Fanfic - SPN: Eager - Ch. 3 - Act
Title: Eager [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Three: Act
Dean's body snapped as he woke up, like there'd been a bucket of ice dumped on his head. Everything was wrong, or- … it wasn't now, but it had been wrong. He'd felt- … and he'd almost- … Deep breath. His thoughts were racing with the labor of his breathing.
This was why he didn't like bondage. Too. Fucking. Vulnerable. That guy, Rick, whatever, had done … something … made him feel like … not himself. He might have thought … things … sometimes … but not like that, and not all at once, and even when he'd thought things like that, they'd never made him want to give up. Or … maybe they'd made him think about it, but never seriously, and he'd certainly never actually given up like that.
He had to get out of the chains.
"Okay. Don't freak out." He was nodding to himself as he swung his legs back over the edge, nodding and talking to himself. Yeah, talking to himself. Fuck. What would be within a foot of a bed that would work as a lockpick? He searched the nearest nightstand drawer, but there was nothing. It was quite literally bare.
Note to self: When free and alone again, find varying sizes of paper clips and something skinny but heavy.
Yeah. Right. Like that was going to work. Specialty padlocks like these were a bitch to unlatch even when he had a good lockpick on hand, and his wrists were locked together, which would cause serious problems for angling anything into the lock underneath anyway. Finding a way out of the chains wasn't so much about being free when Sam came home, though, because that would just be beyond dumb and dangerous. He did want to know that he could do it if he had to, though, like to get away from overfriendly guards.
It wasn't long until he just had to face facts, however. He wasn't going anywhere. He was chained. To a bed. And it was a nice bed and everything, but he was chained to a bed because- … because that was where most of his life would be spent from now on … because he was supposed to be a whore. He was owned and- … He couldn't help but look up at the plaque above the headboard and his signature binding him to Sam as a slave. He was owned and he was marked. He was bound literally, chained as if he were a dog that might stray, and he was bound … some other kind of way. Magickally? Spiritually? Whatever you called it, it was fucked.
It wasn't like there was much he could do about it right then, though. He barely had enough information about this world to keep Sam from drugging him or beating him half to death and it didn't look like he'd find any allies in the staff. Too, if he was honest with himself, he'd note that he still had no idea how to pull Sam back from the edge- … yet. Yeah. Yet. He'd figure it out eventually, though. He just … needed to watch Sam for a while, maybe push him to talk more when he was in a good mood, if such a mood ever happened.
He shifted, suddenly restless and feeling even more trapped than he ever had here. He'd never been wholly out of options before. There'd always been something he could do, even if it was crazy or difficult or bizarre. There'd always been options and, calming his breathing, Dean tried to think things through more slowly, more rationally, and he realized that there must be options here too. Sam was as good at locking down his options as he was at locking down his person, but he wasn't perfect. There had to be a way.
And there was. Maybe.
He was supposed to be a whore, right? And, Sam wanted him to be 'eager'. And, okay, so that one really great kiss yesterday hadn't gone perfectly, but kissing Sam like he was still his Sam seemed to shake his brother up some, right? Which was definitely something that needed to happen a lot more often if Dean was ever going to make progress, right? So … maybe Sam was making sense … in a way. Maybe he needed to give Sam what he wanted, but not so much because he really thought he was a whore. Maybe he needed to give in so that he could dampen the tension in the room and get Sam to let his guard down. Quieting his outward resistance would even give him the added bonus of receiving less punishment, hopefully.
It seemed that he just might have a plan for how to make headway here after all … as long as he could keep his ego in check … and act well enough to seem like he was starting to accept this whole enslavement situation … and not put up a fight even when Sam's use of him was brutal.
Right. … Yeah. … Easy.
He stretched out on his side, trying to compose himself and relax as much as possible in preparation for the act to come. His mind wouldn't shut off, but it quieted some as he waited for his brother's return, shifting his locked wrists on the pillow so that the metal didn't catch more light from the windows than his eyes could handle. The sun was lower than it had been when he'd curled up, unnaturally broken, but he wasn't sure of the hour and even if he'd known, it wouldn't tell him how much longer Sam would be away.
It felt strange, after a life on the move, to be forcibly made to settle like this, to wait. He wondered what it would be like to do this everyday, to lay beside his chains and wait for Sam to come home, to come in and use his bound body, then set the restraints aside, allowing him the illusion of freedom for a moment or two. He felt all turned around, like the world had been set on its head and he was the only one still reeling. The Irovian widow had mixed him up more than should've been possible and Rick's machinations hadn't helped, but the truth was that he'd woken up with this feeling of missing something, not unlike the morning after a heavy night of drinking when his mind refused to let him remember what an ass he'd made of himself. He shook his head as if that would dislodge the sudden ache at the back of his skull or jar his lost memory out of hiding. The layers of this world were building and weighing him down, more and more, in the process.
* * *
When Dean finally heard Sam's voice, laughing in the hallway after he'd been half-dozing for a while, he didn't know whether to be concerned or relieved. It was an end to his waiting and he straightened up to sitting, trying not to over-think the performance ahead. The door clicked as it swung open and Sam strode into the room, the door shutting on its own behind him, but Dean could only hear and imagine the scene as it transpired. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the wall and windows closest to him. His eyes were downcast as part of his demure demeanor, along with his even breathing and the way his anchored hands rested in his lap.
Sam hung his coat with the clink of hangers and closet doors, then rounded the bed to stand in front of him, sounding a little puzzled, but mostly pleased. "The chains suit you. You seem … calmer."
"I am … sir." He didn't look up, but he nodded. "I think … I dunno … maybe you're right, ya know … about me needing to … accept this."
Sam bent down slightly, his hand seeking Dean's chin to lift it, even if Dean didn't look at him. "Say that again … ?"
The air seemed warmer somehow and Dean tried to steer this away from going badly, putting a little more certainty into his voice, though it remained soft. "I think you could be right … that I need to accept this. … I think maybe I'm … already starting to."
Sam's hand shifted lightening-quick, a harsh slap that swung Dean's head nearly around. "You think this is a fucking game, whore?"
Shit. "No, sir. I- …"
Smack. Another stinging blow, harder this time, snapping Dean's head back in the other direction. "You think you can fucking play me, whore?"
"No, sir." Dean blinked, his face hot after the fall of Sam's hand. Don't fight. Let him win. All the muscles around his collarbone bunched in together, knowing there would be more, or worse. And there would be.
Sam paused, silent, for a long time, but Dean was starting to understand all the unspoken rules here. He kept his eyes down, didn't move, and didn't speak, almost too afraid to breathe.
The smacks fell hard and fast, his face nearly on fire from the friction and force and his head whipping back and forth like a toy ball in some demented game of tennis. There was a wet sheen in his eyes, born of reflexes that thought he'd suddenly been caught in the midst of crashing winds, when his hands finally shot up, on instinct, and halted the flick of Sam's wrist. The hold wasn't tight or remotely menacing. Sam could have shaken it off easily, but he didn't. He just went impossibly still, as if he'd turned into stone.
"Dean … let go of me." Sam's voice was soft, but icy, the calm before the storm, and Dean knew he'd fucked up, but he couldn't make his hands unlatch from Sam's arm.
"Just … hear me out, okay? … I'm sorry. … I just- … I said what I thought you wanted to hear, so … stop … please … Sam … sir. … I'm sorry."
"Let. … Go." The words were so low and so deeply laced with power that he could feel them reverberating in the air between them, like the remnants of an earthquake … or maybe the first tremors of one.
Dean slowly pulled his fingers from Sam's burning skin, one by one, his breath rushing as he heard the clink of restraining steel and wondered what his defiance would mean this time. How much more come to swallow, how many more lashings to endure, how many more hours of bondage, of begging, of fucking, of aching? How much more of this could he really take before he snapped? Before he broke? How much more before Sam did the same and decided to end it all with death or the drug?
He hated this, this scratching in his stomach that was making his heart beat like it could run itself out of his chest, because he knew what it was and as his hands fell, lifeless, back to a lap cooled by chains … he was afraid.
Sam's final blow was more forearm and wrist than the back of his hand and it might as well have been racquet or a bat. Dean's head hit the pillow with a crack, something loosening and leaving his mouth bloody. "Don't you ever try to keep me from using or disciplining my property however I choose. You hear me, whore?"
"Yes, sir." His words were mumbled, barely audible, as he spoke around the ache in his jaw and the blood on his tongue.
"Sit up."
Dean pulled himself back up, slowly, his shoulders hunched inward towards the chin that almost sat on his chest. His eyes were open and the bottom of Sam's jeans was in view, but he wasn't really seeing anything.
"I know you think this is a game, some kind of game you can win if you play your cards right. But it's not. And you can't. If you really think you can play me by bullshitting a few lines about how you've come to your senses, then you're truly dumber than I thought. Try to remember, whore, that I was the one playing you, for what? Almost a year? … Yeah. … And even if that didn't take all that much skill, honestly, I still have way more practice at this than you do."
He felt like he should be looking up at Sam, watching his eyes, trying to interpret all the nuances, but he just … couldn't. Sam's eyes were already drilling holes into him, trying to understand how he worked so he could take him apart, and that glare would be too much for Dean to meet head-on. He could understand, now, why some people in service positions kept their eyes down. It wasn't about who was better. It was about who had more immediate power. It was just easier to look away from that intense scrutiny, because people with power tended to find fault with everything and few had any qualms about using their power to do serious damage.
"Really, though, you must have a seriously poor understanding of the situation to think that you're faking acceptance, faking submission."
Sam reached out to him, his hand folded nearly into a fist, and he dragged the back of his bent fingers over Dean's cheek. The thrum of power, riding between Sam's skin and his own, felt like the skitter of a scorpion preparing to sting, and Dean shrunk away from that touch, not wanting to know what came next.
"When you tremble and cower, you're not faking fear, whore, you're feeling it."
Sam's other hand came up, thumb pulling down on Dean's lip until his mouth opened. Then everything was hot and he could feel himself begin to sweat as Sam slipped a finger into his mouth, following the mold of his bottom teeth before settling on his tongue. The scorpion of Sam's left hand crawled lower, curving around his throat, almost blistering with heat, but Dean poured all his willpower into staying put. Moving away now would be taken as a challenge and would only make things worse.
"When you do as you're told, even if you resist for a minute, you're not faking submission, you're submitting."
The fingers at his throat crushed the skin in, muscles and tendons aching from the pressure, and even though his windpipe was clear for the moment, his lungs began to panic, anticipating its closure.
"And when there are pieces of you screaming for you to be realistic about your situation, you're not faking acceptance, you're just starting to accept. … You're not faking any of this any more than you're faking cocksucking when my dick is in your mouth. Understand, whore?"
Dean let his eyes flick up to Sam's, but they were too close and too fiendish, so his lashes fell down again, quickly, and shielded him as he nodded.
Sam's finger, wet with Dean's spit, slid out to rub over Dean's lips slowly before pulling away, only to be replaced by the press of Sam's tongue, tasting him briefly before breathing his words over him. "The problem isn't what you let your little whore's mouth say, it's why you said it. … You thought you were lying to me, thought you were getting one over on me, didn't you, whore?"
"I- … I just wanted to give you what you wanted … so you wouldn't be so … tense … all the time." He knew it sounded shifty even if it was half true, but he didn't know what else to say.
Sam chuckled, deep, but his hand squeezed harder around Dean's neck until his airway began to contract. His breaths became audible and pained, like swallowing glass. "You always have some other fucking agenda, Dean. I told you yesterday, you can't manipulate me by being a slut. My ownership of you means that you give me what I want, or I punish you, and I don't have to give you anything. You can't trick me into doing what you want. It just won't work. I'm going to do whatever-the-fuck I want or need to do and nothing else. So put your little acting cap away and focus on learning how to be good. Understand?"
"Yes- … Yes, sir."
"I am so fucking sick of this, Dean. I'm- … Do you even know how close that drug is right now, you little fuck? How close I am to reaching for it? Arm's length. That close. You keep pissing me off like this and you're not going to like the results. … Kneel on the bed."
Dean knew what was coming next as he moved to kneel when Sam let go of him. He cringed anyway, though, as the toy box slammed open and shut on its own, the flogger whizzing by him and into Sam's hands. The harsh rain of leather came down more times than it had that morning and Dean shook, his breathing stuttered, eyes wet, but Sam was agitated and it went by quickly enough, a throb slipping under his skin like all his muscles were stretching painfully, trying to burst open, then contracting again with every heartbeat. It made him wonder if his plans would ever work here or if they would always just bring him more pain.
"Now sit down and shut up. I have other shit to do and I don't want to have to deal with you right now."
He mumbled "yes, sir" as he went back to sitting on the edge of the bed, nodding as he kept his head down and hoped that Sam wouldn't hit him again before he stalked off to the other side of the room.
Sam went about doing … something … Dean wasn't really sure what, but he heard the rustling of papers and the creak of the desk chair, so he imagined it might be work-related, maybe, if his work even involved paperwork. He sat for a long time, wondering if Sam was going to arrange some way for them to 'play' together, some way to add more bruises to his skin. But it was like Sam was just … busy … which should have been fine, and it was, but it was also strange, sitting there, chained, knowing that his- … knowing that Sam was home and could demand anything he wanted, whenever, but just … didn't.
It wasn't that he had a problem sitting still. Well, he kind of did, but he'd gotten through the afternoon okay on his own. Now, though, he felt like he was even more restricted somehow, because even if Sam was focused on something else right then, he was still probably aware of his every movement. So, even though Sam hadn't given any orders specifically prohibiting anything, Dean felt like he probably shouldn't draw attention to himself by trying to do more than sit the way Sam had left him and continue to breathe. As he sat, just waiting, however, his mind started to stray into unchartered territory, hesitant and uncertain but verging on desperate.
He needed something that would work, something that could find its way around the walls between him and his brother, and he was sure it couldn't be simple, couldn't be easy. He was started to think that even if performance and defiance weren't the way to go … maybe obedience truly was. Maybe that was the only thing that could get Sam calm enough to let him get close enough to know what was really going on and how he could actually help. He had to refocus, to flip his brain in a direction it would resist but one it needed to come to terms with anyway. He needed to tuck himself away and fall into this world as deeply as he could without completely losing his mind or his life. He had to be good or his brother might be lost for good.
* * *
Eventually, Sam came around to him again, though he didn't actually speak. He just sat down next to Dean with a 'hmm', which might not have seemed like much, but it felt different somehow, almost weird, and Dean realized that Sam almost always made sure to put him on a physically lower level, kneeling, crawling, sitting, laying down. So, he didn't really know what this meant, this sitting side-by-side, and he couldn't help the way his pulse chugged along a little faster as Sam slid an arm around his back, still sitting so close and still not saying anything.
The conversation had a bizarrely normal cloak over it, though, when Sam finally did speak. "How're you doing?"
"I'm fine … sir." He added a little nod as if his words might not be convincing.
"You haven't moved at all."
"No, sir." He wasn't sure if this was a test of some sort, if Sam was waiting for him to fail.
"Do you think I'm going to hurt you if you move?"
"I- … I dunno, sir." Simple honesty.
"Okay." Sam pulled them closer until Dean was nearly in his lap with his head down, shouldered in against his chest, then Sam spoke into his hair. "Here's the deal, Dean. As long as you keep in mind what you are, who I am, and what I want from you, you're going to be fine. If I'm busy, do whatever you want, as long as it's not disrespectful or disobedient and as long as it doesn't impair your ability to serve me. You're my whore. Just because I'm here doesn't mean I'm going to entertain you by ordering you around all the time. If you want to get up and stretch or do some crunches or read the Litany or anything like that, just do it. You don't have to ask me permission unless you think your activity might go against the basic rules that we've already talked about - no disrespect, no clothes, no leaving the room, and no use or abuse of my property. If you stay within those boundaries and ask when you're not sure about something, you're not going to earn new punishment, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"That doesn't mean I'm not going to hurt you, but it does mean that I won't be hurting you because of something you could've done differently, which is probably a goal you should be aiming for. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Sam nodded over his head, but his voice slipped into a slightly lower register. "You know I'm gonna hurt you more tonight, right? The flogging was basically just part of the carryover from yesterday."
A patch of pins and needles ran down Dean's back and he breathed a little quicker. "Yeah … I know … sir."
"And you've got a lot to atone for from today even beyond whatever pain I want to give you, don't you, whore?"
He wasn't even feeling it yet, the whip or the heat or anything much like pain beyond the leftover ache in his back and his mouth. But, when Dean nodded, what he really wanted to do was pull all his limbs tight into himself and cover his head in case of falling debris until the storm blew over.
Sam was brushing a hand up and down his side, as if some supposedly pacifying motion could in any way offset the fight or flight response of a body that knew pain was coming and in extreme quantities. "What did you do yesterday that you owed punishment for?"
He mentally trekked his way back to a moment of glaring Sam down with harsh words. "I was disrespectful."
"To who?"
"To … my owner." The lesson this morning had taught him that.
"Yes. Then you started off the day by using my property without permission, isn't that right, whore?"
He'd been sleeping, but … "Yes, sir." His body was always owned and he was always responsible for the mistakes of that body.
"And what else did you do today that you should be punished for?"
"I- … I tried to … manipulate you." Sam's arm gripped him a little tighter and Dean tried to remember the right words, to remember his place here, though he was sure that the words alone were starting to drive him mad. "And I tried to keep you from … disciplining … your property."
"What about before I got home?"
Dean searched his mind, trying to think of something he needed to confess, but he didn't remember anything. "I didn't do anything before you got back … sir."
"Are you sure about that? You don't want to lie to me." Sam's tone was gentle, though prodding, as if Dean shouldn't have to lie, shouldn't have to worry about the consequences of confession as much as deceit.
Confident, though his eyebrows bunched, Dean shook his head. "I don't mean to lie. I just honestly don't think I did anything while you were gone, nothing … punishable."
"Well maybe you don't understand what I expect, then. … Were you disrespectful to one of my guards?"
Dean blinked as he ran back through his interaction with the guards and unless he'd really missed something, the only person who might've been disrespected was him. "I don't think so, but- ..." It was a harrowing thought, but despite the other guard's reaction to Rick's attentions, maybe Dean really was confused about whether or not he was expected to just give in.
"It's a simple question, Dean. Were you disrespectful to one of my guards?"
It felt weird to ask, but it had to be done. "Am I- ... I mean- ... Are you the only one allowed to ... use me?"
Sam breathed deeply for a moment, his tone midway between confusion and suspicion. "Me and whoever else I give the privilege to."
Breathing with Sam in the wake of his words, Dean delayed his questioning, as if the problematic nature of that response would fade with its sound. "Is Rick one of those people?" After that, every breath felt like an hour passing.
Sam seemed to shift ever so slightly, moving as if to speak twice before actually deciding to share the answer. "No … not right now ..."
Dean blinked through the conditional response, but put it away with a shake of his head. "Then no. I didn't say or do anything I shouldn't've." For the moment, he was safe. Maybe.
"Well … did you push his hand away when he was setting up your chains?"
"No, I pushed his hand away when- …"
"So you were aggressive with one of my guards and tried to prevent him from doing what he needed to do." It seemed like 'aha!' was on the tip of his tongue, his voice lifting with his supposed discovery.
"No, he- …"
"Yes, Dean." Sam chided him softly but firmly. "You were disrespectful and aggressive."
This was not an 'aha!' moment, however, no uncovered misbehaving that was worthy of punishment. Sam just wasn't listening and Dean was fed up, yanking himself out of the embrace enough to actually look at his brother. "Can you just give me a second to talk, Sam?!"
There was an immediate shift in the room, a darkness in Sam's eyes, and a dangerous drop in his tone. "I'm sorry, what was that, whore?"
Dean caught himself, lowering his volume and altering his attitude as he averted his eyes downwards again. "Can I please explain the situation … sir?"
"Okay … go ahead."
Dean took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that as much as he hated it, Sam had to be the one to handle this situation or it would only get worse. "That guard, Rick or something, he- … I didn't push his hand away because I was trying to stop him from chaining me to the bed. He had already done that. … I pushed his hand away because he was trying to- … touch me - touch me … ya know? And, he didn't get very far or anything, but … it seemed like he might try again and … you know I'm not good with the mind tricks. I'd honestly say that you need to fire the guy, but … I don't know how things work around here, so … I just thought you should know."
"Well- … Come here." Sam tugged Dean back down into his arms again, petting him as he explained his understanding of the story. "Rick told me that you were a bit jumpy while he was checking the hold on your chains and that he had to take you down for a minute so that you didn't get out of hand. He seems to think that despite your current occupation, or maybe because of it, you're really uncomfortable with people touching you, so he was pretty cool about it, actually. He didn't ask for an apology or anything. He just told me the situation and was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"That's bullshit!" Dean struggled to pull himself up again but was thwarted by Sam's hold. "That is not how it happened. He- …"
"Listen." Sam tightened his grip even more, expressing his authority even while keeping a measure of kindness in his voice. "I can see how you might be uncomfortable. The last time you had someone else's hands on you, you were under the influence of the drug, so your desire to be touched probably overrode your fear. But …" Sam spoke slowly, gently, as if Dean was the one being unreasonable and not the other way around. "You're going to need to get used to my staff being physical with you sometimes, whether it's to restrain you or to prepare you for something or anything else, and you need to be respectful."
"I wasn't being disrespectful!" He couldn't help continuing to struggle even though it seemed futile. Things were bad enough with just the out-of-bounds stuff he actually had done, so he was not about to pay for a crime that he didn't commit. "He wanted to … use me … and he would've too, if that other guard hadn't've come in and told him to clear out. I'm not exaggerating this or being overly sensitive or something. He was trying to get sexual with me … and I was pretty out of it."
Sam sighed. "Dean, I know you have a problem with non-human abilities and I could see how you could get confused about what was happening, especially with a gift like his. But, just let it go, alright? I know what kind of guy Rick is. I was the one who recruited him. … He certainly has his flaws, but I doubt he has a thing for Hunters, and he's been loyal for a long time, so … he might think you're totally fuckable, might even flirt a bit, but he wouldn't use my property without my permission. Not unless- …" He stilled. "Are you attracted to him?" Sam's tone was guarded, but curious.
"No! He's fucking creepy. And whatever his mind mojo is? … It's fucking creepy too." Being a predatory asshole wasn't really an endearing quality.
"But do you think he's attractive?"
"No. Creepy. That's it."
"So, you think he's ugly?"
"It's not that he's ugly. It's just that- …" Trick question. "What are you really asking here, Sam? You wanna know if I would fuck him?!"
"Would you?"
"NO!"
"You're getting a little loud there, whore."
Dean swallowed, frustrated enough to tear out tufts of hair if that weren't against the my-body-belongs-to-my-master code. "I don't want to fuck him and I didn't give him the impression that I did."
He could feel Sam nodding, slowly. "Okay. Well … I'll have Nowell handle your chains from now on, just in case, but listen … I know that you're used to … variety … in your sexual adventures. … Are you craving something different already? Be honest."
"What?" Honestly, it hadn't occurred to him and he doubted that it ever would in this situation. "No. I- … No."
"You what?"
"I- … I don't want anyone else." The words were soft because they made his throat ache, but they were also mostly true. He wanted his Sam and, if he could just get his Sam back, then that would be enough.
Sam's sigh blew at his hair. "You tell such pretty lies, Dean."
"I- …"
"Hush. … I won't be happy if you seduce anyone on my staff. And I probably won't be all that happy if you feel the need to fuck someone else in general. But if you're having trouble keeping your hands and other things to yourself, then just talk to me. I'll hurt you, I'm sure, but it'll be so much better than if you let someone else use my property without my permission." Sam paused in his thinking, though, his words continuing more carefully. "Too … if it pleases me … maybe I'll let others have you while I watch. So … between the pain and me whoring you out … you should be able to keep your dick in line, alright?"
Panic shocked its way through his system like there were wires in his veins. "What?! Sam, I- … I really don't want anyone else … and I don't want you to … whore me out. I don't- … I don't need that, Sam. … I don't. … I swear."
"You don't have a choice, Dean." Sam seemed to speak more directly into Dean's hair, emphasizing his words with a brief squeeze, as if this was a pep talk more than anything else. "I know how you work and, yes, this is my way of heading you off at the pass, but I don't do anything that I don't want or need to do, remember? So … if I want to watch you service other people, you'll do it, whether you want to or not. And you know why that is, don't you?"
Dean could immediately feel his teeth grinding, nearly into dust.
"Why is that?"
He shook his head gently, quietly refusing to play the game.
Sam snorted, squeezing Dean to him again, but longer and more forcefully this time, his power humming just below the surface. "Oh come on, Dean. It's still early. Do you really want to scream for me right now?"
Giving the windows in front of him the hard look that Sam deserved, Dean fought with himself until the words came out. "Because I'm … your whore." God, he hated that word. He shuddered, shrugging deeply and shaking his head more vehemently, fighting to pull away as he was suddenly overwhelmed by the totality of his enslavement, flashes of remembered humiliation and pain twisting him up inside as if he'd already been passed around on Sam's watch. "I don't think I can do this. I can't- … Don't, okay? Just- … Sam, just- … Don't."
"You can and you will, sober or not." The thrum of Sam's power increased, reaching out to remind its target that pain and drugs were the only options beyond obedience. "There's no room for discussion on this. You have no right to negotiate. Hell, you don't even have anything to barter with. Everything you have and are belongs to me already. So … I can do whatever I want with you, including make you kneel and beg for someone else."
Sam pulled their bodies tighter together, squashing Dean's resistance, and the feel of Sam's fingers gliding over his muscles and ribs nearly made him ill right then, as if with every stroke they were inking his status, his purpose, his worth, into every visible bit of his person. Being Sam's personal whore wasn't just taking the whip for Sam, or sucking a dick and spreading his legs for Sam. Now it was … anything for Sam … close his eyes and count to ten for Sam … try to forget the feel of others' skin for Sam, just … letting go of everything he was and being a willing mash of holes and hands for the entertainment of anyone Sam pleased. He didn't need Rick's unnatural encouragement to know that he was nothing. Sam got the point across just fine on his own.
"And actually … all this talk about fucking has made me want some of that quality service of yours."
There was an immediate swell of bitterness in Dean's mouth, but he tried to swallow it down, because it wouldn't help anything. He nodded rapidly, mindlessly, trying not to think about Sam making him into just some mute collection of places to shove his cock. It was inevitable, though, at this point. His whole world was being forcibly narrowed to nothing but sex, sex with a side of injury.
"So … how do you want me?" He meant it to sound casual, even funny, but the pitch and the clench of his teeth made it drip with desperation, anger, and horror more than sarcasm.
"Hmm … I haven't decided yet. I want to hurt you first, though, so … let me think about what'll work best for that, okay?" Sam slipped out of their embrace and Dean turned to watch him walk over to the toy box. Sam talked carelessly, halfway over his shoulder, as he went through the contents of the box. "Do you want some dick, whore? Is that why you've been weird since I got home? I know I didn't let you service me this morning. Did you miss it?"
"What? … No." So much still surprised him here, as if he was still expecting the world to make recognizable sense. It didn't, though, so he shouldn't still be thrown into confusion when Sam acted like the normality of 'servicing his owner' was even roughly equivalent to, say, 'going to a baseball game'.
Sam turned to look at him, a fully amused smirk hanging from his lips. "Just for future reference, it's probably not a good idea to say that you're not interested in your owner's dick. Your owner runs your life, so you want him to be happy, and the easiest way make him happy is by making his dick happy. Know what I mean?"
"Uhhh … yeah … I guess … sir."
Sam went back to rummaging through the toys. "Think about it like this, Dean. The more you love my cock, the less you'll hate your life."
Dean's mouth fell open in shock as his eyebrows peaked. If he'd heard the line anywhere but here, he would have laughed at its absurdity, but this wasn't actually funny. It was sick and sad and insane, but not remotely funny.
"Ohhh!" Sam stopped his search abruptly and Dean could see part of what must have been a megawatt grin. Then, Sam turned around to lean back on the box, his hands empty, his eyes twinkling darkly, and his voice rich with intensity and twisted delight. "Are you ready for some fun, whore?"
Dean jolted a little at the sudden shift in his brother, but knew whatever Sam's plan was, he'd have to endure it one way or another. He lifted his hands, flashing the chained cuffs. "Are you gonna … undo the chains, so I can … give you what you need?"
"If you're still chained, whore, it's because that's how I want you." Sam's tone tacked 'obviously' to the phrase's end with cold disdain framing his excitement.
Dean let his hands fall back to his lap, sucking in air as the metal dug into his skin and his jaw clicked left, then right. He fucking hated these chains and he'd worn them for hours already. But, of course, Sam didn’t care how he felt. "Yes, sir."
Sam let things stand for a moment before nodding and moving on, eyes somewhat softer, anticipating something. "Now … did you try to get free this afternoon?"
Dean blinked. The question seemed out of place and Sam couldn't know, could he? "I didn't get out of the chains."
"That wasn't the question, whore. Did you try to get out of them? Did you look for things to pick the lock with?"
Dean worked to keep his breathing even. He was at a point where he didn't really know what the truth would mean, but dishonesty never seemed to work out well here.
"Dean … ?"
"Yeah, I did, but like I said, I didn't get out, so you've got nothing to worry about."
"It's not about worrying. It's about- …" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "It's about hoping that you'd get it, that you'd be good. Can't say I'm surprised, but I'm disappointed. … And you wondered why I thought it was important to restrain you and remind you of your status, which is what? … What are you?"
There was a feral growl looming in the back of his throat from the frustration built up from all these words, words he said, words Sam and everybody else said, words that were never 'just words' anymore. They carried a kind of weight to them, a kind of power that might not be mystical but was still so harsh as to be overwhelming at times.
He tried, but he couldn't hold his brother's eyes. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."
"Do pieces of property have rights?"
He licked his teeth. "No, sir."
"What's the sole priority of a whore?"
His lungs didn't understand that he wasn't sprinting anywhere. "To please … his owner."
"So … if you were an obedient slave, a good whore, what would be the best response to being chained at your owner's command?"
His shoulders tensed like the words were blows, running together and slamming into him. Obedient-slave-good-whore-chained-at-your-owner's-command. "Not to fight. Just … submit."
"And why is that?"
Whore. Shhh. "Because I should … know that this is … pleasing … to my owner."
"And?"
Submit. Shut up. "And I should … accept … that this is my life."
"But that's something you seem to have a rough time with, isn't it?"
Dean barely shrugged, wondering and whispering under his breath. "Is it supposed to be easy?"
Sam wasn't looking for any real answer, though, and wasn't really listening. "We're gonna work on that tonight, okay? That, and your need to play games with me. So lay down on the bed, with your hands on the pillows above your head."
One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Three: Act
Dean's body snapped as he woke up, like there'd been a bucket of ice dumped on his head. Everything was wrong, or- … it wasn't now, but it had been wrong. He'd felt- … and he'd almost- … Deep breath. His thoughts were racing with the labor of his breathing.
This was why he didn't like bondage. Too. Fucking. Vulnerable. That guy, Rick, whatever, had done … something … made him feel like … not himself. He might have thought … things … sometimes … but not like that, and not all at once, and even when he'd thought things like that, they'd never made him want to give up. Or … maybe they'd made him think about it, but never seriously, and he'd certainly never actually given up like that.
He had to get out of the chains.
"Okay. Don't freak out." He was nodding to himself as he swung his legs back over the edge, nodding and talking to himself. Yeah, talking to himself. Fuck. What would be within a foot of a bed that would work as a lockpick? He searched the nearest nightstand drawer, but there was nothing. It was quite literally bare.
Note to self: When free and alone again, find varying sizes of paper clips and something skinny but heavy.
Yeah. Right. Like that was going to work. Specialty padlocks like these were a bitch to unlatch even when he had a good lockpick on hand, and his wrists were locked together, which would cause serious problems for angling anything into the lock underneath anyway. Finding a way out of the chains wasn't so much about being free when Sam came home, though, because that would just be beyond dumb and dangerous. He did want to know that he could do it if he had to, though, like to get away from overfriendly guards.
It wasn't long until he just had to face facts, however. He wasn't going anywhere. He was chained. To a bed. And it was a nice bed and everything, but he was chained to a bed because- … because that was where most of his life would be spent from now on … because he was supposed to be a whore. He was owned and- … He couldn't help but look up at the plaque above the headboard and his signature binding him to Sam as a slave. He was owned and he was marked. He was bound literally, chained as if he were a dog that might stray, and he was bound … some other kind of way. Magickally? Spiritually? Whatever you called it, it was fucked.
It wasn't like there was much he could do about it right then, though. He barely had enough information about this world to keep Sam from drugging him or beating him half to death and it didn't look like he'd find any allies in the staff. Too, if he was honest with himself, he'd note that he still had no idea how to pull Sam back from the edge- … yet. Yeah. Yet. He'd figure it out eventually, though. He just … needed to watch Sam for a while, maybe push him to talk more when he was in a good mood, if such a mood ever happened.
He shifted, suddenly restless and feeling even more trapped than he ever had here. He'd never been wholly out of options before. There'd always been something he could do, even if it was crazy or difficult or bizarre. There'd always been options and, calming his breathing, Dean tried to think things through more slowly, more rationally, and he realized that there must be options here too. Sam was as good at locking down his options as he was at locking down his person, but he wasn't perfect. There had to be a way.
And there was. Maybe.
He was supposed to be a whore, right? And, Sam wanted him to be 'eager'. And, okay, so that one really great kiss yesterday hadn't gone perfectly, but kissing Sam like he was still his Sam seemed to shake his brother up some, right? Which was definitely something that needed to happen a lot more often if Dean was ever going to make progress, right? So … maybe Sam was making sense … in a way. Maybe he needed to give Sam what he wanted, but not so much because he really thought he was a whore. Maybe he needed to give in so that he could dampen the tension in the room and get Sam to let his guard down. Quieting his outward resistance would even give him the added bonus of receiving less punishment, hopefully.
It seemed that he just might have a plan for how to make headway here after all … as long as he could keep his ego in check … and act well enough to seem like he was starting to accept this whole enslavement situation … and not put up a fight even when Sam's use of him was brutal.
Right. … Yeah. … Easy.
He stretched out on his side, trying to compose himself and relax as much as possible in preparation for the act to come. His mind wouldn't shut off, but it quieted some as he waited for his brother's return, shifting his locked wrists on the pillow so that the metal didn't catch more light from the windows than his eyes could handle. The sun was lower than it had been when he'd curled up, unnaturally broken, but he wasn't sure of the hour and even if he'd known, it wouldn't tell him how much longer Sam would be away.
It felt strange, after a life on the move, to be forcibly made to settle like this, to wait. He wondered what it would be like to do this everyday, to lay beside his chains and wait for Sam to come home, to come in and use his bound body, then set the restraints aside, allowing him the illusion of freedom for a moment or two. He felt all turned around, like the world had been set on its head and he was the only one still reeling. The Irovian widow had mixed him up more than should've been possible and Rick's machinations hadn't helped, but the truth was that he'd woken up with this feeling of missing something, not unlike the morning after a heavy night of drinking when his mind refused to let him remember what an ass he'd made of himself. He shook his head as if that would dislodge the sudden ache at the back of his skull or jar his lost memory out of hiding. The layers of this world were building and weighing him down, more and more, in the process.
* * *
When Dean finally heard Sam's voice, laughing in the hallway after he'd been half-dozing for a while, he didn't know whether to be concerned or relieved. It was an end to his waiting and he straightened up to sitting, trying not to over-think the performance ahead. The door clicked as it swung open and Sam strode into the room, the door shutting on its own behind him, but Dean could only hear and imagine the scene as it transpired. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the wall and windows closest to him. His eyes were downcast as part of his demure demeanor, along with his even breathing and the way his anchored hands rested in his lap.
Sam hung his coat with the clink of hangers and closet doors, then rounded the bed to stand in front of him, sounding a little puzzled, but mostly pleased. "The chains suit you. You seem … calmer."
"I am … sir." He didn't look up, but he nodded. "I think … I dunno … maybe you're right, ya know … about me needing to … accept this."
Sam bent down slightly, his hand seeking Dean's chin to lift it, even if Dean didn't look at him. "Say that again … ?"
The air seemed warmer somehow and Dean tried to steer this away from going badly, putting a little more certainty into his voice, though it remained soft. "I think you could be right … that I need to accept this. … I think maybe I'm … already starting to."
Sam's hand shifted lightening-quick, a harsh slap that swung Dean's head nearly around. "You think this is a fucking game, whore?"
Shit. "No, sir. I- …"
Smack. Another stinging blow, harder this time, snapping Dean's head back in the other direction. "You think you can fucking play me, whore?"
"No, sir." Dean blinked, his face hot after the fall of Sam's hand. Don't fight. Let him win. All the muscles around his collarbone bunched in together, knowing there would be more, or worse. And there would be.
Sam paused, silent, for a long time, but Dean was starting to understand all the unspoken rules here. He kept his eyes down, didn't move, and didn't speak, almost too afraid to breathe.
The smacks fell hard and fast, his face nearly on fire from the friction and force and his head whipping back and forth like a toy ball in some demented game of tennis. There was a wet sheen in his eyes, born of reflexes that thought he'd suddenly been caught in the midst of crashing winds, when his hands finally shot up, on instinct, and halted the flick of Sam's wrist. The hold wasn't tight or remotely menacing. Sam could have shaken it off easily, but he didn't. He just went impossibly still, as if he'd turned into stone.
"Dean … let go of me." Sam's voice was soft, but icy, the calm before the storm, and Dean knew he'd fucked up, but he couldn't make his hands unlatch from Sam's arm.
"Just … hear me out, okay? … I'm sorry. … I just- … I said what I thought you wanted to hear, so … stop … please … Sam … sir. … I'm sorry."
"Let. … Go." The words were so low and so deeply laced with power that he could feel them reverberating in the air between them, like the remnants of an earthquake … or maybe the first tremors of one.
Dean slowly pulled his fingers from Sam's burning skin, one by one, his breath rushing as he heard the clink of restraining steel and wondered what his defiance would mean this time. How much more come to swallow, how many more lashings to endure, how many more hours of bondage, of begging, of fucking, of aching? How much more of this could he really take before he snapped? Before he broke? How much more before Sam did the same and decided to end it all with death or the drug?
He hated this, this scratching in his stomach that was making his heart beat like it could run itself out of his chest, because he knew what it was and as his hands fell, lifeless, back to a lap cooled by chains … he was afraid.
Sam's final blow was more forearm and wrist than the back of his hand and it might as well have been racquet or a bat. Dean's head hit the pillow with a crack, something loosening and leaving his mouth bloody. "Don't you ever try to keep me from using or disciplining my property however I choose. You hear me, whore?"
"Yes, sir." His words were mumbled, barely audible, as he spoke around the ache in his jaw and the blood on his tongue.
"Sit up."
Dean pulled himself back up, slowly, his shoulders hunched inward towards the chin that almost sat on his chest. His eyes were open and the bottom of Sam's jeans was in view, but he wasn't really seeing anything.
"I know you think this is a game, some kind of game you can win if you play your cards right. But it's not. And you can't. If you really think you can play me by bullshitting a few lines about how you've come to your senses, then you're truly dumber than I thought. Try to remember, whore, that I was the one playing you, for what? Almost a year? … Yeah. … And even if that didn't take all that much skill, honestly, I still have way more practice at this than you do."
He felt like he should be looking up at Sam, watching his eyes, trying to interpret all the nuances, but he just … couldn't. Sam's eyes were already drilling holes into him, trying to understand how he worked so he could take him apart, and that glare would be too much for Dean to meet head-on. He could understand, now, why some people in service positions kept their eyes down. It wasn't about who was better. It was about who had more immediate power. It was just easier to look away from that intense scrutiny, because people with power tended to find fault with everything and few had any qualms about using their power to do serious damage.
"Really, though, you must have a seriously poor understanding of the situation to think that you're faking acceptance, faking submission."
Sam reached out to him, his hand folded nearly into a fist, and he dragged the back of his bent fingers over Dean's cheek. The thrum of power, riding between Sam's skin and his own, felt like the skitter of a scorpion preparing to sting, and Dean shrunk away from that touch, not wanting to know what came next.
"When you tremble and cower, you're not faking fear, whore, you're feeling it."
Sam's other hand came up, thumb pulling down on Dean's lip until his mouth opened. Then everything was hot and he could feel himself begin to sweat as Sam slipped a finger into his mouth, following the mold of his bottom teeth before settling on his tongue. The scorpion of Sam's left hand crawled lower, curving around his throat, almost blistering with heat, but Dean poured all his willpower into staying put. Moving away now would be taken as a challenge and would only make things worse.
"When you do as you're told, even if you resist for a minute, you're not faking submission, you're submitting."
The fingers at his throat crushed the skin in, muscles and tendons aching from the pressure, and even though his windpipe was clear for the moment, his lungs began to panic, anticipating its closure.
"And when there are pieces of you screaming for you to be realistic about your situation, you're not faking acceptance, you're just starting to accept. … You're not faking any of this any more than you're faking cocksucking when my dick is in your mouth. Understand, whore?"
Dean let his eyes flick up to Sam's, but they were too close and too fiendish, so his lashes fell down again, quickly, and shielded him as he nodded.
Sam's finger, wet with Dean's spit, slid out to rub over Dean's lips slowly before pulling away, only to be replaced by the press of Sam's tongue, tasting him briefly before breathing his words over him. "The problem isn't what you let your little whore's mouth say, it's why you said it. … You thought you were lying to me, thought you were getting one over on me, didn't you, whore?"
"I- … I just wanted to give you what you wanted … so you wouldn't be so … tense … all the time." He knew it sounded shifty even if it was half true, but he didn't know what else to say.
Sam chuckled, deep, but his hand squeezed harder around Dean's neck until his airway began to contract. His breaths became audible and pained, like swallowing glass. "You always have some other fucking agenda, Dean. I told you yesterday, you can't manipulate me by being a slut. My ownership of you means that you give me what I want, or I punish you, and I don't have to give you anything. You can't trick me into doing what you want. It just won't work. I'm going to do whatever-the-fuck I want or need to do and nothing else. So put your little acting cap away and focus on learning how to be good. Understand?"
"Yes- … Yes, sir."
"I am so fucking sick of this, Dean. I'm- … Do you even know how close that drug is right now, you little fuck? How close I am to reaching for it? Arm's length. That close. You keep pissing me off like this and you're not going to like the results. … Kneel on the bed."
Dean knew what was coming next as he moved to kneel when Sam let go of him. He cringed anyway, though, as the toy box slammed open and shut on its own, the flogger whizzing by him and into Sam's hands. The harsh rain of leather came down more times than it had that morning and Dean shook, his breathing stuttered, eyes wet, but Sam was agitated and it went by quickly enough, a throb slipping under his skin like all his muscles were stretching painfully, trying to burst open, then contracting again with every heartbeat. It made him wonder if his plans would ever work here or if they would always just bring him more pain.
"Now sit down and shut up. I have other shit to do and I don't want to have to deal with you right now."
He mumbled "yes, sir" as he went back to sitting on the edge of the bed, nodding as he kept his head down and hoped that Sam wouldn't hit him again before he stalked off to the other side of the room.
Sam went about doing … something … Dean wasn't really sure what, but he heard the rustling of papers and the creak of the desk chair, so he imagined it might be work-related, maybe, if his work even involved paperwork. He sat for a long time, wondering if Sam was going to arrange some way for them to 'play' together, some way to add more bruises to his skin. But it was like Sam was just … busy … which should have been fine, and it was, but it was also strange, sitting there, chained, knowing that his- … knowing that Sam was home and could demand anything he wanted, whenever, but just … didn't.
It wasn't that he had a problem sitting still. Well, he kind of did, but he'd gotten through the afternoon okay on his own. Now, though, he felt like he was even more restricted somehow, because even if Sam was focused on something else right then, he was still probably aware of his every movement. So, even though Sam hadn't given any orders specifically prohibiting anything, Dean felt like he probably shouldn't draw attention to himself by trying to do more than sit the way Sam had left him and continue to breathe. As he sat, just waiting, however, his mind started to stray into unchartered territory, hesitant and uncertain but verging on desperate.
He needed something that would work, something that could find its way around the walls between him and his brother, and he was sure it couldn't be simple, couldn't be easy. He was started to think that even if performance and defiance weren't the way to go … maybe obedience truly was. Maybe that was the only thing that could get Sam calm enough to let him get close enough to know what was really going on and how he could actually help. He had to refocus, to flip his brain in a direction it would resist but one it needed to come to terms with anyway. He needed to tuck himself away and fall into this world as deeply as he could without completely losing his mind or his life. He had to be good or his brother might be lost for good.
* * *
Eventually, Sam came around to him again, though he didn't actually speak. He just sat down next to Dean with a 'hmm', which might not have seemed like much, but it felt different somehow, almost weird, and Dean realized that Sam almost always made sure to put him on a physically lower level, kneeling, crawling, sitting, laying down. So, he didn't really know what this meant, this sitting side-by-side, and he couldn't help the way his pulse chugged along a little faster as Sam slid an arm around his back, still sitting so close and still not saying anything.
The conversation had a bizarrely normal cloak over it, though, when Sam finally did speak. "How're you doing?"
"I'm fine … sir." He added a little nod as if his words might not be convincing.
"You haven't moved at all."
"No, sir." He wasn't sure if this was a test of some sort, if Sam was waiting for him to fail.
"Do you think I'm going to hurt you if you move?"
"I- … I dunno, sir." Simple honesty.
"Okay." Sam pulled them closer until Dean was nearly in his lap with his head down, shouldered in against his chest, then Sam spoke into his hair. "Here's the deal, Dean. As long as you keep in mind what you are, who I am, and what I want from you, you're going to be fine. If I'm busy, do whatever you want, as long as it's not disrespectful or disobedient and as long as it doesn't impair your ability to serve me. You're my whore. Just because I'm here doesn't mean I'm going to entertain you by ordering you around all the time. If you want to get up and stretch or do some crunches or read the Litany or anything like that, just do it. You don't have to ask me permission unless you think your activity might go against the basic rules that we've already talked about - no disrespect, no clothes, no leaving the room, and no use or abuse of my property. If you stay within those boundaries and ask when you're not sure about something, you're not going to earn new punishment, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"That doesn't mean I'm not going to hurt you, but it does mean that I won't be hurting you because of something you could've done differently, which is probably a goal you should be aiming for. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Sam nodded over his head, but his voice slipped into a slightly lower register. "You know I'm gonna hurt you more tonight, right? The flogging was basically just part of the carryover from yesterday."
A patch of pins and needles ran down Dean's back and he breathed a little quicker. "Yeah … I know … sir."
"And you've got a lot to atone for from today even beyond whatever pain I want to give you, don't you, whore?"
He wasn't even feeling it yet, the whip or the heat or anything much like pain beyond the leftover ache in his back and his mouth. But, when Dean nodded, what he really wanted to do was pull all his limbs tight into himself and cover his head in case of falling debris until the storm blew over.
Sam was brushing a hand up and down his side, as if some supposedly pacifying motion could in any way offset the fight or flight response of a body that knew pain was coming and in extreme quantities. "What did you do yesterday that you owed punishment for?"
He mentally trekked his way back to a moment of glaring Sam down with harsh words. "I was disrespectful."
"To who?"
"To … my owner." The lesson this morning had taught him that.
"Yes. Then you started off the day by using my property without permission, isn't that right, whore?"
He'd been sleeping, but … "Yes, sir." His body was always owned and he was always responsible for the mistakes of that body.
"And what else did you do today that you should be punished for?"
"I- … I tried to … manipulate you." Sam's arm gripped him a little tighter and Dean tried to remember the right words, to remember his place here, though he was sure that the words alone were starting to drive him mad. "And I tried to keep you from … disciplining … your property."
"What about before I got home?"
Dean searched his mind, trying to think of something he needed to confess, but he didn't remember anything. "I didn't do anything before you got back … sir."
"Are you sure about that? You don't want to lie to me." Sam's tone was gentle, though prodding, as if Dean shouldn't have to lie, shouldn't have to worry about the consequences of confession as much as deceit.
Confident, though his eyebrows bunched, Dean shook his head. "I don't mean to lie. I just honestly don't think I did anything while you were gone, nothing … punishable."
"Well maybe you don't understand what I expect, then. … Were you disrespectful to one of my guards?"
Dean blinked as he ran back through his interaction with the guards and unless he'd really missed something, the only person who might've been disrespected was him. "I don't think so, but- ..." It was a harrowing thought, but despite the other guard's reaction to Rick's attentions, maybe Dean really was confused about whether or not he was expected to just give in.
"It's a simple question, Dean. Were you disrespectful to one of my guards?"
It felt weird to ask, but it had to be done. "Am I- ... I mean- ... Are you the only one allowed to ... use me?"
Sam breathed deeply for a moment, his tone midway between confusion and suspicion. "Me and whoever else I give the privilege to."
Breathing with Sam in the wake of his words, Dean delayed his questioning, as if the problematic nature of that response would fade with its sound. "Is Rick one of those people?" After that, every breath felt like an hour passing.
Sam seemed to shift ever so slightly, moving as if to speak twice before actually deciding to share the answer. "No … not right now ..."
Dean blinked through the conditional response, but put it away with a shake of his head. "Then no. I didn't say or do anything I shouldn't've." For the moment, he was safe. Maybe.
"Well … did you push his hand away when he was setting up your chains?"
"No, I pushed his hand away when- …"
"So you were aggressive with one of my guards and tried to prevent him from doing what he needed to do." It seemed like 'aha!' was on the tip of his tongue, his voice lifting with his supposed discovery.
"No, he- …"
"Yes, Dean." Sam chided him softly but firmly. "You were disrespectful and aggressive."
This was not an 'aha!' moment, however, no uncovered misbehaving that was worthy of punishment. Sam just wasn't listening and Dean was fed up, yanking himself out of the embrace enough to actually look at his brother. "Can you just give me a second to talk, Sam?!"
There was an immediate shift in the room, a darkness in Sam's eyes, and a dangerous drop in his tone. "I'm sorry, what was that, whore?"
Dean caught himself, lowering his volume and altering his attitude as he averted his eyes downwards again. "Can I please explain the situation … sir?"
"Okay … go ahead."
Dean took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that as much as he hated it, Sam had to be the one to handle this situation or it would only get worse. "That guard, Rick or something, he- … I didn't push his hand away because I was trying to stop him from chaining me to the bed. He had already done that. … I pushed his hand away because he was trying to- … touch me - touch me … ya know? And, he didn't get very far or anything, but … it seemed like he might try again and … you know I'm not good with the mind tricks. I'd honestly say that you need to fire the guy, but … I don't know how things work around here, so … I just thought you should know."
"Well- … Come here." Sam tugged Dean back down into his arms again, petting him as he explained his understanding of the story. "Rick told me that you were a bit jumpy while he was checking the hold on your chains and that he had to take you down for a minute so that you didn't get out of hand. He seems to think that despite your current occupation, or maybe because of it, you're really uncomfortable with people touching you, so he was pretty cool about it, actually. He didn't ask for an apology or anything. He just told me the situation and was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"That's bullshit!" Dean struggled to pull himself up again but was thwarted by Sam's hold. "That is not how it happened. He- …"
"Listen." Sam tightened his grip even more, expressing his authority even while keeping a measure of kindness in his voice. "I can see how you might be uncomfortable. The last time you had someone else's hands on you, you were under the influence of the drug, so your desire to be touched probably overrode your fear. But …" Sam spoke slowly, gently, as if Dean was the one being unreasonable and not the other way around. "You're going to need to get used to my staff being physical with you sometimes, whether it's to restrain you or to prepare you for something or anything else, and you need to be respectful."
"I wasn't being disrespectful!" He couldn't help continuing to struggle even though it seemed futile. Things were bad enough with just the out-of-bounds stuff he actually had done, so he was not about to pay for a crime that he didn't commit. "He wanted to … use me … and he would've too, if that other guard hadn't've come in and told him to clear out. I'm not exaggerating this or being overly sensitive or something. He was trying to get sexual with me … and I was pretty out of it."
Sam sighed. "Dean, I know you have a problem with non-human abilities and I could see how you could get confused about what was happening, especially with a gift like his. But, just let it go, alright? I know what kind of guy Rick is. I was the one who recruited him. … He certainly has his flaws, but I doubt he has a thing for Hunters, and he's been loyal for a long time, so … he might think you're totally fuckable, might even flirt a bit, but he wouldn't use my property without my permission. Not unless- …" He stilled. "Are you attracted to him?" Sam's tone was guarded, but curious.
"No! He's fucking creepy. And whatever his mind mojo is? … It's fucking creepy too." Being a predatory asshole wasn't really an endearing quality.
"But do you think he's attractive?"
"No. Creepy. That's it."
"So, you think he's ugly?"
"It's not that he's ugly. It's just that- …" Trick question. "What are you really asking here, Sam? You wanna know if I would fuck him?!"
"Would you?"
"NO!"
"You're getting a little loud there, whore."
Dean swallowed, frustrated enough to tear out tufts of hair if that weren't against the my-body-belongs-to-my-master code. "I don't want to fuck him and I didn't give him the impression that I did."
He could feel Sam nodding, slowly. "Okay. Well … I'll have Nowell handle your chains from now on, just in case, but listen … I know that you're used to … variety … in your sexual adventures. … Are you craving something different already? Be honest."
"What?" Honestly, it hadn't occurred to him and he doubted that it ever would in this situation. "No. I- … No."
"You what?"
"I- … I don't want anyone else." The words were soft because they made his throat ache, but they were also mostly true. He wanted his Sam and, if he could just get his Sam back, then that would be enough.
Sam's sigh blew at his hair. "You tell such pretty lies, Dean."
"I- …"
"Hush. … I won't be happy if you seduce anyone on my staff. And I probably won't be all that happy if you feel the need to fuck someone else in general. But if you're having trouble keeping your hands and other things to yourself, then just talk to me. I'll hurt you, I'm sure, but it'll be so much better than if you let someone else use my property without my permission." Sam paused in his thinking, though, his words continuing more carefully. "Too … if it pleases me … maybe I'll let others have you while I watch. So … between the pain and me whoring you out … you should be able to keep your dick in line, alright?"
Panic shocked its way through his system like there were wires in his veins. "What?! Sam, I- … I really don't want anyone else … and I don't want you to … whore me out. I don't- … I don't need that, Sam. … I don't. … I swear."
"You don't have a choice, Dean." Sam seemed to speak more directly into Dean's hair, emphasizing his words with a brief squeeze, as if this was a pep talk more than anything else. "I know how you work and, yes, this is my way of heading you off at the pass, but I don't do anything that I don't want or need to do, remember? So … if I want to watch you service other people, you'll do it, whether you want to or not. And you know why that is, don't you?"
Dean could immediately feel his teeth grinding, nearly into dust.
"Why is that?"
He shook his head gently, quietly refusing to play the game.
Sam snorted, squeezing Dean to him again, but longer and more forcefully this time, his power humming just below the surface. "Oh come on, Dean. It's still early. Do you really want to scream for me right now?"
Giving the windows in front of him the hard look that Sam deserved, Dean fought with himself until the words came out. "Because I'm … your whore." God, he hated that word. He shuddered, shrugging deeply and shaking his head more vehemently, fighting to pull away as he was suddenly overwhelmed by the totality of his enslavement, flashes of remembered humiliation and pain twisting him up inside as if he'd already been passed around on Sam's watch. "I don't think I can do this. I can't- … Don't, okay? Just- … Sam, just- … Don't."
"You can and you will, sober or not." The thrum of Sam's power increased, reaching out to remind its target that pain and drugs were the only options beyond obedience. "There's no room for discussion on this. You have no right to negotiate. Hell, you don't even have anything to barter with. Everything you have and are belongs to me already. So … I can do whatever I want with you, including make you kneel and beg for someone else."
Sam pulled their bodies tighter together, squashing Dean's resistance, and the feel of Sam's fingers gliding over his muscles and ribs nearly made him ill right then, as if with every stroke they were inking his status, his purpose, his worth, into every visible bit of his person. Being Sam's personal whore wasn't just taking the whip for Sam, or sucking a dick and spreading his legs for Sam. Now it was … anything for Sam … close his eyes and count to ten for Sam … try to forget the feel of others' skin for Sam, just … letting go of everything he was and being a willing mash of holes and hands for the entertainment of anyone Sam pleased. He didn't need Rick's unnatural encouragement to know that he was nothing. Sam got the point across just fine on his own.
"And actually … all this talk about fucking has made me want some of that quality service of yours."
There was an immediate swell of bitterness in Dean's mouth, but he tried to swallow it down, because it wouldn't help anything. He nodded rapidly, mindlessly, trying not to think about Sam making him into just some mute collection of places to shove his cock. It was inevitable, though, at this point. His whole world was being forcibly narrowed to nothing but sex, sex with a side of injury.
"So … how do you want me?" He meant it to sound casual, even funny, but the pitch and the clench of his teeth made it drip with desperation, anger, and horror more than sarcasm.
"Hmm … I haven't decided yet. I want to hurt you first, though, so … let me think about what'll work best for that, okay?" Sam slipped out of their embrace and Dean turned to watch him walk over to the toy box. Sam talked carelessly, halfway over his shoulder, as he went through the contents of the box. "Do you want some dick, whore? Is that why you've been weird since I got home? I know I didn't let you service me this morning. Did you miss it?"
"What? … No." So much still surprised him here, as if he was still expecting the world to make recognizable sense. It didn't, though, so he shouldn't still be thrown into confusion when Sam acted like the normality of 'servicing his owner' was even roughly equivalent to, say, 'going to a baseball game'.
Sam turned to look at him, a fully amused smirk hanging from his lips. "Just for future reference, it's probably not a good idea to say that you're not interested in your owner's dick. Your owner runs your life, so you want him to be happy, and the easiest way make him happy is by making his dick happy. Know what I mean?"
"Uhhh … yeah … I guess … sir."
Sam went back to rummaging through the toys. "Think about it like this, Dean. The more you love my cock, the less you'll hate your life."
Dean's mouth fell open in shock as his eyebrows peaked. If he'd heard the line anywhere but here, he would have laughed at its absurdity, but this wasn't actually funny. It was sick and sad and insane, but not remotely funny.
"Ohhh!" Sam stopped his search abruptly and Dean could see part of what must have been a megawatt grin. Then, Sam turned around to lean back on the box, his hands empty, his eyes twinkling darkly, and his voice rich with intensity and twisted delight. "Are you ready for some fun, whore?"
Dean jolted a little at the sudden shift in his brother, but knew whatever Sam's plan was, he'd have to endure it one way or another. He lifted his hands, flashing the chained cuffs. "Are you gonna … undo the chains, so I can … give you what you need?"
"If you're still chained, whore, it's because that's how I want you." Sam's tone tacked 'obviously' to the phrase's end with cold disdain framing his excitement.
Dean let his hands fall back to his lap, sucking in air as the metal dug into his skin and his jaw clicked left, then right. He fucking hated these chains and he'd worn them for hours already. But, of course, Sam didn’t care how he felt. "Yes, sir."
Sam let things stand for a moment before nodding and moving on, eyes somewhat softer, anticipating something. "Now … did you try to get free this afternoon?"
Dean blinked. The question seemed out of place and Sam couldn't know, could he? "I didn't get out of the chains."
"That wasn't the question, whore. Did you try to get out of them? Did you look for things to pick the lock with?"
Dean worked to keep his breathing even. He was at a point where he didn't really know what the truth would mean, but dishonesty never seemed to work out well here.
"Dean … ?"
"Yeah, I did, but like I said, I didn't get out, so you've got nothing to worry about."
"It's not about worrying. It's about- …" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "It's about hoping that you'd get it, that you'd be good. Can't say I'm surprised, but I'm disappointed. … And you wondered why I thought it was important to restrain you and remind you of your status, which is what? … What are you?"
There was a feral growl looming in the back of his throat from the frustration built up from all these words, words he said, words Sam and everybody else said, words that were never 'just words' anymore. They carried a kind of weight to them, a kind of power that might not be mystical but was still so harsh as to be overwhelming at times.
He tried, but he couldn't hold his brother's eyes. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."
"Do pieces of property have rights?"
He licked his teeth. "No, sir."
"What's the sole priority of a whore?"
His lungs didn't understand that he wasn't sprinting anywhere. "To please … his owner."
"So … if you were an obedient slave, a good whore, what would be the best response to being chained at your owner's command?"
His shoulders tensed like the words were blows, running together and slamming into him. Obedient-slave-good-whore-chained-at-your-owner's-command. "Not to fight. Just … submit."
"And why is that?"
Whore. Shhh. "Because I should … know that this is … pleasing … to my owner."
"And?"
Submit. Shut up. "And I should … accept … that this is my life."
"But that's something you seem to have a rough time with, isn't it?"
Dean barely shrugged, wondering and whispering under his breath. "Is it supposed to be easy?"
Sam wasn't looking for any real answer, though, and wasn't really listening. "We're gonna work on that tonight, okay? That, and your need to play games with me. So lay down on the bed, with your hands on the pillows above your head."
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