Sam respond. His cock was angry and red, even limp. “You want it Sam? Want me to fuck you again? Want me to use you like the whore you are?”
Sam’s eyes closed, even as his dick hardened in Dean’s ungentle hand. “That’s it. Tell me what you’re thinking about, Sammy? What’s getting you hard for me?”
“Jo.” Sam said softly. Dean smiled into the skin of his brother’s back.
“Which part…when you fucked her, or when I did?”
“You.”
Dean twists and Sam yelps, leaning forward. “Open your eyes and watch Sam. I want you to see what a sick fuck you are. I want you to know.”
Sam’s eyes open, and their filled with disgust and horror as Dean’s cock slides inside him. He’s open and spread and come is dried all inside him, making the intrusion painful anyway. Sam keens, high and long, and Dean can feel it in his bones as he thrusts and Sam takes him and he pulls Sam’s pulsing cock.
“Fucking whore…can you taste her, Sammy?” And he knows he can, because Dean can…he can feel the tendons and skin give way under his teeth, can taste the faint hint of perfume…the sweat and fear…the copper burst as her blood floods his mouth the way his come was flooding her body. “Tell me.”
“Yeah…Dean…taste her…please.”
Let me die. He doesn’t say it, but Dean can hear it anyway. He shoves in all the harder and Sam’s head cracks against the mirror. Dean pulls him back, presses his hands to Sam’s chest, leaving his cock hard and dripping. “Finish.”
At first Sam doesn’t understand, then slowly his hands move, one taking his cock and stroking slowly. Dean’s buried in his ass, and just holding Sam against him. “Finish it Sam.”
Sam’s hand skips over the skin, and he stops pretending. Dean can see it in his eyes when he gives in, when the glaze of lust and desire sweeps through him and there’s an echo of the Sam he had been there in his eyes. “That’s it.” Dean whispers…because this is part of the promise…to bring him along for the ride…to keep him forever…and Sam comes with a strangled cry, spilling come over his hand before Dean pulls out and lets him fall to the floor.
Dean squats beside him. “Love you.”
Sam’s eyes close, and Dean thinks there might be tears, but he stands and goes into the bathroom to start a shower. He doesn’t care about tears. There aren’t enough tears in the world for this fucked up mess. He knew that before Sam took him back…and Dean’s done with tears.