Broken Promises, Supernatural NC-17
Jan. 11th, 2007 01:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Broken Promises
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to the "Points" (Which Begins Here)and "Pieces" (Which Begins Here) and "Paints" (Which begins here") Verse, this follows The Promise of More and Promises Made...Um...Sam makes a choice...
Warnings/Author's Notes: I apologize in advance. Dark, ugly, violent...includes incest, rape and memory of rape, m/m, torture...and character death (not that I think anyone is surprised by this...and if you are...what have you been reading?)...is painful folks...
He isn’t really certain where they are, somewhere north of Vegas and east of Missouri…not that it matters…not any more. He lays where Dean drops him, his legs a useless jumble of limbs he’s forgotten how to use, except when Dean says “Stand” and “Come”. He’s helpless in the face of it, unable to prevent or predict anymore. He’s lost in the whirl of his own guilt and despair…there’s no defiance, no resistance…only “Yes, Dean.”
He doesn’t need the cuffs or the ropes, but Dean uses them anyway, ties him up…ties him down…bends him, bleeds him…and Sam has long since lost the count…the days blur until there’s nothing to tell one moment from another and he wonders idly if this is how it had been for Dean…the endless waiting…the prayers for the relief of that knife finally slicing a little too deep…of the blood finally dripping his life into the horrible carpet under his feet.
But, Sam doesn’t pray…He’s forgotten how…forgotten why…and he knows he doesn’t deserve the release…as much as he craves that sweet oblivion…each remnant of himself Dean drags out only makes him crave it more…but he doesn’t lean into the blade anymore as it sings over his skin, caressing flesh already torn with sharp kisses that might take his breath away, if he had any to spare.
The room is white, wherever they are…not like the dirty motels Sam dragged them through. It’s a nice room…better to show the mess Dean would leave behind…he’d killed the night manager for the key, dragged Sam naked through the hotel and dropped him on the floor while he went “out”.
He’s bleeding into the white carpet and he waits, unmoving for Dean to come back. He always comes back. He waits and contemplates. He knows where it is all going. How it must end. His arms no longer burn from the awkward angle at which they’re tied, bound in rough twine Dean wound round his wrists and up his arms to circle his neck. The skin beneath is raw and bleeding in places and still he sits…waits…
When Dean comes back he smells of cigarette smoke and whiskey, ten dollar whores and death. He’s killed again…he’s killed because Sam taught him how, gave him the taste for it. His kiss tastes like ash and blood and whiskey.
There’s a path of blood from the door to the bed now, like the path they’ve left across the country…stark red against a field of pristine white, almost like snow…a path from where they came in to where it will end…and it will end…soon…Sam can see it all…knows where this is all leading.
He is still and quiet as Dean cuts the ropes, the knife singing all cold and metal against his skin. He’s not careful, not precise and he cuts far more than rope, before trading them for something harsher, winding stinging wire around Sam’s wrists and binding him to the bed…spread out on the white sheets where Dean can have him any way he chooses. Where Dean will push him just a little more…to the brink of choice…and that’s where this will end.
Sam almost doesn’t register the touch as Dean enters him, his abused body numb, his fucked-out ass barely able to feel him inside it. There are words, but Sam doesn’t hear them, can’t respond. He’s there, teetering…trembling…
It would be so easy…to choose, like Dean did…to fall into the abyss by choice…to close himself down and let the cracks in his soul swallow him…swallow him into the dark…to be the monster who created this Dean…to follow him as Dean had followed Sam…complete the circle.
Sam’s eyes close and he arches up onto his brother, craving the touch, the contact. “That’s it baby brother…come on.” Dean urges with words and cock, with his tongue on Sam’s skin, with his thumbs pressed against bruises around Sam’s throat.
Sam gurgles some sound that seems an awful lot like admission…like want…and he can’t deny there’s parts of him that want it…that want the long, slow tumble into black emptiness…that want this forever…Dean and Sam…Sam and Dean…more, please Dean, more…and he’s looking up into his brother’s face, into eyes lost. He’s in there somewhere, behind the anger and pain, behind the fury and pressure…and Sam looks for him, getting lost in the shattered remnants.
So easy.
Sam pulls at the bindings, feels the wire bite into his skin. It’s enough…almost enough…it pulls him back from the brink, leaves him breathless. His arms bleed, hot and thick, down onto the pillow, into his hair. Dean thrusts harder, ripping the skin more, his smile cruel, even as he nips at Sam’s lips.
“Come on Sammy…you know you want to…Want you with me forever. Love you.”
Love you.
It echoes inside him, stirring something. Sam groans, his eyes meeting Dean’s as his cock hardens.
Leave me….save me…take me…
He rattles with it, his body shaking like it did when it happened…when he shattered beneath the guilt and the fear and the pressure…when the cracks opened and took him away.
Can’t save you Dean.
“Don’t need saving Sammy.” Their bodies rock together, and Sam knows the end is near…just can’t make out which end it will be…can’t be the one to choose…Dean’s hands are hot on his skin, stroking his face, gentle but insistent. Sam’s moaning and Dean’s thumb rubs across his lip, dragging his mouth open. I got you baby….Shhh…its okay….
“I love you Dean.” Sam whispers, his first words in hours…and he means them more than anything he’s ever said in his life…and Dean will never know that.
Save me now
He’s lost enough blood that he thinks Dean might have made the choice for him and there’s a relief in that…if only for a moment.
Let me die.
Dean’s thrusting is harder, more focused, as if he can sense he’s losing his grip on what he wants…as if he can fuck Sam into the choice he wants him to make. Won’t ever leave you, Sam.
“Dean.” Sam’s body betrays him, his cock hard and trapped and aching with need as Dean’s thrusts intensify. Sam presses his cock up against Dean’s belly, his eyes closing as he reaches out. He feels it, the way the power works…remembers the way it burned inside him…how it felt to know the intimate thoughts of those around him…
Love you.
Dean throws his head back as he starts to come and Sam pulls the power he’s denied himself out of the dark crevice, stretching into himself and drawing a hot, red line across his brother’s throat. He’s done this before…he can feel it seep into him, he’s killed this way…but never like this…
Dean looks startled as the blood starts to pour in earnest, slipping out and over Sam, onto his face. Sam wraps himself around Dean, around the random memories firing through him as he bleeds and Sam grabs one…an image of a boy on his father’s knee, holding a blanket wrapped bundle…and Sam breathes in, welcoming the red flood as he’s welcomed everything else Dean has given him. He holds the image as long as he can…holds it for Dean…for himself…
He always knew that one day he would have to kill Dean…one day love you wouldn’t be enough to stop Dean from killing him…The blood fills his lungs, thicker than water. Dean’s still inside him, his broken body an echo of the broken promise Sam made to his father…his vision goes red with the blood on his face, in his eyes…Love you…Dean shudders against him…shh, baby…I’ve got you…and the red blurs…fades to black…
Title: Broken Promises
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to the "Points" (Which Begins Here)and "Pieces" (Which Begins Here) and "Paints" (Which begins here") Verse, this follows The Promise of More and Promises Made...Um...Sam makes a choice...
Warnings/Author's Notes: I apologize in advance. Dark, ugly, violent...includes incest, rape and memory of rape, m/m, torture...and character death (not that I think anyone is surprised by this...and if you are...what have you been reading?)...is painful folks...
He isn’t really certain where they are, somewhere north of Vegas and east of Missouri…not that it matters…not any more. He lays where Dean drops him, his legs a useless jumble of limbs he’s forgotten how to use, except when Dean says “Stand” and “Come”. He’s helpless in the face of it, unable to prevent or predict anymore. He’s lost in the whirl of his own guilt and despair…there’s no defiance, no resistance…only “Yes, Dean.”
He doesn’t need the cuffs or the ropes, but Dean uses them anyway, ties him up…ties him down…bends him, bleeds him…and Sam has long since lost the count…the days blur until there’s nothing to tell one moment from another and he wonders idly if this is how it had been for Dean…the endless waiting…the prayers for the relief of that knife finally slicing a little too deep…of the blood finally dripping his life into the horrible carpet under his feet.
But, Sam doesn’t pray…He’s forgotten how…forgotten why…and he knows he doesn’t deserve the release…as much as he craves that sweet oblivion…each remnant of himself Dean drags out only makes him crave it more…but he doesn’t lean into the blade anymore as it sings over his skin, caressing flesh already torn with sharp kisses that might take his breath away, if he had any to spare.
The room is white, wherever they are…not like the dirty motels Sam dragged them through. It’s a nice room…better to show the mess Dean would leave behind…he’d killed the night manager for the key, dragged Sam naked through the hotel and dropped him on the floor while he went “out”.
He’s bleeding into the white carpet and he waits, unmoving for Dean to come back. He always comes back. He waits and contemplates. He knows where it is all going. How it must end. His arms no longer burn from the awkward angle at which they’re tied, bound in rough twine Dean wound round his wrists and up his arms to circle his neck. The skin beneath is raw and bleeding in places and still he sits…waits…
When Dean comes back he smells of cigarette smoke and whiskey, ten dollar whores and death. He’s killed again…he’s killed because Sam taught him how, gave him the taste for it. His kiss tastes like ash and blood and whiskey.
There’s a path of blood from the door to the bed now, like the path they’ve left across the country…stark red against a field of pristine white, almost like snow…a path from where they came in to where it will end…and it will end…soon…Sam can see it all…knows where this is all leading.
He is still and quiet as Dean cuts the ropes, the knife singing all cold and metal against his skin. He’s not careful, not precise and he cuts far more than rope, before trading them for something harsher, winding stinging wire around Sam’s wrists and binding him to the bed…spread out on the white sheets where Dean can have him any way he chooses. Where Dean will push him just a little more…to the brink of choice…and that’s where this will end.
Sam almost doesn’t register the touch as Dean enters him, his abused body numb, his fucked-out ass barely able to feel him inside it. There are words, but Sam doesn’t hear them, can’t respond. He’s there, teetering…trembling…
It would be so easy…to choose, like Dean did…to fall into the abyss by choice…to close himself down and let the cracks in his soul swallow him…swallow him into the dark…to be the monster who created this Dean…to follow him as Dean had followed Sam…complete the circle.
Sam’s eyes close and he arches up onto his brother, craving the touch, the contact. “That’s it baby brother…come on.” Dean urges with words and cock, with his tongue on Sam’s skin, with his thumbs pressed against bruises around Sam’s throat.
Sam gurgles some sound that seems an awful lot like admission…like want…and he can’t deny there’s parts of him that want it…that want the long, slow tumble into black emptiness…that want this forever…Dean and Sam…Sam and Dean…more, please Dean, more…and he’s looking up into his brother’s face, into eyes lost. He’s in there somewhere, behind the anger and pain, behind the fury and pressure…and Sam looks for him, getting lost in the shattered remnants.
So easy.
Sam pulls at the bindings, feels the wire bite into his skin. It’s enough…almost enough…it pulls him back from the brink, leaves him breathless. His arms bleed, hot and thick, down onto the pillow, into his hair. Dean thrusts harder, ripping the skin more, his smile cruel, even as he nips at Sam’s lips.
“Come on Sammy…you know you want to…Want you with me forever. Love you.”
Love you.
It echoes inside him, stirring something. Sam groans, his eyes meeting Dean’s as his cock hardens.
Leave me….save me…take me…
He rattles with it, his body shaking like it did when it happened…when he shattered beneath the guilt and the fear and the pressure…when the cracks opened and took him away.
Can’t save you Dean.
“Don’t need saving Sammy.” Their bodies rock together, and Sam knows the end is near…just can’t make out which end it will be…can’t be the one to choose…Dean’s hands are hot on his skin, stroking his face, gentle but insistent. Sam’s moaning and Dean’s thumb rubs across his lip, dragging his mouth open. I got you baby….Shhh…its okay….
“I love you Dean.” Sam whispers, his first words in hours…and he means them more than anything he’s ever said in his life…and Dean will never know that.
Save me now
He’s lost enough blood that he thinks Dean might have made the choice for him and there’s a relief in that…if only for a moment.
Let me die.
Dean’s thrusting is harder, more focused, as if he can sense he’s losing his grip on what he wants…as if he can fuck Sam into the choice he wants him to make. Won’t ever leave you, Sam.
“Dean.” Sam’s body betrays him, his cock hard and trapped and aching with need as Dean’s thrusts intensify. Sam presses his cock up against Dean’s belly, his eyes closing as he reaches out. He feels it, the way the power works…remembers the way it burned inside him…how it felt to know the intimate thoughts of those around him…
Love you.
Dean throws his head back as he starts to come and Sam pulls the power he’s denied himself out of the dark crevice, stretching into himself and drawing a hot, red line across his brother’s throat. He’s done this before…he can feel it seep into him, he’s killed this way…but never like this…
Dean looks startled as the blood starts to pour in earnest, slipping out and over Sam, onto his face. Sam wraps himself around Dean, around the random memories firing through him as he bleeds and Sam grabs one…an image of a boy on his father’s knee, holding a blanket wrapped bundle…and Sam breathes in, welcoming the red flood as he’s welcomed everything else Dean has given him. He holds the image as long as he can…holds it for Dean…for himself…
He always knew that one day he would have to kill Dean…one day love you wouldn’t be enough to stop Dean from killing him…The blood fills his lungs, thicker than water. Dean’s still inside him, his broken body an echo of the broken promise Sam made to his father…his vision goes red with the blood on his face, in his eyes…Love you…Dean shudders against him…shh, baby…I’ve got you…and the red blurs…fades to black…
