seachilde: (cover eyes)
Seren of Oceana ([personal profile] seachilde) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2013-07-17 10:54 pm

The Slave Auction Meme



 

❧ Leave a comment with the character's name, fandom, and whether your character will be playing the part of 'slave' or 'master', plus preferences for scenarios if you have any or set up the scene yourself in the comment.
❧ Respond to others with one of the scenarios below or feel free to make up your own.
❧ Please remember to be respectful of others while you play

Warning:  Be aware that this meme deals with dark subjects like slavery and may also contain non-consensual/dubiously consensual sex, violence, and kink.

SLAVES

1.  The Newbie - This is your very first auction and you don't quite know what to expect.  Hopefully you remember your training and don't disgrace yourself in front of your new master.  Hopefully someone thinks you're worth buying at all.

2.  The Oldtimer - You've been bought and sold and bought again so many times.  You've seen it all before and don't think this time is going to be much different.  In fact, the only real anxiety you've got is whether or not someone's going to pay for a more than slightly used slave.

3.  The Pet - You're a pleasure slave.  A bed warmer.  A decorative piece of artwork.  You're meant to look pretty and be pleasing and not much else.

4.  The Guard - Your master hired you because of your ability to swing a sword or shoot a gun, not your looks.

5.  The Escape Artist - Somehow you always manage to squirm out of your master's chains.  Too bad you seem to get caught after a while.  Maybe your next daring escape will be permanent.  Then again, maybe your next master has special ways of keeping you locked up.

6.  The Undercover - You aren't a slave at all, you're just pretending to be one.  Why?  Well that's up to you.  Either way, your cover is blown if you don't act the part.

7.  The Specialist - You have a skill that no one else has.  Something rare and valuable.  Something your master needs more than anything else.

MASTERS

1.  The Customer - You've owned slaves before and this trip to the market is nothing new to you.  Still, you're hoping to find something worth your while.

2.  The Gift - Someone bought a pet for you, isn't that nice of them?  Or maybe it isn't so nice.  Did you even want a slave in the first place?  Well you're stuck with one now.

3.  The Giver - You're selecting a slave for someone else, and they need to be perfect.  Perhaps you'd better test them out first to make sure you're getting your money's worth.

4.  The Trainer - You specialize in taming unruly slaves and making them over into perfect, obedient, well-trained pets.

5.  The Rebel - You hate the idea of slavery, but the system isn't going to go away any time soon, so the next best thing is to buy up any slave you can get your hands on and free them, right?

6.  The Companion - You want someone to be with you always, someone you can talk to and depend on, someone who will never leave your side.  It's a good thing that money can buy that these days.

7.  The Undercover - You're not actually a Master.  You're at the auction for an entirely different reason.  Maybe it's special policework, maybe you're trying to hunt down a certain someone.  Either way, your cover is blown unless you act the part.

As always, feel free to use a combination of scenarios or make up your own if you have other ideas.
 
avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (punk ass ghost dickbutts)

Totally both slaves, what are rules. Any number you're interested in? I'm down with any!

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-19 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
[Two for one, they said. Two for one. Sam's just happy they can formulate a way of breaking out sooner or later together, instead of hoping one is working as carefully and quickly as the other is; they do their best when they got each other's backs, anyway. And there's a relief, knowing he's got Dean in actual literal view of him; the whole standing on a stage thing with chains on isn't exactly great, but... small favors, at least.

Okay, okay. They can figure this out. They're hunters, smart hunters. Underground slave spots, no biggy. They can figure this out. Been in worse jams.

The price is raising, and Sam would roll his eyes if he weren't a nervous ex-college kid getting sold on a goddamn market, but he's stubborn as ever and just clenches his jaw in humiliation as they list out their physical attributes — and what little history they've scrounged up on the boys. It's not like there's much literally recorded. He's pretty sure things like 'this one has soft hair' and 'look at the muscles on this one, great for manual labor' isn't exactly soothing for the situation. Being likened to dogs at a pound or cows on a ranch is just...

A glance at Dean, calmer.

Hey, bro, how's it going? This sucks.

He wishes they didn't take their weapons off them, but even if they didn't? It's practically a death sentence. Maybe he should be glad, in case Dean did try to do something crazy. Like usual.]
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Chuckle)

Rules are lame! How about 3?

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-19 04:57 am (UTC)(link)
[It's better this way, Dean tries to tell himself, because at least he and Sam are in the same jam and can — hopefully — work together to get out of it. Then again, it wouldn't hurt to have someone on the other side betting, or at least researching, to release the other. But hey, beggars and all that. At least they're alive, and chances are if someone is willing to pay good money for them, they'll stay that way. For a while, at least.

It's actually kind of funny that they're getting up there in price. Turns out that they're a commodity. Must be his strong, yet supple form, or whatever it is that the auctioneer keeps blabbing about. Someone actually yells out about wanting the cute one, and Dean smirks at Sam, because he is definitely the cute one.

As the price continues to climb, he notices, and subsequently translates, Sam's glance and gives him an expression of his own.

Sucks is an understatement, Sammy.

Then, a small, mischievous smile. He's just about slipped his hands out of the chains. Just a little more and —

Someone — one of the guards, or whatever the guys who dragged them in here consider themselves to be — hits him in the back of the head and Dean staggers a step forward.

Ow, he mouths to Sam.

The bidding slows. They're about to be sold — there are just a couple of people left volunteering higher amounts, and even they seem more indecisive with each bid. Dean looks at Sam once more: Any ideas?

He's fresh out. If Sam has nothing, then they're both about to become slaves to some undoubtedly evil son of a bitch. Of course he'll be evil. They can't seem to catch a break.]
avengeful: (that's a toughie) (which is worse)

whips on the grimdark glasses, let's do it

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-19 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
[Not funny, Dean, don't smile like it's funny —

Sam takes a step forward, grinding his teeth behind a wavering thin line; Dean, don't do anything stupid — then again, they're not gonna get killed if they want their money, though, right? He's yanked back by the chain around his neck with a choked grunt and suddenly feels like maybe, just maybe, they'll take a little longer to get out than he was hoping for.

The look Sam gives Dean says as much.

No.

"Aaaand sold! To the bright young couple in the back!"

Mister and missus? Are you joking? There's the short rowdy disappointment and suddenly the guard on Sam's left is shoving him forward down the old cement stairs from the stage, and Sam jerks his arms in defiance once, twice, before he's literally grabbed on each side and forced to walk in a straight line.

The couple don't even look like monsters, not even like humans who have monstrous minds. The woman looks a little like Mom; Sam's seen a lot of pictures of mom to guess. Blonde hair, a soft face — but there's something excited in her expression, a sort of ugly joy at having pets to... literally bend to their will. The guy has crow's feet, light brown hair, his chin up like he owns the place.

Sam looks at them once, and then just aims to look at the floor. Understandably, he's pissed, and looks every bit it; come on, they're slaves. Even worse, the kind that — Sam doesn't even want to go there. Let's just go with them, wait until the coast is clear, and get away before things get uncomfortable. It's all they could do, right?

He glances once at his brother to make sure he was walked close behind, then looks anywhere but the man's burrowing stare as he looks at the taller Winchester, and even seems content with his defiant silent seething tantrum. Gross. Just — stop that, jesus christ.]
Edited 2013-07-19 05:14 (UTC)
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Headache)

aw yeah

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-19 08:05 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh come on, it's a little funny.

But only a little, and it becomes significantly less so as they jerk Sam around. Dean sighs and smooths away the smile. Fine. No stupid moves.

Yet.

They're sold, and then he and Sam are being shoved along. While Sam tries a show of defiance, Dean once again is trying to escape his shackles. If he can manage to get free of them while Sam has them distracted...

No go. Their new owners are looking at him, the male with something akin to aroused amusement in his features. Dean swears that he feels the chains tighten once he makes eye contact with the guy, and if that's the case, then they're probably up against something pretty powerful. Witches, maybe? They look so normal.

Painfully so. Like they're stuck with some family from at Nick at Nite special. A very...hungry family.

Dean makes a face.]


Why couldn't we have gotten her?

[He speaks low, almost under his breath, but he knows perfectly well the couple can hear him. He gestures his head in the direction of a tall, slender brunette who is a lot more youthful than the couple before him.

And it isn't lost on him either: the slight resemblance to their mother. It creeps him out. A lot. That's something he'd prefer not to think about, considering how she's leering at him. It's like a bunch of bad dreams rolled into one, this stupid situation.

The woman laughs and reaches out. Dean takes an instinctive step backward, the man grabs his chains and forces him forward again.

"You're lucky we enjoy our slaves with...personality," the woman says.

Uncomfortable, Dean glances over at Sam — brief eye contact, before transitioning back ahead.

We need out of this before these freaks make a move.

The woman curls her fingers into his cheek, just slightly, and Dean feels the chain around his neck tighten. He cranes his neck, and impulsively tries to lift his bound hands to it. His body feels cold, his mind feeling seized by the pressure of that hand on his face. He can't think or move —

Then she lets go of him, and it's as though nothing had happened in that previous moment.

Okay.

Dean clenches his teeth, communicating that This is bad, and not only because he's not keen on being a bed slave to some undefinable creatures. This couple is powerful. Too powerful.]


avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#6364365)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-19 09:02 am (UTC)(link)
[A spike of fiery outrage hits Sam, watching her work Dean's face like he was really just some slave play-toy. The man smiles at his wife, and Sam swears to god, it's a pleasant, normal smile; little brother here makes a move, reckless and stupid, toward Dean the moment something looks off — that doesn't do much, because they have his chains and they jangle loudly against his inherited temperament while the guards keep him contained.

"And this one has a temper, too. Can't wait to try them on?" the man contributes, glancing from Sam's clenched, defensive figure to his wife and Dean. "Load them in the van." Them communicating is important. At least they can do that much, even if they don't say anything. That's why when Sam looks at Dean and suddenly they drag a black bag over his head, he actually starts to feel a dagger of panic in his chest.

shit

And then the guards grip his arms tight, hoisting him against his will and carrying him. They won't know where they're going; they won't know layouts, how to get back and kick these people in the ass, how far they might be going. They're on their way to what he can only assume will be an extravagant estate (judging by their price ranges, anyway), with no obvious destination to or from it.

They're at the biggest disadvantage they'll ever have. Cuffs pulling his arms back, they toss him in the van as ordered and he lands on his shoulder with a loud grunt. Feels them chain his ankle to a link on the floor bed of the automobile.

No, no no. He twists, breathing heavy against the cloth concealing his face.

He'll take monsters any day, he'll take the normal hunts, he'll even take Dean's music collection.

Muffled:]


Son of a...
Edited (never happy with my tags shh) 2013-07-19 09:06 (UTC)
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Headache)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-19 03:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[They are so screwed. Dean glares as they talk about Sam's temper and make that disgusting comment, but he's too stuck in a difficult position to do anything about it. He doesn't want to go through...whatever it was that just happened all over again, because he's pretty sure that if that woman pushes it enough, he can wind up permanently zombified. Or worse.

It doesn't keep him from opening his big mouth when they cover Sam's head, though.]


Hey, save the kinky stuff for when we get to where we're going.

[The woman looks amused. Perfectly and humanly amused. "We're not taking any chances with you two."

And then Dean's head is covered too.

They hoist him after they have delivered Sam to the van. It's pretty damn demeaning, being carried like a child.]


Watch that hand.

[He grumbles it out, and gets a rough deliverance into the van as a result, slamming into both Sam and the vehicle with more force than is necessary. He does his best to push himself off of his brother, but it takes a lot of effort, seeing as he doesn't have full range of motion.

He should have kept his mouth shut, but damn it, all he can do at this point is rebel through speech.

He manages to move himself off of Sam, a little tangled in his chains, and forces himself up in a sitting position. He can't see Sam, can hardly hear him breathing, and Dean doesn't like that. Now they can't communicate freely, being that they can't see each other and will be overheard if they try to plan anything.]


You okay?

[Whispered as quietly as possible. He hears the couple enter and start the van. Then they're in motion.]
avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#6384663)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-19 06:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[Just a sec, Dean, he's trying to catch his breath after they threw your heavy ass into him. He almost nods and then realizes how stupid that would be. Sam wishes he could say he's calm and ready for whatever happens, but he's pretty much accepting this is way over their heads. And the image of him being a drugged up half-dead thing laying at these people's feet? Not exactly the best image. Kid's got a bad imagination.

At least with the Benders, they were human idiots — and death was the worst outcome.

He tries to calm his mind, clear it, and manages it — pretend it's a job — but his heartbeat's heavy and fast in his chest.]


I'm — okay. You?
Edited 2013-07-19 18:15 (UTC)
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Huh)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-19 06:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Peachy.

[Unhappy with their situation, but okay, all things considered. It figures that Dean's love for all things sensual would get thrown back in his face. Maybe if he had led a more conservative lifestyle —

Yeah, he could laugh at that. Wouldn't have happened, either way.

He shifts, starts wiggling his hands and wrists and trying yet again to get his hands free. He had been so close up on on the auction block. But the cuffs are too tight now, and only result in scraping his skin. And making noise. Chains are ridiculously noisy.

He wonders if the woman — he thinks it's the woman in the passenger seat, but he can't be sure — is looking at them. There's no way to tell, really. He can try to listen to see if he hears her shift but —

It's better just to act, because the choice is to make a move or lose. Dean slides himself back toward Sam, until his hands find his arm. Dean then follows the length of his arm down to his hand.

Don't make any stupid comments, Sammy, he hopes he's able to communicate. Then he finds the cuff around Sam's wrist and tests it — tries to measure how much room Sam has, tries to find a keyhole. He's never before picked a lock without being able to see, but maybe he can pull that off now. There might be something in the van he could use — a bobby pin or, hell, even a toothpick if he's careful.

He tugs at the cuff.

Do you think you can wiggle out?

If not, Dean's going to find something he can use.]
avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (I'm so lost I might as well throw)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-19 07:23 pm (UTC)(link)
[He slips his hand out from under Dean's and clutches him around the wrist, squeezing tight; then he taps his fingers twice against his brother's palm.

Can't, no room.

Could if he dislocated his thumb, but they'd know right now, in this small, probably watched space; no way he'd be able to hide that, no matter how sneaky.

"Aren't causing much ruckus back there. Dean. Sammy."

Sam freezes, slides his hand away silently at the sound of the man's voice. He must be the driver.

"Pets shouldn't rattle their chains so much, it might give their owners a headache," the woman chimes in

"I don't know, I particularly like rattling chains."

"Well, better safe than sorry; Joel, if you could? No sitting together in class."

Sam sags heavy against Dean's shoulder as a strong familiar hand grabs him, plucks him near-effortlessly away from that side of the van. He's dropped loudly against the wall opposite of his brother; though, Sam can at least still feel Dean's pant leg scuffing against his.

Not really that helpful, but better than nothing.]
Edited 2013-07-19 19:56 (UTC)
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Unamused)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-20 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
[Dean didn't think that Sam would be able to, but it was worth checking before he starts on a blind hunt to find something that he can use to get these cuffs off of them.

Then they're called out. Stupid chains. Dean's not going to be able to do much if he can't muffle them somehow, and he can't muffle them without making noise to get there.

He bites back a frustrated sigh, but when Sam is pulled and all-but tossed aside, Dean does raise his voice.]


That's no way to treat your precious cargo.

[Seriously. At this rate, someone is going to end up breaking something, and what good are a set of slaves if they're useless?

"If that's the attitude you have, you're not going to have any fun tonight. And that would be a shame," the woman drawls, clicking her tongue.

"Relax," the man adds, drawing out the word. "This is going to be fun for you, too."

No, it isn't.

Fine, then. Dean will just need to undo his own restraints, since apparently he and Sam are being separated like a couple of naughty kids. Carefully, very carefully, he attempts to pulls the chains taut so that they don't make noise. He's somewhat successful, the chains rattling only once. He nudges Sam with his leg, Hang on, and then moves to stiffly feel around the van. It's an incredibly awkward effort, given how still he needs to keep the chains and how quiet his movements have to be.

In the end he returns to his earlier sitting position, with absolutely nothing.

This time, he doesn't make an effort to communicate with Sam at all, which of course makes it clear that he's feeling pretty damn defeated.

Because there's nothing he can do, now, but wait.]


avengeful: (Default)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-20 01:10 am (UTC)(link)
[If it's any consolation, Sam is scouring whatever's closest to him, too; of course, he didn't expect to find anything. These guys know to keep their slave-napper vans super damn clean. Sam can practically smell the bleach and cleaning products. And anyway, even if he could have found something, Joel's breath is literally brushing his face. The guy is vigilantly watching. Sam leans away from it, but that heavy hand clenches his bicep and forces him upright again.

It's an hour's drive. A long drive. All Sam's really got is his leg leaned on Dean's and a bodyguard who's too close for comfort. The Mr. and Miss are talking about what they'll have for dinner tonight; they mention something about how the boys'll get decent leftovers, if they're well-behaved after their first lesson in pet sex.

Sam wants to throw up in his mouth a little; sick fucks.

"I get some one-on-one time with the older brother, right?" he hears the woman say in a low, expectant tone. The man's smile is practically transparent through the black bag.

"Only if I get to watch."

"Oh! And maybe we can have all four at once. What do you think, boys?"]


Go to Hell.

[The anger seeps out, unchecked. If he could just get his hands on them...

Jesus, though, even if he could, they'd just do what they did to Dean back there. It sounds like the car is pulling up slow, reaching a driveway. Probably a big one, Sam imagines. Gated. Heavily enforced.

"Touchy. Just remember — either one of you try to play big hero, we can always take it out on the other one... We don't mind a little rough play."]
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Huh)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-20 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
[Dean consoles himself by thinking through the possibilities of what these 'people' actually are, and how they might be killed. Witches, maybe. Or some kind of deity — that was possible, too. He tries to think loud enough to avoid overhearing the sick discussion taking place in the front, but to no avail.

He's about to make a cheeky comment about what, exactly, they could do with their little ideas, but then Sam speaks up. Dean frowns, though of course Sam can't see it, and nudges him with his leg. Easy. He doesn't want to hear Sam getting slammed all around the van again, so it would be better for him to keep it calm, at least for the moment.

Another, more prolonged nudge. We'll get out of this. They always do, even when things seem really dire.

That doesn't keen his stomach from churning when he hears the comment about rough play. If there's one way to get Dean to submit without complaint, it's to threaten his brother's life. If that's what this comes down to...well, then Sam would just have to be the hero in this situation, because Dean won't put him through that.

The man pulls the car up to something — some sort of security system — and activates it. Dean hears the window rolled down, but doesn't hear a punch code or any kind of verification. The man does something, though, because then they are moving again.

When the car stops, he hears the van doors being opened. Dean is shoved out — probably by Joel — and he nearly stumbles as a result. Then Joel moves to help Sam.

Meanwhile, the couple exits the vehicle as well, and the woman speaks from a few feet away. "Now that we're here, let's see those pretty faces again."

The man approaches and pulls the bag off of Dean's face. It's getting dark out, so the sudden illumination doesn't bother him. The house before them, however, is spectacle enough — huge, expensive, and surrounded by walls that almost make it seem like the area is it's own little, isolated town, rather than a single homestead.

"This way."

The woman reaches over and gives his chains a slight tug. Dean starts walking, up a set of marble stairs and into the home.

If Dean had any doubt that these people weren't human before, it would all be gone now. Although huge, the house had seemed normal from the outside. Inside, it's like a dungeon — cold, dark, with unidentifiable objects lining the walls and strange characters engraved in the floor.

And in the center of the room, something akin to an alter.

Some kind of god, Dean thinks. Or they're serving a god. And doing a damn good job of it, considering their wealth.

He looks back at Sam questioningly as they are ushered through that first room into another — and equally creepy setup, but this time with a bed and other...objects. For worship of a different kind.]
avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (slap this fucker in an ASPCA ad)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-20 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam's thinking along the lines of what Dean is, by now; yeah, that all fits the profile. More guards stand by, in case of — well, anything, and as they're led to the room, the man caresses his palm down the nape of Sam's neck to way-too-gently lead him beside his brother. If only Sam were more of a jokester, less horrified by the idea of people touching them, he'd laugh at the absurdity of it all. Dungeons full of chains and binds and god knows what else.

The look he returns to Dean isn't exactly confident.


"We have a few little wonderful set-ups, but — well, we should probably start with cleaning your bodies off." The woman seems to be content with very thoroughly inspecting Dean's physical status right now. Very, very thoroughly. Sam tries to nudge off the man's hand, but it slowly clutches harder. More threatening. He gives up, tries not to look at the obvious loss of decency going on in the way she looks his brother over.

"True, true. We can't have you desecrating our work with less than cleansed bodies," the man speaks, and then he's running that hand through Sam's hair in faint disappointment. After they got caught, they haven't really had time to be clean. "You both reek of gun oil."

Without warning, they grab the boys, start removing what clothing they have; if it can't come off over the chains, they just... cut it away. Sam's not exactly bashful, not of Dean naked either, but this is a little different than skinny dipping or switching off in showers. There's a shamed grunt from the younger Winchester, and piece by piece as the clothing's removed, he's growing more anxious to start throwing chained swings.]


Stop

[That's about all he gets out, though, before they're holding him from doing much of anything. The man looks almost gently at Sam before he glances at his wife.

"Maybe we can test the product a bit, while we're at it. See some of the goods?"

"In the shower rooms? How attractive of you." The guards don't act like this is particularly new to them; how many of them have these guys been through? Are there more?

"You can take Dean, if you'd like. I know you've had your eye on him." Sam goes from furious to dazed the moment the man's hand touches his face, runs a calloused, clean hand over the sharp of his jawline.

They aren't getting out of this. Sam's only just come to terms — really, really come to terms with it. They might get out eventually, but not right now. Not soon enough. His stomach turns to lead.]
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Chuckle)

So sorry for the delay! Also sorry for the length of this tag...

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-21 03:12 am (UTC)(link)
[Seeing Sam's less-than-confident expression, Dean gives him a sort of half shrug. Out of ideas, out of options. If this couple is going to inspect them, bathe them, hell, even screw them, they're just going to have to take it at this point. Going with the flow would be better than fighting it and, as a result, getting themselves killed. Because of how they're bound and weaponless, they're out of their league. Their best shot is to keep their eyes open for anything — a brief chance to make a move, something that can be used as a weapon, or maybe a way to slip out of their cuffs.

Basically, they have to do whatever it takes. And sometimes, that means going with the flow until an answer presents himself.

So he's mostly compliant as the woman inspects him, walks around him and treats him like some sort of piece of meat, her hand occasionally running over his torso, curling around a muscle.

Dean glances back at Sam, sees how the guy paws his neck — and, okay, it's pretty damn difficult to swallow that image, because he can tell how uncomfortable Sam is. Dean bites his tongue, tries not to make any smartass remarks that will encourage the man to fatally tighten that grip.

When his clothes are removed, Dean stands proudly, even going so far as to puff out his chest a little. They want to get a good look at his body? Fine. Have at it. It isn't like Dean has ever wasted much energy on feeling bashful.]


Bet you're feeling pretty damn lucky you managed to get the winning bid.

[The woman beams at him in agreement and cops a feel before discussing the testing of the goods.

Sam's tone gets his attention, and he looks over in time to see that expression cross his features, anger dissolving out of his features with a touch.]


Hey, man, don't do that. We're going to play along, right Sammy?

[Yeah, this is shitty, but they have got to keep it in check or they're going to be spending their time here as zombies, instead of able-thinking hunters who can find a way out.

The man smiles at Dean as though he has said something positively endearing, but releases Sam, albeit temporarily. "I'd rather you be in your right mind to feel all of it," he says, running his hand down Sam's chest — lower and lower. Dean turns his attention to the woman again, his stomach turning. He doesn't want to see that.

"So if you're behave..."]


Are you kidding? This may actually be a little fun.

[His best smile, and he takes a step forward toward the woman — closing the distance between them.]

Besides, I could use a shower.

[The woman looks pleased. Enticed, even. Hopefully Dean can lay on enough charm to keep it that way.

"Good boy. Come this way."

Dean looks back at Sam to see if he's recovered from that creepy touch. He really has the poor side of this deal. For now, at least. Until the couple decides to swap.

Hang in there, Dean tries to communicate before following the woman into the shower rooms.

There are mirrors everywhere, every possible surface covered in them. As soon as they walk in, the showers turn arm and the room immediately begins to fill up with steam.

When the woman stops talking and turns on him, he reaches forward with chained hands to brush back her hair, run his fingers along her neck. And he thinks about whether or not he can pull off strangling her with the chains — keeping her at bay so that she can't touch him, just long enough to kill her.

Maybe, if he and Sam can time it properly...

He hears the man lead Sam into the showers and turns to look at him.

"Your attention should be on me," the woman chides, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look upon her. Dean allows himself to look sheepish.]


Sorry. I just — have always had this thing for watching.

[Not entirely a lie, although he definitely isn't into watching Sam get fondled by some creepy older dude, but all he really wants is to get Sam on the same wavelength.]

avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#6468784)

maaaan no problem also for any passerbys it's probs gonna get extremely non-conny up in here

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-21 05:17 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam is not on the same wavelength. He knows Dean wants him to be, and he gets it — he gets that he needs to just play along, do whatever he has to, because as long as they live they can work through whatever the hell happens in this place; no, probably not work through it. Probably remain silent, never say a word of it, let it fester under their skin. Whatever. As long as they can survive, that's what's important. That's what's important —

He startles at the sudden shove at his back forcing him under a strong water stream that completely flattens his shaggy hair. Chains rattle against his naked torso and suddenly 6'4" of person seems a little smaller, arms drawn in tight and protectively, because it's all either of the boys can really do.

Sam's across the room; the shower room's large, like a prison set. They must have times where there's more than just one or two sex slaves in here. Sam shudders to think where they could all be right now. Maybe in a few days, they'll be sacrificed to some sex god, or something. He only hopes it's not tonight, because then they could plan. They could figure something out. They always do, right?

He looks at Dean almost the same time Dean does, trying to look resolute.

Just need to live. Everything else is easy. Just follow Dean's example; big brother knows how to get through this, then he'll just follow along —

The man's hand ducks his head, starts kneading shampoo into his scalp with a pleasant demeanor, almost like a man giving his dog a bath. A pitiful dog who's face is hidden behind damp long hair, concealing a shamed glare to the floor. Just control your breathing. We'll figure it out. We'll figure it out, right?

It's fine. You're not some virgin daisy, Sam.

As the man suddenly begins to stroke his hand down Sam's wet torso, he forces himself to think of Jess, as much as that even hurts to do. He thinks about her body and how much he loved it, he thinks about how she knew how to touch him. Even as the man runs his thumb over Sam's lips, over his abs, he thinks about how she teased him for being a bit rough, a bit overeager. Blonde hair, pretty eyes, pretty smile —

He grunts, squeezes his eyes shut, when a hand grabs a hold of him below the navel. Fondling. Inspecting the merchandise they spent a lot on, and suddenly the image of Jess dissipates into nothing but the black behind his eyelids. Every instinct screams to put him on flat on his back and smash him across the face a few times. Part of him is ready to do that, and maybe that reads on his face, because the man reaches back up and touches his neck again. Whispers into Sam's ear, just between the two of them.

"Don't fight it, or I'll cut your brother's tongue out and make you eat it."

His eyes open again, darting to look at the mirror in front of him; he can see Dean and the woman clearly through the mist. Closes his eyes again, this time in surrender.

They both have to get out. He can't chance any other outcome.

He holds his breath and suddenly wishes he hadn't, because the man's mouth shoves into his with an animalistic fervor, forcing his tongue against a surprised noise in the back of Sam's throat.

no no no

It's not the first time he's been forced to kiss before. The Lady in White and Meg, they'd both molested his mouth against his will, but he didn't exactly have a man running a hand over his naked back, threatening to harm his brother, stealing the breath out of him. He can't help but try to pull his head back and break the connection, but that hand knows when to be there, slipping into wet locks to force him to remain still. Sam just closes his eyes again, clenched shut, and wishes desperately he could picture Jess.

He can't.]
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Headache)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-21 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam doesn't look resolute as he hopes. In fact, Dean is getting a little worried. This sucks — more than sucks — and he's pretty sure that they're both going to walk away from this pretty screwed in the head for a while, but they can do it. They can survive and get out, but Sam's going to need to play the game and play it well, especially if they want to try and get the couple off of their guard. Stay with me, Sammy, Dean thinks, but he doesn't look back. Not again, because he, too, has a part to play. And right now, he needs to try and make this woman feel like she's his world.

He's done it before. Albeit with more attractive women who did not have that creepy factor of reminding him a little of his mother — which is so fucked up, and Dean can't wait to get so drunk that he has the potential to damage the area of his brain that thinks like that — but he can do it now.

She leads him backwards, against the shower wall, and takes a moment to watch the water flow over his body before lathering up her hands. Her hands move light circles along his torso, down over his hips, and back up again. Dean wills his body to show a little interest, but he can't get it up, not even when her hands finally start to stroke him.

She doesn't seem put off by this, though. Treats the whole effort as though she's just cleaning him really well. Dean tries to focus.

He really wants to look over at Sam. Which seems kind of fucked up, too, given what they are both going through, but he wants to gauge his mental state, wants to get a sense of whether he can hold on to his game during this whole ordeal. If he wanted to, he could just reach over and grab the woman's throat, but that won't work if Sam is in the guy's clutches, if Sam doesn't act, too.

"For all your talk, it doesn't seem like you're here with me," the woman murmurs, hand tightening around him hard enough to elicit a gasp of pain.]


I'm used to getting a little show with my handjobs. Maybe if you take off your shirt...

[He reaches for it, hand sliding under her shirt to feel the skin beneath, and she slaps his hand away — suddenly full of fury.

"Not yet," she seethes, reaching forward and taking hold of his throat, her fingernails digging into his skin, everything wavering for an instant.

She lets go. Dean's mind clears.

"Good boys are patient and know their place."]


Okay, okay. Easy.

[Well, so much for trying to be alluring. He raises his arms, palms up.]

Tell me what to do.

[She sits up straight, picking up the soap or shampoo or whatever it is — the label is in some foreign or obsolete language, and Dean can't read it — and grabs Dean's hand, jerking it so that it's flat. She pours the lather into it and then guides his hand — both hands, really, as they are currently attached by a length of chain — to his cock.

"I think you need to keep those hands busy, lest you make another mistake," she murmurs, her hand moving over his to encourage him to stroke himself. When she lets go, Dean continues the motion, even though he finds it humiliating. There's something about playing with himself that's a whole lot more depreciating than being stroked by someone else, whether he wants it or not.

He keeps moving, though. Tries to think about his most recent lay, or his best lay, and cycles through all his best moments of the girls he's been with. He tries.

"I want to hear you," the woman says, resting her hand on his arm as it moves. "Or do I need to take care of your Sammy, so that you're not distracted?"

Oh, come on, Dean thinks. He takes an audible breath, tries to muster a noise of contentment from the back of his very dry throat.]

avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (THESE WOUNDS)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-21 06:57 am (UTC)(link)
[Mistake #1: whipping his head suddenly from the kiss to the seething voice beyond the shower sounds. Mistake #2: not fixing mistake #1 when the man grunts in protest; he's clearly aroused and putting their make-out session on pause isn't winning Sam any points. But what's he supposed to do? Ignore that his brother could be getting murdered? He sees the hand at his brother's throat before the man very roughly grabs his hair and tugs, forcing green eyes to look into brown ones.

"Me, boy." It's a near-whisper, harsh and full of ill intent. Clearly Sammy's not playing the part well. Sam swallows the lump in his throat and hesitantly leans in, forcing everything out of his mind to kiss the man back. It's unfeeling, vapid compared to the assault on his mouth earlier — his bottom lip is red and sore already from the greedy bite of skin.

Goddammit, just block out the sounds over here. Block out the sounds over there.

"Good boy, Sammy," he breathes into Sam's parted teeth. Sam's ears are hot and the man's drenched from the showers. He seems to really be into that fact, too, with the way he strokes all the worst places. Sam just nods, because fuck, he's supposed to play the part but he has no idea how to play it. He's never put on a goddamn show while people are trying to molest him as some trained sex creature.

He doesn't grunt this time when he's touched, but he does feel a spark of surprise when the man trails his teeth down his neck, biting. The entire time, Sam just imagines strangling, stabbing, shooting the guy, because that he can do, if he can't imagine Jess.

Suddenly:

"Get on your knees."

It's a low, content noise. Sam's no idiot; he's well aware of what the command is leading to. And he suppresses every urge to slam his face into the guy's chin, but hears the sound of Dean and that woman at the other side of the room and steels himself. That idiot's putting on a show, doing what he's told — Sam can't fail him right now. He's mortified and hateful and disgusted at the couple (and himself), but he can't possibly fuck this up. Not when they are obviously uncaring if they leave a few... love-injuries? He can practically feel the bite marks on the tendon of his neck.

Fine. Fuck it. Fine. He'll do it, he'll pretend he's somewhere else, pretend he's a different person than Sam Winchester, but he'll do this and not get them murdered. He kneels with eyes locked on the man's face, his own stoic (or as best as he can make it; the man must see him trying, because he smiles wide, almost proud).

"How's he doing over there, hon? Worth the catch?"

They so cleverly avoid names; do they even have names?

As he talks, the man unzips himself. Starts to strip down the wet pants from the very obvious, very ready erection trapped beneath his briefs. Sam continues to simply obey as he kneels on the floor, defeated, as though all the distraught rage has seeped out of his body. The man puts a hand on the crown of his head and massages gently, and Sam bows his head because it allows him to hide his face at the very least to drop the act. Stares blankly and gets ready to put on whatever show he can muster; maybe even find an opening to attack, coincide with Dean.

The man's not ready until he's done discussing affairs with his wife.

Sam just pretends he's someone else. ]
Edited (five million years later i edit this because i'm picky don't mind me) 2013-07-21 09:22 (UTC)
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Eyes)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-22 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
[The woman is just sitting there, watching him, hands folded in her lap. She looks like she could be watching the cooking channel or Oprah or something — mildly interested, all of her earlier anger dissolved, with a slight smile on her face. Dean lets out another forced groan and she cocks her head to the side. And maybe, just maybe, he can it get nice and firm, avoiding trouble for either of them. But the lather is wearing thin and it's getting more difficult to keep that stroking motion going without rubbing himself raw.

Then he hears the man, across the room, ordering Sam to his knees, and he feels bile rising to the back of his throat. He's not going to be able to keep a hard-on if he has to listen to Sam being assaulted.

Self-preservation sometimes requires going with the flow, sure, but some big brother he is, sitting around jerking it while Sam is getting assaulted. There's not much he can do — he's well aware of the power they have over them, the threat that the couple presents, and what they'll do if they don't play along, but this —

"Oh yes," the bitch replies, reaching out a hand and stopping him. Finally. "He's being a very good boy." In the moment where she turns to look at her husband, Dean tries to covertly glance at Sam, but all he sees is the man, half undressed and standing over Sam.

Dean wants to throw up.

They want to fuck with him? Fine, maybe he even deserves it a little bit, with how's he's left a string of women in his wake, thoroughly fucked and yet never even so much as factor in his thoughts once the night is over. Yeah, he could see how this could be some twisted form of karma, and he could bear that — suffer through it and be done. But Sammy — the kid was all settled into being a monogamous college student with a good girlfriend and an even better life —

And Dean is the one who took that away from him. For what?

For this.

"Your pet looks nice and ready for you," the woman purrs before turning back to Dean. "Enjoy him."

He wants to do something — stop this somehow, whatever it takes, whatever the risks, but she's on him before he can even start to fantasize that there is a way out.

She leans forward, her blond hair getting caught by the spray of the shower. Dean jerks back instinctively, elbow hitting the shower wall. If she notices, she doesn't react, instead leaning in for a very hungry, tongue-filled kiss. It's disgusting. It's the nastiest kiss to which Dean has ever been subjected. His hands curl into fists, caught as they are between the woman and himself, and she doesn't seem to care about that, either. She just kisses and kisses until Dean thinks he may actually throw up while she's kissing him, and wouldn't that be funny?

Then she pulls back and strips and stands there in naked glory. Dean looks because he has no choice, and notices wrinkles and stretch marks, and wonders what kind of abomination she's given birth to and whether or not he can hunt that down and kill it, too.

"Do you want a taste?" she asks, and Dean doesn't, but she touches herself, and then his lips, forcing her finger into his mouth. Dean tries really hard not to bite down on it, but the temptation is overwhelming.

She straddles him, rubbing her hips up over his. Dean's uncomfortable in this position — wet and the water is getting cold. His head is back against the wall, and he can't even reach forward to grab her hips with his hands bound like this.

"Still too soft," she murmurs, kissing him again. "I think you need a little help...

No, Dean thinks, and even says it out loud.]


Stop —

[Because if there's anything worse than being raped, it's being forced to want it.

She reaches down and grabs him, starts to murmur in a strange language. He rears back, tries to pull himself upward — and fuck, Sammy, he's sorry, but he's going for it, he's going to wrap the chains around her throat. He moves forward, pulling them taut —

But then her incantation is over, and she's smiling because she knows.

Dean has grown hard under her touch. Painfully so. She slides him inside, and he can't resist. As fucked up as it is, he wants this — wants it more than he has ever wanted anything.]
Edited (phone edits, ugh) 2013-07-22 01:51 (UTC)
avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#6282567)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-22 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam hears it all and he's ready to throw all of his determination into a different place -- kill them, no matter how difficult, get out of there. Oh, Christ, she's really -- Dean's -- he can't let this keep going. It was one thing, doing this for this asshole, but when Dean cracks enough to warrant a 'stop' then he couldn't seriously expect him to just listen.

Only he gets a half of Dean's name out before the man takes him by each side of the head and forces it against his now naked cock; bites an order to take it before he just makes him, sliding the length without mercy into Sam's mouth, thrusting into the back. He's angry at the lack of focus, maybe. Sam's not sure, but he does know that the edges of his mouth are abused raw as he gags against the aggressive intrusion. Whether he wants them or not, tears built up and drip down, blending into cold water.

The man jerks his head to a stop and makes him hold his member to the hilt; his mouth is full, aching, but it doesn't worry him near as much as suddenly not being able to breathe -- can't breathe --

He scrabbles at the man's legs, forgetting Dean and showers and the chains, desperate as his vision grows black spots.

"I'm going to need to fix his gag reflex. Maybe after I stretch him out a bit."

The man's nails rake over his shoulders, stinging and drawing tiny welts of blood. The sick love the couple displayed seems to be spiraling into something harsh, ugly, but none of that matter because he couldn't breathe --

Mistake #3: Sam bites down. Hard.

Next thing he knows, a hand grabs him by the face and his thoughts turn into mush. He hears the angry noise, indignant, but focusing is impossible. He's shoved over and every part of him says to run -- but he's not right. He can't think clearly. The bastard must've magicked him. Drugged, almost, if you could do such a thing with a touch.]


D'...

[oh, right, deans here

gotta get...


He tries to drag himself to his knees, but his limbs are like jello. Blinks hard. Manages to sit on his knees and elbows, but his pupils are fully blown and glassy from the touch.

"I love playing hard to get, but that is against the rules, Sammy."

The endearing nickname is spat out, venomous.]
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Chuckle)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-22 03:43 am (UTC)(link)
[Dean should still be uncomfortable, pressed against the shower wall as he is. Part of him — a very dulled part that can't seem to break the surface — recognizes that he has goosebumps along his skin from the now-cold water, that Sam, somewhere, is in trouble and needs to him to act, but the second Dean's mind leads him in that direction, the woman pulls herself up the length of his cock, and then lowers herself again. Dean gasps, his mind numb — successfully distracted, he can hardly remember what he was so worried about. Chained hands reach up to touch, to grab, to fondle — but she bats them away and rides him, rides him so hard and enthusiastically that Dean thinks he's actually been missing out on something all along, that this is what sex should feel like, that everything is her, and always should be.

She leans in and licks his neck, then bites down hard — too hard. Dean cries out from a mix of pleasure and pain and she sucks at the blood she's drawn up from the wound like a vampire.

Vampire, Dean repeats the word in his head over and over again. Vampire, vampire, vampire. Vampires are bad and so is she and so is this whole situation, he needs to get a grip because Sam — Sam is there, Sam needs help —

But she's bouncing on him, up and down, and Dean wants to just let it all go, release, come, but he can't. It feels physically impossible, like he'll never be satisfied, and she likes it. She's grinning and tsking and saying something about how he'll die before he knows satisfaction. And Dean feels like he really could die, right now, like this.

He moves to touch her again, because he can't help himself, and she slams both hands back over his head, hard against the shower wall.

"It's a shame your pet is such a troublemaker," she drawls, but Dean can hardly make sense of the words. Everything blurs together and all he can think about is how she's moving over him. "We'll switch soon. Dean's a lot more..compliant." She lets out a little noise of pleasure.

Dean doesn't know what happens with Sam, can't puzzle it out, there's no room in his head between the in-the-moment sensation of what she is doing to him, but then he hears it.

Sammy.

The voice that says it is wrong, all wrong, and Dean knows he needs to do something. He wills his body to move, but he can't get it to respond, and fuck he wants this so badly.

But Sammy.

He tries to speak. His throat is thick and the name doesn't feel right coming out, but then need to do something. Both of them. This needs to stop.]


S-sammy —

["Don't you dare," the woman warns, and she slaps him across the face. For a prolonged moment, Dean's back in that mind-numbing world of pleasure, but he tries to come back from it, tries to listen for Sam. Sammy. His brother.]
avengeful: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#6238702)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-22 04:01 am (UTC)(link)
No!

[It's slurred, almost barely a legitimate word even with it's simplicity, but Sam's not so far gone that he can't imagine what will happen to Dean — what's already fucking happening; what the hell is he doing, struggling so much when his brother's being drilled against his will? He's trying, Sam knows. His vision dips in and out and he sees her on top of him. She's already breaking him in, and Sam's fucking him over worse, because then he'll have to handle both of them in one session — god, are these sessions? he doesn't know; will they end? it's just an inspection, those fucking liars, these son-of-a-bitches —

He buries his face in his arms with a miserable sound, practically drooling from the anesthetic-like sedation the magic touch caused. God, he couldn't move. God, this is so fucked up. This is so fucked up. Trembling, he drags his long legs under him, kneeling as if in prayer, palms splayed against the ground.

He shakes his head. Nothing adjusts.]


No, I can — I can do it. M'com...p. M'compliant.

[Talking is like speaking through cotton gauze. Jesus, he says Sam's name — his heart drops into his chest. Don't focus on him, Dean. It's you he's freaked about. No, he's been trying this whole time, trying to make this easier. If Sam makes it hard for him now... after all this bullshit...]

I'll do whatever... Jus' do it. I can do it.

[He's desperate, and sounds every bit it.]

I'm — all yours.

[Lower. Drawled. He looks back at the man, eyes half-lidded, hair plastered around his face. The man's tending to his aching cock, but it's still engorged and needy, and Sam doesn't want to ever imagine it being used toward his brother. Not after all this. The man's disappointed expression soothes a bit at the pathetic mumbling.

"... Well. What do you think, hon? Second chances?"

He crouches down, running his fingers across the back of Sam's spine, in the muscular crease, down to his ass cheeks. Sam swallows every ounce of dignity he has, blind with dizziness, and leans into him, almost like a cat. His heart's pounding wildly with fear, but that slap across Dean's face sparks a rare protective intensity more often reserved for Dean on his behalf.

He can do this for Dean.

The man slides a hand up the inner flesh of Sam's thigh, letting him grovel on his elbows.

"He seems to be figuring out how this works." Leans in closer. Sam can't open his eyes much more, shaking stare crawling up to look at the man's crooked grin. "Maybe big brother can watch. Didn't he say he was fond of watching?"]
Edited (omg i cant spell today) 2013-07-22 04:49 (UTC)
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Unamused)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-22 04:53 am (UTC)(link)
["What a great idea," the woman agrees, pulling herself off of him, and Dean makes some sort of animalistic noise of disappointment and pain. When she moves, he can see Sam — Sam, being touched, playing along, giving in, I'm all yours.

She grabs him by the hair and forces him to stand. Dean feels a deep shame for the need he feels when she touches him, for the way he thinks about her climbing on top of him again — while Sam is right there, in need of his big brother, in need of help.

His legs feel weak and Dean's shivering, but he can't tell if that's from being cold or from aching with a foreign lust that shouldn't even apply to this situation. She pulls him by the hair and releases him when they're in front of Sam, gives him a little shove so that he can sit.

No, Dean thinks as hard as possible, trying to jolt his brain back into functioning properly. This isn't something he wants to see, this isn't something that should be taking place at all.

But if he tries to stop it — if he moves — they'll hurt Sam, or hurt them both, and he'll have failed his little brother even more.

The woman takes his chained hand and places it on his cock, just like she did earlier. "I want to see how much you like it, she breathes against his ear.

Then she walks over to the man, stands behind him, and reaches around him to pet Sam.]
avengeful: those signs are there for a reason (oh no someone hit a moose)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-22 05:35 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam's teeth chatter under his tender lips, his gaze downcast. He doesn't want to look at Dean, but he sees his foot and that's good enough. He reaches over with a shaky hand and pats his ankle in silence. His whole brain is floundering for some kind of... anything, really, but all he's got is a heavy heartbeat in Dean's foot under his thumb and the woman's hand too-gently running her fingers through his hair. His chains clang against the tile as he pulls away -- oh, right, he should be ashamed. He hides his face in his arms again and breathes heavy.]

S'okay...

[Little brother's got this. What a weird thought to think. Yeah sure, he's got this, it's probably his fault they're stuck here anyway. Dean probably would've found a way out by now, if he weren't so preoccupied with him. He's quickly pulled out of his thoughts when the man's hand travels down and suddenly he feels fingers pressing -- and then a burning sensation rippling through the haze. He sluggishly tries to turn and see, because he knows what the man is doing, but the woman forces him to face forward. He's back to facing Dean, his whole body shuddering against the small but horrible invasion that hurts more than he thought it would.

"Shh. Loosen up, Sammy, or it'll be worse off."

The man runs his hand over Sam's back soothingly. Sam doesn't realize it's been a full minute now -- all he's aware of is Dean's here and god, this is a nightmare, and he's watching --

He puts his arm over his head, trying not to curse and gasp.]


Don' -- look.

[But then suddenly, something bigger presses against his entrance and he shudders at the realization that, not long ago, he and Dean were sitting at a diner and Dean was making fun of Sam losing his pants in that last job they'd pulled in Colorado; looks like he lost them again, huh Dean? God, that's fucked up. He'd laugh at it (and really, he's fucked up enough right now to) but without warning (or maybe with warning, he can barely hear his own breathing) the man forces his cock through the sensitive ring of muscle.

That's all the gentleness he gets before his owner starts thrusting in and out in a steady rhythm -- not violently, but that doesn't matter, because it still hurts, fuck it hurts, and suddenly his hearing is back, because he cries out loud against his forearm.

Fuck, fuck, fuck --

He can't think, can't think, his mouth is full of gauze and his eyes are burning and tears are dripping down his face as he gasps, choked little sounds into his fists. Sounds of slapping flesh, grunts from the man and his simple motions, the woman's hand in his hair like she cares that this is sending pain rippling through his abdomen. He's on fire, and she's looking down at him like she's apologetic.

"There, there, it only hurts at the beginning; you'll get used to it after a few sessions."

But he doesn't say anything else. After a few more choked, miserable noises he sits against his palms again, looks at the ground with a pinched but fighting expression. He's going to do this. He can struggle and hate himself and scream later, but right now, he's a hunter. Fuck it if he's a pathetic excuse for one, but he's got to try to fight through the pain.

"We could melt that all away, you know; just a touch. You'll feel euphoric."]


No -- no touch --

[Strangled, hoarse, royally fucked up. But there's fire in his eyes. He feels warmth down his leg; blood probably, maybe his own erection that the man had began sculpting -- the woman's probably working on Dean now, but Sam can't bear to look -- but he can. He can do this. He can do this. The muscles in his shoulders flex wetly and he makes a noise in the back of his aching throat and feels disgusting when pleasure spikes through his cock, through the white-hot lancing.

Disgusting. On all fours, disgusting. The fuck would dad think. What would Mom think? Jess? Oh god, what if they can see, what if Mom and Jess --

The man's suddenly fervently pumping in and out now, too consumed by need to be gentle as promised. No, his fingers grip tightly into Sam's hips and he pounds away, acting as though the teeth marks encircling his erection are nothing at all. They probably aren't, to him. Sam can't stop the hurting noises again, by the time the man heads towards his climax.]
ramble_on: <lj user="iconific"> (Gun)

[personal profile] ramble_on 2013-07-22 02:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[He can't. He can't do it. There's a deep, dark lust that intensifies with every breath, an unspoken longing when his hand makes contact with his cock, fingers curling around and oh — to stroke it, to get closer to release, to give in —

But Dean can't. Not with Sam like this. Not with Sam — touching his foot like that, trying to be comforting and strong when he shouldn't have to, that shouldn't be necessary, it should be the other way around. Dean should be helping him, not struggling between wanting to give in and that sickly feeling that emerges when the man presses against Sam.]


Stop...

[Dean tries to say it again, but of course the words aren't doing anything, don't stop the movement or Sam's tears or that expression of pain. Dean jerks and tries to shove himself upright. He's not going to stand for this anymore. Fuck this job, fuck these people, fuck everything — he's going to protect Sam, and right now, the best way to protect him is not to give in, but to stop it — all of it. And if it kills them, then fine. He'll take that, if it means preventing his brother from having to suffer any more of this.

The woman has noticed, however, and she's on him again, pushing him down, speaking about how he's being a bad boy for not playing with himself like she told him to, and she starts jerking him herself. And Dean, so help him, cries out with pleasure and loses his balance and everything spins.

But he hears Sam. Through it all, he hears Sam, being hurt. The brother he's supposed to protect, being undone right next to him.]


Sam!

[It takes effort to say it loudly and clearly, the I-mean-business call of his brother's name. He doesn't know if Sam will be in any state to do anything at all, but Dean is going to murder these fuckers if it kills him. He lunges at the woman, this time managing to get the chain around her neck. Will it even kill her? He doesn't know, doesn't have an idea of what kinds of gods or whatever these people are supposed to be, but he does it anyway, and pulls tight. They topple, and she reaches for his face, but Dean pulls his arms back and manages to punch her — once, twice — and fuck he needs to help Sammy, needs to kill that bastard who is hurting him. Another punch and then he's on his unsteady feet, still so hard and his body still so confused, but that doesn't matter. Nothing does, except helping Sam.]
avengeful: (Default)

[personal profile] avengeful 2013-07-22 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[Everything's blinding and he can't speak and he can't think, but he hears it through a disjointed filter; at first he's thoroughly confused, eyes dull and listless when he looks at the bobbing world and sees Dean actually fighting — oh, are they fighting? Dammit, he's not sure he can fight — it hurts so goddamn much, he's not sure he can break out of this one Dean, not with how his legs feel like he doesn't even have them.

if you dont move youll both suffer

It's his voice giving him a little push, and he actually manages to surprise the man (already surprised by Dean's sudden attack, like he couldn't do it, fuck you, we're not zombies) by turning on his back with a cry of pain, because christ he's seeing stars when he slips out of him — but god help him, Sam actually uses that long leg of his and kicks it, unsteady but strong like he's been trained to since he was a boy.

The hit slams into the man's nose, knocks him off his feet. Are there guards? He can't let it get to that. God, why can't he stand up? He needs something to focus on, anything, and even helping Dean struggle isn't making his body react. These stupid magic drugs. Stupid, stupid. He's on his knees and already he's tilting and stumbling like he's on a runaway ship, but the man actually falls and that surprises the shit out of him, because for some reason right now this man is the strongest enemy, the most frightening creature, he's ever hunted — Sam's scared of him more than ghouls or wraiths or vampires.

But more importantly, he hates him.

And without that euphoric touch, goddamn if those feels are left unchecked, because it spurs him forward. He clumsily lunges, collapses on the man's chest (air whooshes out; because he's such a long Sasquatch, Dean would say) and he's pinned, this son-of-a-bitch is pinned, and god, Dean, don't be getting overtaken back there, because Sam isn't stopping. Not now.

His jaw set tight and something not-so-drugged sparking in his eyes, he brings his fists down, his chains slamming into the man's unguarded face. Over and over and over, he's hitting him with a crooked swing. Over and over. Maybe it's the magic touch, maybe it's the shock of the situation, maybe it's the overwhelming hurt or the pain still lancing through his stomach, but he doesn't stop swinging even as he grows more and more tired.

Again and again and again — if there's a danger of guards, Sam'd never know it.

Something's crunching and bloody flecks spit across his body, but it's better than something else being sprayed in his face. Pained tears drip down his face while blood swirls down a drain; his fists are white-knuckled but you'd never know under the slick blood.

Hell, you'd never know who the guy he's pulverizing is.]

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no prob, i feel ya there

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it just gets longer >:^|

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so much lovely length

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mine too ignore me

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500 gallons of therapy later

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