Sam would have known if Dean was dead.
Sam would have personally collected Dean from wherever he managed to find himself, and resurrected him, only to drag him back down to hell kicking and screaming. Because Dean was Sam’s – had been since the moment Sam was born. It had taken Dean a long time to realise this. It wasn’t until after Stanford that Sam had been able to push his interest on his brother. Not that Dean realised Sam’s influence. Given as he was to avoiding chick flick moments, Sam had been able to bind Dean without Dean even realising it.
It had taken time, but Dean had started leaning into his touches, instead of moving away.
It had taken time, but Dean had stopped flirting with every waitress and every barman, and every person of vague interest, instead turning to Sam.
It had taken time, but Sam started sharing Dean’s bed.
At the time it had been enough to hold Dean in his arms, feel the solid weight of his brother, his soul mate. His. Although Sam wanted nothing more than to claim Dean in a way that left no one under any illusion as to who Dean belonged to, the time had to be right. Lucifer had explained it to him, and Sam had looked into it enough to confirm that the Devil wasn’t lying. If Sam was to properly – and completely – claim Dean as his, it had to wait until he’d taken his crown.
And so Sam had taken his crown. And, somehow, Dean had known. Sam suspected angels but it was irrelevant. As soon as Sam had completed the ritual, and felt the power of Hell rise within him, he’d sought out Dean. He’d reached towards Dean’s presence, and between the time taken to locate him, and then travel to where his brother was, Dean had disappeared.
He knew Dean’s life force wasn’t extinguished. That his brother still lived.
Although Sam hadn’t finished the claiming rituals, he still would have known. Dean was his. Meant to be his consort, seated beside him on Hell’s throne. Once he’d earned his way from Sam’s feet. Even without this, their connection was divine. Sam and Dean were soul mates. Connected in this world and the next. So, no, Dean wasn’t dead. Sam would have known.
But Sam couldn’t find him.
All Hell had felt his wrath. He’d interrogated the crossroads demons. It was just the sort of thing his brother would do, cut a deal to hide from his brother. And he’d been right: but three of his loyal minions had rejected Dean’s request. Sam hadn’t destroyed them, but it would be a while before they worked their way back out of the pit.
Azazel tried to talk him out of his rage, and only succeeded in getting himself destroyed. Sam crackled with anger just thinking about the demon. To suggest that Sam should find someone better suited to rule Hell with Sam? It was untenable.
No one ever made that suggestion again.
While Sam sat on his throne and quietly boiled, he had his every demon scouring the earth for his wayward brother.
Each day, Sam thought on his brother. Dean had known that he was Sam's. This... hiding was unacceptable.
The demons soon learnt to avoid the throne room when their king had the thinking of Dean expression upon his face.
And, as time passed, the demons avoided the throne room completely, if they could.
However, when their king bellowed, one unlucky demon would find themselves prostrated before the throne.
"Any word of my beloved one?"
It was the same question every time.
"N... No... No, my King."
It was the same answer every time.
The air behind Sam seemed to thicken, and the demon quivering on the floor closed its eyes, expecting the Boy King’s final judgement. Those who had come before the King in past, and given no news of the brothers’ whereabouts were destroyed, dead for all eternity.
The demon did not expect to bear the bad news and live.
The demon was correct.
Dean was alive and knew he was being tracked. Not all hunting parties came back intact.
Any survivors didn’t survive long back in Hell.
It was the one year anniversary of Sam taking his rightful place.
And Hell quaked.
The Boy Kings’ anger could be felt far and wide.
Sam sat on his throne. Angry. Furious. Bereft.
A year. A year without Dean. A year of being broken and bitter.
Sam had never cared for Hell – it could rule itself. But he did care for Dean. He had coveted his brother, and it was only with the yellow eyed Demon’s promise that he would have Dean at his side, in his bed – forever – that made Sam embrace his darker side.
Sam wished he could destroy Azazel again.
Sam was one of the most powerful beings in existence. Ascending Hell’s throne should have been a celebration.
Instead it left nothing but the bitter taste of ashes in his mouth.
Sam used his powers to search once more, for anything, any hint of Dean.
On earth, the clock ticked over to midnight
Dean looked at the clock. Mere minutes had passed since he last looked. Bobby gave him an exasperated look.
Dean ignored the question. As he had the last ten times. He glanced away, eye falling on his beer. Reaching towards it, only to have it removed and placed in front of Bobby.
“Don’t know what you’re so het up about, Dean. But if it’s bad enough that it stops you eating pie, it’s bad enough that you shouldn’t be drinking.”
Fuck. He glanced at his pie. The ice cream had melted, and the red of the rhubarb leaking out in a way that felt entirely too portentous. A shudder wracked his body.
Dean took a deep breath, struggling to get himself back under control. He had a bad feeling about tonight, and at the very least he wanted Bobby to know it wasn’t his fault.
But where to start… Fuck. He hadn’t spoken about Sam in a year. Longer really. Ever since he knew Sam was going to take the crown. And Bobby… Bless his gruff little heart, Bobby had respected that. Probably knew that Dean didn’t tell him about Sam’s plans. Maybe even guessed they were more than just brothers. But it wasn’t like you want to say to your adoptive step-father, “Hey, I was fucking my brother until he went dark side, and now I really do have the stalker from Hell.”
Concentrating hard, he made patterns in the melting ice cream. Yeah, because that was more important than talking to Bobby.
By the loud manner in which Bobby cleared his throat, the older hunter agreed. Sighing, Dean threw his spoon at the table, wincing at the loud clatter.
“So. The thing is…” Fuck! He knew what he had to say, but he didn’t know how to say it. Suck it up, Winchester, he sternly told himself. This is more important than your precious sensibilities.
“The thing is… Fuck! This is hard to say!”
Bobby was his usual steady presence. “Spit it out, boy. Even if you’ve been a damn idjit – which I’m pretty sure you were – I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Dean lowered his head, banging it against the table. “You can’t help, Bobby! No one can help! It’s Sam.” He laughed. “It’s always Sam. I just have a feeling we’ll be seeing him tonight.”
Dean didn’t imagine Bobby’s indrawn breath. “Sam? But we haven’t seen him since…” Bobby thought. It must be almost a year. A thought crossed his mind and he levelled a stern eye at Dean. “It’s been a year. That’s about when deals come due. Your deals at any rate,” he muttered under his breath. “What’d you do, Dean?”
Running a hand through his hair, Dean avoided looking at Bobby.
“It’s always been different with me and Sam. Because of… reasons… we are close. Were close,” he corrected.
Biting his lip, he considered the best way to continue, but Bobby saved him the hassle.
“If by close you mean ‘fucking like bunnies’, then yeah, you two boys were close.”
Dean’s head shot up. “What? You knew?”
It was Bobby’s turn to look incredulous. “I’m a goddamn hunter, Dean. I’m trained to observe! But even if I wasn’t, it was hard not to notice the bites and bruises.” Which now he thought about it, were always on Dean. Bobby felt his stomach start to sink, but gallantly soldiered on. “And while I would much rather have had no idea about your sex life, it was obvious you boys made each other happy. When Sam disappeared…” Bobby shook his head. “I expected you to go off half cocked, rescue him from Hell. Either that or have a very angry Boy King beating down my door!”
There was an uncomfortable pause, as Bobby’s mind started turning things over. “Dean…”
Dean couldn’t look at his adoptive father. Bobby knowing about their sex life was nothing – nothing – compared to this.
“Dean, what did you do?”
Knowing he’d feel better if Bobby knew before… well, in case anything happened, Dean told him. “I made a deal with the angels. I know, I know,” he blushed at Bobby’s look. “It should have been a crossroads demon…”
“Damn, idjit!” Bobby broke in, “That’s not what I meant at all!”
Dean ignored him. If he stopped, he’d never start again. “But I asked and they wouldn’t hide me from their king. The angels though… They said they’d give me a spell to hide myself, but it would only last a year. It would normally last forever, but something to do with how powerful Sam is, and, uh, the closeness of our relationship. It gave me a year to try and find a cure – and I have been trying, Bobby! I’ve been trying so fucking hard.”
Dean knew his defensiveness was uncalled for. Bobby believed him. It was himself he was angry at. In a year of searching every place he could imagine, he’d found nothing. Heck, even the angels hadn’t found anything. Admittedly, only Cas had been helpful, but at least the rest of the flying dicks hadn’t hindered and gotten in his way. A hidden, bitter part of him wondered if they knew he’d fail.
His bitter thoughts were interrupted.
“Balls! What did you promise the angels, Dean?”
Biting his lips, Dean tried to think of the best way to present his answer. Sighing, he knew there wasn’t really one. “To be honest, Bobby, I’m not really sure.”
“I know! But I was desperate! They said they’d come for me after a year and a day. I just assumed I’d be a Michael sleeve,” Dean shrugged. “If I can’t save Sammy, I don’t really care.”
As Dean spoke, a number of things happened: the clock struck twelve; time seemed to stand still; the air shimmered and the front door blew off the cabin.
In slow motion, Dean and Bobby looked up, to see a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway. Bony, leathery wings seemed to appear behind the figure, but, as Dean shook his head, they disappeared. Dean found his feet first, scrabbling backwards to a defensive position, hand reaching for his ever present gun. Not present enough, Dean cursed himself. He’d lost track of time. He should have had the gun in his hand, ready to go. He should have, because the figure flicked a finger and Dean’s gun went careening off in a direction opposite to Dean.
The air was punched out of his lungs as his back hit the wall. His hands moved under their own volition, wrists pinned at shoulder height. A quick glance at Bobby confirmed he was ok: just gaping. Dean wanted to yell at him, “shoot! shoot!”, but he didn’t want to telegraph his move either.
Sam moved into the light.
What a fucking bastard, Dean thought to himself, glaring at his brother, the crowned Boy King of Hell.
Bobby didn’t stop to think. He reached for his gun, ready to shoot Sam, but before he’d even raised the flippin’ thing Sam had somehow flung it one way, and Bobby the other.
Sorry, Dean, he thought, as one of his precious tomes knocked him out.
Dean’s voice was panicked. Sam turned towards him, expression hard and stern.
“Sam! Tell me he’s ok! Tell me you didn’t hurt him.”
Dean was struggling against Sam’s bonds – bonds made of his own energy. Finally he was touching Dean. And it felt good. Closing his eyes, he felt Dean’s movements, felt his struggle. Felt Dean push against him in all the best ways.
Eyes flicked opened, and Dean recoiled. He’d expected demon eyes – red, white, yellow, black. He didn’t know. He expected something.
Sam’s eyes were the same. The same soft hazel he’d always loved.
“Sammy…” the word was a broken whisper. But it forced a reaction from Sam.
He strode forward, hand gripping his brother’s throat. Dean froze.
“You ran from me Dean. Hid from me.”
The tone is conversational. Dean knows better.
“Sam… had to…”
The grip tightens. “Had to what, Dean?” There is a moment of silence, before Sam’s hand tightens even more, bruises already marking the pale skin. “Had to what?”
“Find a way to save you.” The words are soft, croaked out around constricted airflow.
Sam laughed. No, Dean corrected. The Boy King laughed. It looked like Sam, but the creature in front of him was not his brother.
“I don’t need saving, Dean. I did this for you.” He waited, but apparently Dean wasn’t going to respond. “I never wanted to lead Hell,” he added conversationally. “It seemed like a lot of work for nothing. But then… then Azazel – that’s the yellow eyed demon who killed mom, in case you were wondering – said that if I took the throne, I could have whatever I wanted.”
Dean’s reactions were darling. The way he tensed at the mention of Azazel. The sorrow in his eyes at mom. The stern older brother look at the mention of the throne. All it did was light a jealous fire in Sam’s belly. Dean was his. All of Dean’s reactions, all of Dean’s thoughts and feelings were to be about him.
“And I wanted you, Dean.” Sam didn’t even wait for Dean’s reaction before continuing. “So I took the crown, Dean. I opened myself to Hell, and I waited. I waited for you to come to me. Because I’ve always known where you belong. I thought you did too.” Dean turned his head away. That wasn’t ok. Sam gripped his chin hard enough to force a gasp from his brother. “You belong at my side now and forever. You’re mine.”
Dean attempted to shake off Sam’s hand. “Sammy, no! This isn’t you! This isn’t what you wanted – what we wanted. We can still save you, I know we can. Let me help you… please!”
Sam gave a sound of disgust, and Dean found himself freed. Before he had time to do more than stagger, Sam had swept him up into his arms, cradling him against his chest. For all that his arms were iron bands, he was gentle.
“I don’t think you understand, Dean. It’s done. The decision is made. I rule hell and the only thing missing is you. If you won’t come willingly as my consort, I will take you unwilling as my pet.” Dean shivered, and Sam leant down, kissing him on his forehead. “You get to choose, beloved. Do you call me Lord or Master?”
Between one breath and the next they disappeared.
When Bobby came to, some hours later, there was a letter from Sam. In flowing script it informed him that Dean was now where he belonged. Bobby was safe as long as he didn’t attempt to contact Sam’s pet. The way it was stuck to his wall with a demon blade was as much a warning as the words.
Ignoring the tears dripping down his face, he also ignored the warning. He prayed to Castiel, hoping the angel could rescue Dean. Bobby was no fool. It was already too late for Sam.
Sam’s return was quiet, but no less triumphant for that. In his arms he held his prize. He’d give up a lot more than his humanity to own Dean. He smiled, equal parts possessive love and vindictive, vicious anger. His captains had told him he’d never have this, would never have his brother sitting beside him as he ruled Hell.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
Dean shifted in his arms, and Sam allowed his expression to soften.
“We’re home, Dean.”
“Shhhh. We’ll have time soon, in my chambers, when we can talk. Then you can ask everything you wish. But before then I must speak to the servants. There is much to prepare. Much to celebrate.”
Dean didn’t feel like celebrating. He was in Hell.
Dean’s shivered. He never thought he’d be back here.
As if he could read his mind, Sam pulled him closer.
“You’re safe, Dean. Now and forever, you are mine. Nothing harms what’s mine.”
Dean’s shivering intensified.
Sam could feel the fear radiating from his brother. It was because Dean still didn’t understand. Sam looked after his possessions very carefully. And Dean was the most precious of everything he owned. Despite his fear, he could feel Dean readying himself to argue, and rather than waste time, Sam pressed a finger against his forehead, smiling as Dean’s mouth worked but no sound emerged.
Sam smiled at the scowl Dean sent his way.
Now that Dean was momentarily dealt with, he allowed his mind to settle back into hell. On the edges of his consciousness he could feel the buzz of demons. They were uncertain. Hopeful. Worried. Sam’s euphoria had spread, touching each and every demonic being. It was unsettling for them. Anything approaching happiness had been missing since he took the throne.
Even as Sam prepared to summon them, an honour guard appeared, lining the walls as the Boy King strode through Hell’s gates, triumphant with his prize in his arms.
For his part, Dean hid his face in Sam’s chest. Whether from fear or shyness, Sam didn’t know and didn’t care. Dean was going to have to get over it sooner rather than later. Sam expected Dean to stand proudly by his side and wouldn’t accept anything less.
He paused, as the head of the guard rushed forward, dropping to their knees.
“Prepare my chambers.”
There was a slight pause, and the demon glanced up, keeping Sam’s face in his peripheral, but his eyes off Dean. Smart demon, Sam idly thought, one hand dropping to caress Dean’s ass.
“Which chamber, my King?”
Sam paused. Good point. “The throne room. I expect every demon of any rank there within the hour. I am heading to my bedchambers now, but they will be prepared during the claiming.”
Sam’s eye glinted. Whether in private or public it didn’t matter to Sam. But like this he intended to make it clear to all – the denizens of Hell and – exactly who Dean belonged to.
First though, Sam took Dean to their new home. Dean would be spending a lot of time here. Sam knew his brother. If he gave him even the smallest opportunity, he would find a way out. Sam’s chambers were more than comfortable. They were opulent. And more to the point nothing could come or go without his express permission.
Dean was effectively trapped in luxury.
It really was a room fit for a king, Sam thought to himself as he laid Dean upon the bed. Perfect for the King of Hell.
But not perfect for Dean. Dean looked unbecomingly, flushed against the red; certainly not displayed to his best advantage. A click of Sam’s fingers and the room and accents changed to soft shades of green.
Much better, Sam grinned his satisfaction. Dean now looked pale against the covers, his freckles a stark, golden contrast. Licking his lips, Sam was torn. The only marks he wanted on Dean were ones that Sam had placed on him. But those freckles… sighing, Sam determined they would stay. It wouldn’t be his Dean without the sun kissed skin.
Sam leant over his brother, breath ghosting across Dean's lips, loosening the binds of Dean’s silence.
"I have dreamt of this moment, Dean. For as long as I can remember you’ve been my everything. I knew I could never let you go. While it’s true I had you on Earth, you would have left. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t bind you tight enough. You loved me, but,” Sam shook his head sadly, “The guilt!”
He idly trailed a hand down Dean’s side, ignoring the aborted move to grab his hand. “You were so worried you’d corrupted me. And yet… it was the other way round. Always has been, Dean. I can’t remember ever being your sweet little Sammy,” Sam mused, almost to himself. “I can only remember needing you. Wanting you. loving you. You never realised how much, Dean.” Sam’s hand paused, fingernails digging in. “What else could I have done.”
Dean tried to calm his breath. This was just the devil speaking. Sam… despite Sam’s mocking tone, he had been Dean’s sweet, innocent Sammy. Dean had fucking fought his whole life to protect him. Dean refused to believe it had been for nothing.
Sam watched in amusement as Dean’s emotions flitted across his face. He’d always been able to read Dean. And soon nothing would be hidden from him. He leaned over Dean, watching as his eyes lowered, his long lashes brushed his cheekbones. Such a pretty, pretty pet. “I knew you were going to leave me, and I had to something about it. Something that would keep you by my side forever.”
Sam paused, gazing at Dean. Daring him to interrupt. Dean’s mouth firmed into a stubborn line.
“Eventually you would have left. And I couldn’t have that. So I made my commitment – to take my rightful place, with you by my side. And somehow you knew. You knew I’d promised myself to Hell, and that I was taking you with me.”
Sam’s eyes flashed. For the first time their hazel colour faded, instead gold bleeding into them. “And if you’d been good, you would have been here a year ago, your every whim attended to. If you'd been good, every night I would have loved you sweetly,” Sam’s eyes didn’t even flicker at the lie. Despite the softness of his emotions, Sam would never have been able to deny his need to claim, own, and mark. Nor did he want to. “Instead I had to wait, knowing you were out there and I couldn’t find you. Instead you ran. You ran and you hid from me, Dean. And now I have to remind you who you belong to.”
Sam's tongue darted out, brushing against Dean's lips. Although he tried to control his movement, Dean couldn't help but flinch away. Sam's hands held him in place.
"It would have been a private thing,” Sam mused. “A special moment between the king and his pet. But you forced my hand, Dean. Killed my minions. Caused them to question my abilities, my leadership, my right to wear the crown.” Sam’s voice rose, power shaking the room. “They questioned me.”
“They even suggested I take another." Sam's laugh sent a shiver down Dean's spine. "They stopped suggesting that soon enough."
Despite his best intentions, Dean couldn't help but imagine the horrors of Hell's throne room. This Sammy – Sam – didn't seem to like being thwarted. Not that he ever had, but this Sam didn’t need to stick to any human rules. He could picture Sam’s swift judgement.
Dean's shivering started again. He'd been evading Sam for a year.
Sam's smile turned sharp.
"You're right. I am not happy with you. But we'll spend some time reminding you what is correct behaviour."
As Sam lifted himself off the bed, Dean struggled to sit up. His limbs felt heavy, his mind clouded. Still, he forced himself to plead with his brother.
"Sam! Please! We can stop this, I know we can. I know you're still in there. I know my little brother is still there." Please be in there, he silently prayed. Sam had to be there, otherwise Dean had failed.
Sam's throaty laugh filled the room. "You haven't failed at all, Dean. You raised me well. You raised me to be this!" Sam gestured towards himself. "Strong and powerful."
"Not this, Sammy. Never this."
Thoughtfully, Sam nodded. "That's true, I suppose. But would you have stayed with me if I hadn't taken on Hell's mantle? Would you have been mine?"
Dean snapped back. "We were together, Sam, we were fucking, for Christ’s sake! It’s this,” Dean waved his hands in the air, not even sure what he wanted to say, “that changed everything. You went dark side. You didn’t talk you to me, and I sure as Hell… as…” Dean shook his head. Was there even anything worth saying?
Taking a deep breath, he continued. “I didn’t choose this, Sam. I would never choose this. And you think I’m going to stay with you now?” Dean bared his teeth aggressively. “You can get that idea out of your head."
A smirk graced Sam's face, before he clicked his fingers once more and Dean was naked. Sam was wearing leather pants that hugged him lovingly, and a thorny crown sat upon his head. He looked sexy. And dangerous.
Every inch the Boy King.
Even as his body reacted, Dean tried to will his traitorous erection away. He had to think with his mind, not his dick. Taking a steadying breath, Dean assessed the situation. Right now Sam had the upper hand. And while the sinking feeling in Dean's stomach told him he wasn't getting out of this alive, he had to try. The only option for now was to play along.
The safety of his family topside depended on it.
Though Dean was angry and scared (boner killers under usual conditions) Hell had obviously affected him. He clumsily moved a hand to cover his unflagging erection. He felt so exposed.
"Uh... Sam? Clothes would be nice."
Sam was busy opening a black box. Dean couldn't see what was inside, but it didn't give him a good feeling.
The Boy King did look up at that. "Sammy was a chubby 12 year old. Sammy was your human brother. I am the King of Hell, Dean." Eyes narrowed. "I am your master. Do not call me Sammy again. You will not like the repercussions."
It was probably lucky that Dean didn't get much time to think on that, let alone argue as he wanted. Suddenly Sam was by his side, lifting one of Dean’s wrists. He brought it to his mouth, one big hand circling it, thumb rubbing lightly over his pulse point. He nuzzled gently before kissing his pulse. Then he raised his hand, brandishing a silver blade.
A movement faster than Dean’s eyes could follow, a sting of pain, and Dean's blood flowed freely.
Sam licked the blade, tasting his brother for the first time, feeling the very essence of Dean enter his body. Closing his eyes, he felt his power touch it, imprint it, own it.
He opened his eyes to see Dean staring at him. Licking his lips, he brushed a gently finger over Dean's wrist, healing it.
"Just the first step, my beloved. You’ll never be able to hide from me again. Now, let's finish getting you ready."
In very short order Dean had leather cuffs placed on both wrists. Sam let him sit up then, and Dean studied them intently. Symbols he didn’t recognise were worked into the leather with fine gold. Emeralds dotted them, and a golden D-ring. There didn't appear to be a clasp of any sort.
Fucking Sam and his fucking mind reading tricks.
Sam chuckled. "There is no clasp. There is no way to take these off. These have sigils so the angels can't find you. And more sigils so I can find you. Not that I’ll ever lose you again,” he carelessly added. “And every demon within my realm will recognise these, and know what to expect should they even look at you the wrong way."
None of this made Dean feel better.
"No way at all to take them off?"
Sam's gaze was steady. "Well, there is one way."
Maybe Dean had a chance then...?
"But it will never happen." Sam grabbed the cuffs, pulling Dean towards him, until he bumped against Sam’s chest. "I have to choose to take them off. And that's not happening, Dean. You are mine."
Dean closed his eyes. While being bound and naked in front of thousands of demons wasn't his worst nightmare, it wasn’t too far behind.
And although he could close his eyes, he couldn't close his ears. Couldn’t block the interested sounds of the demons, the music announcing the joyous occasion, announcing for all that their King had succeeded. And Dean definitely couldn’t empty his mind of the fact that Sam was about to fuck him. Here. In front of everyone.
Dean didn’t know what to do. So he prayed.
Castiel? Cas? You out there? I'm back in Hell... Sam... Sam's the King. Well, we knew that. We knew that... but he... fuck, Cas! He wants me for something. And I don't think he's going to kill me. Could... could you maybe rescue me?
Sam's hot hands gripped his hips, interrupted his prayer.
"There's no rescue for you, Dean. There's only me."
Sam surveyed the crowd. They were there. All that survived at any rate. Sam felt no sorrow for the loss of the demons who had failed. There was no point keeping the dross. Sam felt no sorrow for those who had dared say to his face that he would not have his consort. He would keep none who dared oppose him.
Sam was vindicated. This was, in a way, a giant Fuck You to Hell’s demon population. Especially the high demons, who gave such poor advice.
Taking centre stage, Sam stood before his throne. He stood there, silent and unmoving until the room was weighed down with silence.
“I took this throne a year and a day ago. I took this throne on the understanding that I would rule Hell with Dean – my consort –” Sam gestured towards his bound and gagged beauty. He was pleased to note that no eyes strayed from him. Perhaps Hell’s population would survive this. “by my side.”
“Angels hid my beloved. Apparently Hell’s best was not skilled enough to see through their sorcery.” A hint of unease disrupted the quiet. These were not words that boded well for a bright – and long - future.
“And during this time, my advisors informed me I should look elsewhere. Find another consort. One more worthy of my attentions.”
The room was deadly silent now. This was very dangerous territory. When even Azazel, the one who had tempted the King to the throne – had been destroyed for daring to suggest that someone else sit there… well, no one brave enough to suggest such a thing again.
They all tried hard not to even think it.
One demon braved the silence. “Praise our King!”
The call was taken up. Voices filled the air, hoofs stomped, wings flapped and hellhounds brayed.
Sam allowed it for a moment – it was, after all, a pleasing sound. But there was still a ceremony to complete.
Sam’s hand came down to caress Dean’s exposed buttock, and as he cocked an eyebrow the room fell silent.
“Before you all, my subjects, I will claim my beloved one. Before you all, I will collar my pet. You would do well to remember that though I rule Dean, my consort rules Hell by my side. From this point forward you will treat Dean with the same respect you show me.” Sam’s teeth flashed white. “And I will know.”
That said, Sam dismissed them from his mind, their sycophantic murmurs fading as he took in the splendour that was Dean. His pretty brother was tied down, legs spread, hole wet and inviting. With a blink Sam’s clothes were gone, and he stood behind Dean, legs spread and cock hard and full against his belly.
Although he wanted to explore Dean’s body, learning every little detail, it was all about timing. He didn’t want the demons to see Dean in his glory. That was for Sam only. What they did need to see, however, was Sam sheath his sword in his consort, so to speak.
Dean didn’t need stretching – a little touch of Sam’s demon power left him nice and loose. So Sam just gripped Dean’s hips, being sure to leave bruises, and lined himself and sank in.
He’d meant to go slowly. Meant to show Hell’s subjects the self-control that their king possessed. But the tight, hot heat of Dean was too much. With a muffled snarl Sam snapped his hips forward, bottoming out in one smooth stroke. Dean’s grunt could be heard from behind his gag. Although Sam would soon be claiming Dean properly, mapping out his pet’s body, he still wanted him to feel it, to know.
“You’re mine now, Dean,” Sam’s voice was echoed in Dean’s head. “Well, you always were, but now you’ll know.” Sam laughed lowly. “Soon, I will be buried deep in you. Soon, I will mark you from the inside out. You’ll never be free of my claim, Dean. Never.”
Close your eyes and think of Bobby, Dean told himself. Sam promised if Dean came willingly he would make sure that all the hunters – within reason – were left alone. It was the only reason you came, he told himself.
“If they come after me, I will take them down, Dean. It’s live and let live. Not live to let them try to destroy me another day.”
Dean had grudgingly agreed. That was fair. And if Sam was willing to do this, then maybe, just maybe, some of the old Sammy was still there. Maybe he could still be rescued.
Sam glared at him. Oh right. Mind reading. “Stay the fuck out my head, Sam.”
Sam's eyes seemed to darken and glow. Fuck! There were the eyes again. Before Dean could do more than tense, Sam was striding forward. He grabbed Dean's hair, wrenching his head back, exposing his neck.
Dean swallowed, feeling very vulnerable.
"I don't think you get it, Dean. Everything about you belongs to be me. Your body, your thoughts, your very soul. Everything." Taking a deep breath, Sam visibly fought for calm. "I understand it will take a little while for you to accept this. So I will give you a gift."
Although he hadn't had anything in his hand, there was now a scrap of green silk.
"You're going to blindfold me?"
Dean didn't like it. He didn’t like the way he couldn’t control the tremor in his voice. There was nothing he liked about this situation. He came into this eyes wide open, and that was how he wanted it to stay. But... But much as he didn't trust this Sam, he didn't believe he would let him come to harm. Not from anyone other than him. Taking a steadying breath, Dean nodded his acceptance.
Sam ran a soothing hand down Dean's flank.
"No one's going to hurt you, Dean. And no – I’m not going to blindfold you. I'm going to gag you."
Dean blanched. "Sam, no!"
The grip in his hair tightened. "I believe you mean Sam, yes. Or Master, yes is also acceptable.” Sam stared at him, before his hand gentled. “It's for your own good, really. I'll still hear you, every thought that crosses your mind. But this way you won't be tempted to cause trouble in my Great Hall. You see, I still have a reputation to maintain. And let’s just say that evading me for months hasn’t helped to establish my control here.”
Sam seemed to emanate a black aura. “Seems not being able to collect one little human caused my army to question me. My abilities. My strength. My dominance." Sam held the silk at Dean's mouth. Dean held his mouth in a hard line. “Dominating you, my sweet pet, is a good start. A very good start.”
Releasing Dean's hair, Sam's fingers moved to Dean's lips, tracing them.
"I want to do this the easy way, Dean." The voice was soft. Gentle. Caring. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean turned his head. It was a lie.
"The easy way involves you opening your mouth like a good little pet," a thumb dragged down, catching on his lower lip, tugging until tears formed in the corner of Dean’s eyes. "Or we can do it the hard way. You won't like it if I have to do that."
Sam waited a moment. Dean didn’t react.
“I like the hard way.”
Dean opened his mouth. Choosing his battles was going to be very important.
Although once he was properly displayed in the Great Hall, he wished he'd fought a bit harder. Instead he was quickly and easily laid out over the throne. A willing sacrifice, he thought bitterly. The arm dug into his belly. Sam's hands bruised his hips, and he had to turn his head away from the crowds. He fought against tears even as Sam fucked into him.
It was really hard to ignore Sam’s grunts of pleasure.
Really? He thought at Sam. You're not some feudal lord, needing to claim a village wench!
"No," the word was hissed in Dean's ear, "But I am your lord."
That was directed to the crowd. Dean could tell from the shifting of feet. He still couldn't look up, couldn't bear the thought of all those... creatures seeing Sam fuck him. Why did it have to be in public?
Sam didn't bother responding to his thoughts this time. He and Dean would be having a long conversation soon. A public collaring would have been sufficient, but this way there was no doubt Sam has succeeded.
His orgasm came as a surprise, the physical gratification melding with his bone deep pleasure at finally possessing his prize. He jerked against Dean, pressing his cock as deep as he could, flooding Dean with his come, filling him up. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to fill Dean until there was no space left for anything else. He didn't want Dean to think of anything other than him. And this was a start. He stayed until his cock started to soften. A wave of his hand and a servant was beside him, holding a gold tray.
He picked up the golden plug with the emerald jewel at its base. He would certainly have Dean model that for him. Easing out, he landed a firm swat on Dean's perfect ass. A muffled cry, and Dean clenched.
"Such a good boy," Sam cooed, carefully pushing the plug into Dean's ass. "Didn't spill a drop. Now that I know you can do it, I'll expect that every time."
He didn't wait for Dean to respond. He grabbed the second item from the tray. The brown leather collar that matched the cuffs, with its symbols of gold and constellation of emeralds. A golden tag in the front, stating Property of Sam Winchester.
That would change of course. He wasn't really Sam Winchester any longer. But right now these words would have the greatest impact on Dean. Right now, Dean still thought of himself as Dean Winchester.
That too would change. Soon Dean would be Sam's.
With a smug smile on his lips, he turned to face the crowd. "You have seen my consort take me into his body. Witnessed me claim him in the most intimate of ways. Do any here argue my claim?"
They'd be suicidal if they did. Sam would destroy them on the spot. But they did like to tick all the boxes here. Sam was going to ensure there was not a single thing anyone could do to dispute his claim.
He ran the collar through is hand. He could just collar Dean as he was, ass up over his throne, but this was a special moment. He wanted Dean to remember it. Decision made, he unbound Dean's hand, taking time to rub over the cuffs – his cuffs. The leather was warm to touch, and the symbols glowed, recognising their master.
Dean – who did not recognise his master – tried to shake him off, but was unsteady getting to his feet. Shaking his head indulgently, Sam kept a hand on him, seating himself before pulling Dean into his lap.
Dean scrabbled to pull his legs together, already feeling over exposed, but Sam's hand stopped him.
"When you are on my lap, Dean, your legs are spread like this." Sam carefully placed each of Dean's knees on either side of his. "I have full access to your body. Your body is mine."
Dean closed his eyes as Sam fondled his still hard cock. Despite his best intentions, the feeling of Sam in him, filling him... his body reacted the way it always had.
Sam's big hand shielded him from the demons. Not that they were looking. Dean couldn't imagine any of them were foolish enough to look at him. At Sam's possession, he thought bitterly.
Sam's hand left him, and it was a fight to not close his legs. H was rewarded with a light kiss to the nape of his neck. "My good pet," Sam murmured in his ear, before unbuckling the collar, and placing it against Dean's throat.
"Let there be no doubt, Hell has a new mistress, and he is mine."
The words filled the hall, the power echoing in every corner and crevasse.
“Who will witness my claim?”
The room rang with acknowledgement and Dean shuddered as the clasp clicked shut.
"No escape, Dean." Sam's words echoed the ones in his head. "You're mine now. Forever."
Without further ado, Sam bit above Dean’s collar bone. Mine he thought as blood washed over his tongue.
While all Sam wanted to do was take Dean back to the royal chambers and ravish him properly, there was a painful white light sparking at the edge of his mind.
It was a familiar feeling, one that left a bad taste in his mouth.
Snapping his fingers, he sent Dean to their room, chuckling at the indignant squawk that echoed through their connection. Sam’s bedroom was the safest place for his brother. Dean wouldn't be able to get out, and the angels weren't going to be able to get in.
Why were they here anyway? Sam's claim should have been felt throughout both Heaven and Hell. And there was no point in rescuing the Righteous Man any longer. He wasn't the Righteous Man. Sam's claim... Sam's claim wiped away everything that came before. No one – demon or angel – had any right to Dean.
There was only Sam.
With a thought Sam was dressed again in leathers and his thorny crown.
“My King…!” a lower level demon came running in, falling to his knees as he reached the throne. “My King, angels…”
Sam waved dismissively. “I feel them.”
“Shall we destroy them?”
They could try, though Sam doubted the angels would be hurt. It might annoy the feathered bastards though? Turning his mind back to the powerful white, Sam tasted it. There was power there. Not enough to affect Sam of course. However, they could potentially destroy most of his army. Which he would have to rebuild. And he would still have to deal with the unwelcome visitors.
“Allow them to approach. I will deal with them here.”
The demon sent him a frightened look, but bowed his head once before leaving to inform the guard.
Sam sprawled in his throne, awaiting his angelic visitors.
It didn't take them long to arrive. Out of all the heavenly dicks it could have been, it was his least favourite.
"I see you finally claimed your useless whore."
Sam sat up slowly, feeling his power thrum though his blood, darkness filling the room. He was pleased to note the way both angels flinched.
"You wouldn’t be referring to my beloved consort as useless would you, Uriel?"
Zachariah tittered. Sam ignored it. Dean was his whore. Uriel, however, hissed, holy wrath in his gaze.
"I did not give you permission to use my name, demon scum."
Sam stared straight back.
“You are here because I allow it, angel. Permission can easily be removed.” He allowed his rage glance across their grace, before settling, seating himself on the throne once more. “Insult my brother once more, and Zachariah will leave alone.”
Sam turned his attention to his nails, watching Uriel out of the corned of his eye. Zachariah was doing his best to calm the enraged angel. Sam smiled, and noticed a trace of Dean’s blood from earlier. How foolish to let it go to waste. Ensuring both angels were looking at him, Sam slowly sucked his finger into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the slender digit. His body responded just to that little taste of Dean.
His hand drifted down, brushing his erect cock. The twin sounds of disgust were delightful. With a fond little squeeze, he turned his attention back to the intruders.
“I am surprised to see you though. You obviously know what occurred, and that it’s too late. Dean is mine. All mine nothing that you or Michael do can change that."
Sam allowed his satisfaction to permeate the air. It increased as Uriel and Zachariah flinched back.
Sam’s laugh rang out. “Castiel? You think one little angel can take Dean from me?”
Zachariah spoke up. “He’s rescued Dean once before. What makes you think he can’t do it again?”
Sam stood. This game was over. These two didn't care about Dean. They didn't care about Castiel. They wanted to niggle and nip, to ascertain for themselves that Dean was taken.
"I think you know the difference, Zachariah. Last time Dean was the Righteous Man. This time Dean is all mine. That makes a great difference, don't you think?"
There wasn't much else Sam wanted to say.
"You are not welcome here. Inform Heaven that any attempt to rescue Dean will be seen as an act of war. And I will act accordingly."
The angels disappeared leaving nothing but the Boy King in a foul mood.
He didn’t need to deal with this shit. This was his fucking wedding day. Snapping his fingers, Sam exited the throne room.
Reappearing in the bedroom, Sam paused to take in the pretty picture Dean made. He was still on the bed (of course. It was enchanted so he could only leave it with Sam's permission). Dean hadn't noticed him, too busy glaring at his hands.
"Dean, present yourself."
Dean jumped a little, before bringing his body back into tense alertness. A sneer crossed his face.
"Present myself? What the fuck does that even mean?"
Tilting his head, Sam narrowed his eyes and stared at his brother. Dean shifted under the gaze. It reminded him uncomfortably of Castiel. And Cas! What was Cas doing? Why wasn't he...?
Dean's thoughts were interrupted by a firm finger hooking under his collar, pulling him forward. Sam looked angry now.
"You will not think of another while in my bed, Dean."
Dean lowered his head submissively, but glared at the blue silk. It wasn't like he'd meant to. What was he supposed to think about after all? Sam? All that did was make him angry!
Sam had undressed at this point - the old fashioned way – Dean needed to think about things, before seating himself on the bed, back firmly against the headboard. He pulled Dean until his ass was firmly pressed against Sam’s interested cock, Sam’s arms wrapped loosely around his brother. Dean went to break Sam's hold, but Sam just tightened his arms.
"Your place is in my arms, pet. Or wherever I wish it to be. I see that the claiming ceremony hasn't really taught you that." Sam chuckled quietly. “Not that I expected it to. That wasn't for you. That was for my Hell Spawn. Making a point, if you will."
While one hand grasped Dean across his chest, finger idly stroking Dean's nipple into peaked prominence, the other slid down his side, stroking the long lean line of his hip.
"Heaven and Hell know that you're mine, Dean. You though… you’re stubborn enough to need a repeat lesson.”
Sam felt his bad mood evaporating. He was looking forward to this. He had been for a long time.
However, it would be nicer if Dean was a little more involved.
Dean lay against him, stiff and unyielding.
"I don't understand where the attitude is coming from, Dean.” Sam couldn’t help the whine in his tone. “Even top side you were mine. I don't know if you noticed – you were never good when it came to me – but I always made sure you had a mark, like this one," Sam pressed his finger into the bruise on Dean's neck, "so everyone would know you were taken. And everyone knew, Dean. Did you ever wonder why Jo suddenly stopped flirting? Why Bobby left us alone?"
Dean reddened and gritted his teeth. Fucking brilliant hunter he was. He hadn't realised until... until when? Yesterday? How long since had he even spoken to Bobby? Fuck his life. This was... what was even...
He didn't even notice the soft hands stroking down his side, the quiet, sweet nothings whispered in his ear. He didn't need to, not really. Sam always soothed him. He shook himself. No. That wasn’t how it was now. This wasn’t Sam. And he was in Hell.
A deep sigh cut through his thoughts.
"I see you’re still uncertain. That's okay. Dean." The words were said kindly. "By the end of tonight you'll remember where you belong."
"First things first!" The words were bright and peppy. Before he realised it, a leather ring was being fastened around his cock. It matched his other… jewellery. Sam was a fucking patronising bastard.
"Sam! What the fuck?"
Sam squeezed Dean’s balls a little, rolling them in his hand before tugging – just this side of pain. Dean's breath hitched and his cock jumped. Fuck. Sam still knew every little thing that got him hot. He squirmed away, but rather than letting him free, Sam's hand following, tugging and pulling and –
"Sam! Stop! Please!"
Sam didn't. "Here's the thing, Dean. You are mine. You are also exceptionally stubborn," Sam dropped a kiss on the top of Dean's head. "So I know it's going to take a lot of teaching. But don’t worry, Dean. I’ll enjoy it very much,” he purred. “And the lesson right now? Everything about you belongs to me. From the top of your head, to the tips of your pretty little toes. Your thoughts, feelings. Your love. Your cock? It's mine. Your ass? Mine. Your pleasure? Mine too. If I get pleasure from pleasuring you, then that's what I'll do."
Dean was panting now. Sam hadn’t stopped caressing him, and he’d been hard since Sam fucked him in the throne room. This? This was just a tease.
"Please, Sammy, take it off!"
Sam's hand paused, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. Only to moan in distress as his hand moved to his cock, palm sliding over his leaking tip.
"Take what off, Dean?"
"The ring! Please, Sammy – take it off or…or stop." Dean wriggled frantically. It wasn’t a normal cock ring. It – along with every fucking thing in this mother fucking room – was imbued with Sam’s essence. Every fucking thing in that room danced to Sam’s tune. (But not Dean. Dean wasn’t ready to admit that yet).
Sam didn't stop. Instead he lectured. "From now on, unless you have explicit permission, you only come with my cock in you. I could be cruel, pet, and say only with my cock in your ass." Sam's hand continued its leisurely tease. "But I know you love sucking cock as well. But not just any cock."
Dean gasped as Sam's hand tightened. "From now on, just me, Dean. Not that you'll have much chance in Hell." Sam's hand gentled again, continuing its tortuous journey. "No one here will touch you. I'll destroy them if they do."
The words were all the more frightening for the conversational tone.
"Oh, and you will come just on my cock, Dean. From now on this little thing,” and Sam pulled at Dean’s cock, “is out of bounds for you. For now I'll trust you not to touch it. But, Dean? I'll know."
Dean was barely listening to Sam. His poor, overstimulated cock jerked and throbbed in Sam's hand, Sam cruelly cutting him from any relief.
There were tears in that voice, Sam thought happily. He stopped his ministrations, bringing two fingers to Dean's mouth. "Suck."
Grateful to have Sam's teasing hand removed, Dean did just that.
Sam stroked his pet's hair. Dean had always been a slave to his body. And now that Sam owned Dean's body, that meant Dean was his slave.
Sam held Dean in his arms, allowing his pet to calm, for his shivering to stop, before quietly reminding him, "When I entered our room, I asked you to present."
Dean shot Sam an uncertain look. What did that even mean, ‘present’? Hesitantly he offered Sam his wrists, cringing as he saw the leather cuffs. Sam smiled, and pulled Dean’s wrists to him, kissing his palm just above the leather.
“That’s good, Dean. But not what I want. You need to turn around and present your ass to me.”
Dean froze. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
“Sammy…” He started, but found himself quickly manhandled into position, on his hands and knees, ass facing Sam.
“Instant obedience. No arguments. I know you can do it, Dean.”
Sam sat back and looked at his brothers’ gorgeous ass. Round and so biteable. Dean used to hate him biting it (hurts to sit down, Sammy. You’re too rough!), but it was his now.
With that happy thought in mind, Sam peeked in Dean’s head. Dean was somewhat shocked and horrified. Well, that was to be expected. Still thought he could “save” Sam. Still thought Castiel could save him – Sam scowled at that. But most annoyingly still the stubborn, unbroken Hunter.
Sam considered. Was that what he wanted? His brother pliant and obedient, yet completely broken? No… no he didn’t want Dean completed broken. Just… obedient and pliant. And willing. Ok, so maybe a little broken. He still wanted some of Dean’s feistiness ,though.
Perhaps a little humiliation? Dean had not liked being naked in front of the Demon Court. (Not that it mattered. Dean wasn’t going to be wearing much ever again.) And in his embarrassment he’d, what? Not fought him as hard? Sam warmed to the idea.
“You look lovely, Dean. But I know I gave you something else earlier. I think you should show it to me.”
Dean stared straight at silk sheets, feeling tears of shame pool in the corner of his eyes. This was wrong. Wrong in every way that mattered and a few that didn’t. Why was Sam doing this? Even after that very public… event… Dean couldn’t, couldn’t believe that Sam really thought he owned him. That was just to make a point. To Hell.
“But I do own you, Dean.”
“Goddammit, Sam! Don’t read my mind!”
He didn’t turn, but he felt Sam’s gaze on him. Could even hear the unspoken response.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice was sharp.
“Riiight. Obey your master, Dean. Spread your legs for your master, Dean,” he muttered under his breath. Inhaling sharply, he shuffled his knees apart. It felt terrible. Fucking terrible. The plug filled him, and it moved. He could feel it dipping and rising as his ass clenched and relaxed. When his feet were about a foot apart he paused. Surely Sam could see everything?
“Wider, Dean. I want to see that emerald sparkle between your cheeks. I want to know that even with your legs spread like a whore – my whore,” he added voice like a silken caress, “you are filled with my very essence.”
Sam let that sink in, before adding. “Plus, I thought you were a man of your word. Do you expect me to keep mine when you don’t?”
With a start, Dean realised he had forgotten his promise. His… obedience… for the safety of his friends. For Bobby, and Cas, and the others. This is just the beginning, he reminded himself. Sam’s still mad about the running off thing. Give it a while (he hoped a little while. He really hoped a little while), and Sam would relax, and then he and Sam could talk about this. But in the meantime…
Taking a deep breath, Dean did as Sam demanded. If he didn’t spread his legs Sam would do it for him, and that was somehow worse. He inched his legs apart, until he felt his ass cheeks spread, the air cool on his exposed flesh. His balls hung heavy and low. And Sam could see everything. Every fucking thing. The thought sent a blush to his cheeks – both sets.
The weird thing was? This was nothing new. Sam had already seen everything. He’d willingly got down on his hands and knees while Sam lovingly licked him open. He’d done that without a blush too…
He’d had a long time to get over his embarrassment. Despite his initial reticence, they'd been lovers a long time. Since Sam’s 18th birthday. And at Sam’s instigation, now that he really thought about it. Dean didn’t remember wanting his brother as a lover. And he didn’t remember when that had changed. He’d loved Sam. Always loved him with a deep and abiding love. Sam had been his everything. His responsibility? Yes, but so more than that. His life. Dean would have gladly given up his life to protect Sam.
But the older Sam got the less he needed Deans’ protection, the more he wanted, well, more. Certainly more than Dean wanted to give. He recalled Sam at 15, asking Dean to kiss him. Dean had refused, of course. What kind of monster kisses their 15 year old brother? So for the first time ever, Sam had not gotten his own way. No amount of begging would shift Dean, and so Sam had sulked for weeks, unbearable in his rejection.
But somehow between then and Sam’s 18th birthday, things changed enough that Dean found himself on his back giving his ass up for his brother.
And he couldn’t complain. At the time. At the time he’d wanted it. And the sex had been great. Little Sammy, big enough to grab him and push him around and fuck him just right. That hadn’t changed.
But now, casting his mind back, when had agreed? He could recall Sam’s breathy little request that Dean please show him. He wanted his first time to be special, to be perfect, with his brother. And somehow… Dean had agreed. The problem had never been that Sam was male. Hell, Dean had been around the block a few times, it was true. And even back then he had been equal opportunity.
But he’d always been the one to take care of his partner– whatever type of sexy body was is in his bed. He prided himself on being a generous lover and taking care of whoever made their way into his bed. So when Sam had quietly request that Dean help him, show him, that’s what he had expected with Sam. To sweetly usher his brother in to adulthood.
He never could explain why – or how – things had changed that night. One moment Sam was beneath him, Dean leisurely exploring his mouth the next… what had happened next? Brow creased in thought, the images cleared in Dean’s mind:
…Dean’s mouth dipped to suck a bruise on Sam’s jaw but before he could mark his little brother he found himself on his back, Sam’s hands holding him down while he marked up Dean’s throat.
…Sam pulling Dean onto his knees, opening him up with his fingers and tongue.
…Sam fucking into him, telling him this was it, he was Sam’s now.
…Sam collapsing on top of Dean, not even bothering to pull out before he curled around him in bed.
Now that was strange. Dean had never recalled the incident with any clarity. Even at the time it was just… how it was. And since then, it wasn’t something he’d thought about for. Since then, Sam said bend over and Dean did. And that was odd too.
Dean caught sight of Sam’s smug expression. Dean felt his own darken in return.
"All along it’s been you? You somehow… fuck! You planned this?"
Sam’s smug smile broadened. "Haven’t you been listening to me, pet?” Sam shook his head mockingly. “Oh yes, Dean. I planned this. I wanted this. I wanted you. And nothing on Heaven or Earth was going to stop me. And Hell?" Sam laughed. “I had Hell on my side.”
Dean grunted. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? And what was he supposed to do. Sam was right. He hadn’t listened. And now? Even now he couldn’t help but cling to that last, faint hope. The collar and cuffs… sure he was trapped in them. And Sam said he wasn’t going to take them off. But Sam changed his mind all the time. Lost in his thought, Dean’s didn't realised Sam’s hand had moved until he pushed on the plug.
"Ah – Sam! Don’t!"
"I believe you're missing the point, Dean."
The problem, Sam decided, was that his claims on Dean were external. Dean had been in many uncomfortable situations before; he knew how to ignore physical discomfort. The cuffs, the collar, fuck, even the cock ring could be ignored. Dean didn’t equate his bonds as being related to Sam. Sam needed to fix that.
Of course Sam could fuck Dean. And he most certainly would. His come would slowly change Dean, moulding him into the perfect pet. And given time, Dean would become attuned to Sam's every want and desire.
But that was a slow process.
Sam eyed Dean's ass, the emerald glinted at him. It warmed him, knowing that even now his seed was filling Dean. He would never stop plugging him. It felt good, satisfying, knowing that Dean was full of him.
But he also had other options. Faster options.
"I wasn't going to permanently mark your skin, Dean. At least, not yet. It’s an intimate act. It generally involves trust… Where you take what I give, Dean. You accept and welcome it. I wanted to be a celebration of our mutual bonds, however…” Sam heaved a disappointed sigh. “However I think you need a very physical reminder of who is your master."
And, Sam added quietly to himself, he needed the security of knowing where Dean was at every moment. That Dean was safe from everything that Heaven, Hell, or anything in between could throw at him. Huh. Those angels had disturbed him more than he realised.
Dean snorted. "What? I’m your fuckin’ lap dog now, Sam! Are you telling me a collar isn't enough?" Dean shifted his weight and pulled at the collar. The tags rattled but the clasp didn’t even budge. Fucking demon magic.
"No, a collar isn't enough. Now be quiet." Sam put enough power behind the word that Dean was forced to still his tongue. Sam could get used to that.
Palming Dean’s ass, he spread him further. Reaching between Dean's cheeks, Sam toyed with the plug, before pulling it out in one smooth move. Although Dean clenched his hole quickly, he was spread wide enough that some of Sam's come dripped out and onto the bed.
"Oh, bad boy, Dean." Sam was delighted. "Don’t you remember what I said? You take everything I give you. You need to lick that up now."
He didn't need to see Dean's face to know it held an expression of disgust.
"Seriously, Sam? Isn’t that a little gross even for – ow!"
Sam rained a series of firm spanks down on Dean's ass. He paused to admire his work - it was a rather attractive shade of red now, with rivulets of come coating Dean’s thighs.
“Don't get side tracked”, he reminded himself. He could spank Dean's ass red every morning. But now was obedience training. That was more important than personal gratification.
"You obey me, pet. Without question. Now, do it, Dean."
Clenching his ass cheeks together in an effort to not spill any more, Dean slowly shuffled around, until he was face to face with Sam’s come. He eyed it warily. Luckily there wasn’t much. But still… he couldn’t keep the revulsion off his face. What the fuck was Sam thinking? He could deal when it was fresh from the source. He even liked sucking Sam’s cock, although he liked Sam on his knees sucking his more. But this… this was…
Blanking his mind, Dean dropped his head and lapped at sticky liquid. He did his best to ignore Sam’s hot gaze.
Sam squeezed his cock firmly, containing his orgasm. At some stage, when they had time, he was looking forward to coming all over Dean. Bound spreadeagled on the bed as Sam laid stripe after white stripe all over his body. Biting back a moan, Sam winced as he took himself very firmly in hand. He still had to mark Dean, and that could only happen when he was buried balls deep in Dean’s ass.
Another wave of arousal and excitement hummed through his body. This was it. This moment was years in the making. All the lies and promises, the deals and demons. It had all come down to this moment, when he would finally claim Dean as his.
If Dean had looked, he would have seen Sam’s eyes glowing gold with power.
Heady with excitement, Sam laughed out loud. Dean went to raise his head, but Sam just pushed him face down onto the silk.
“Stay, Dean. Do. Not. Move.”
Sam put power into his voice. He felt the sigils on the cuffs and collar vibrate with his energy.
Dean shifted, the leather moving unpleasantly against his skin.
Sam’s hand was on the back of his head, fingers hooking under the collar and drawing Dean’s head back. It pressed against Dean’s throat, and he swallowed uncomfortably. It would be so easy to slit his throat in this position…
“Oh no, Dean, no. You still don’t understand. There is no out for you.”
With those words Sam took Dean’s mouth, claiming it as his own.
Dean didn’t want to like it. Sammy’s touch had always made him feel good. And now? His cock throbbed – and just from a kiss? What was he, a fucking teenager?
No… No. He was a fly caught in his spider’s trapped. Was it all magic, Dean wondered, even as he leant into the kiss.
Luckily – or unluckily depending on how you looked at it, Sam pulled back. His tongue swiped across Dean’s lips, before dropping to the bite mark made when he – Dean’s thoughts quickly scattered. He didn’t want to think about it. He’d managed to avoid thinking about being publically… fuck! What was wrong with his brain?
Sam used his mind reading trick again. “In the Great Hall? That was just the first part of this ceremony. It opened your body to me, readied you. I was going to wait, let you adjust to me, my power, naturally. But it’s better this way. No one – no angels, no demons, not even you will be under any illusions. Now, I know you’ll try to be good, Dean. Bu let’s make your obedience… easy.”
Without Sam touching them, his wrist cuffs moved together, until his hands were bound at the small of his back.
“Fuck! Sam!” He couldn’t help the panic in his voice.
“Shhhh. It’s ok, Dean.” Sam was still licking and nuzzling at his throat. One had stroked along his back, pausing to pull at his cuffs. “I like seeing you like this. It makes me happy. And soon… soon my happiness will be your happiness.”
And Sam bit Dean again, the new bite mirroring his mark in the Great Hall. Even as he felt the Sam’s teeth break his skin, Dean struggled. Off balance as he was, he only fell forward. Without Sam’s hold on him, he would have face planted in the bedding. As it was. Sam lowered him gently, until his curses were muffled in the silk sheets.
Sam daubed his finger tips with blood, before beginning to draw the Mark of the Boy King on his chest. Dean’s wound ceased bleeding before he had finished – that just meant he had the pleasure of biting it again. Dean’s hitched breath and shaking body were delicious.
Once it was completed he turned to the mirror. Perfect. It was perfect. Moving to the side of the bed he pulled a silver knife out of the drawer.
Green eyes studied it. Sam tossed it in his hand. Catching it blade side down. He opened his palm, showing it to Dean.
“Just in case you were thinking of trying to hurt me,” Sam offered conversationally. “Of course it can cut me,” and Sam dragged the knife down his arm, enjoying the cool of the blade. “But only if I want it to.”
Turning his attention to Dean’s back, slowly and carefully adding his mark, drawn with his blood.
Sitting back, he traced the lines with his eye. Even now it seemed to glow. Perfect.
Tossing the blade back in the drawer, Sam sat back on his heels, admiring the pretty picture Dean made. He noted his come pooling between Dean’s thighs. He really should have put that plug back in. Still, not to worry. There was plenty more where that came from.
Although his eyes were shut, Dean could feel it as Sam practically prowled around the bed, observing him from every angle before coming to rest directly behind him.
“Your ass is still nice and loose from earlier,” Sam observed. “My come looks good dripping from you.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “But I like it when you’re plugged up. I don’t know how we’re going to get around this.”
Running a finger between Dean’s spread cheeks, Sam gently pushed his come back in.
As Dean’s shivering intensified, Sam allowed the sense of self-satisfaction to swell, before carefully lining up the two marks. Despite the distance, he felt a little flare of heat between the two. They wanted to be joined.
The thing on Dean’s back seemed to pulse, nipping at his skin trying to… to what? Consume him? He didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it. He didn’t like the way Sam was gripping his hips again. He didn’t like the way Sam’s cock nudged at his hole (and fuck! He’d probably leaked all over the bed! What was Sam going to do about that?), and he definitely didn’t like the stretch and burn as Sam slowly slid into him. It felt different this time…
“It’s ok, Dean. It’s ok. You bear my mark this time. It can feel me.”
It could too. The nipping seemed to stop as if it was waiting.
Sam took his time, slowly sinking into his brother, until he felt his balls brush against the curve of Dean’s ass.
“This may hurt a little,” Sam warned, before pressing himself flat against Dean’s back, pressing the bloody markings against each other.
Dean’s screams rang in Sam’s ears as their blood merged and melded. Sam’s power seemed to have a mind of its’ own, throbbing mine mine mine as it raced through Dean’s body, carving itself into his very bones, his very molecules.
So weak as to almost be silent, Dean’s body said yes in return.
Sam was exultant.
“Do you feel that, Dean? My blood will always call to yours.” Sam licked at the top of Dean’s collar, tasting saltiness. “And yours, sweet pet, will always answer.”
Beneath him, Dean’s body seem to burn as Sam’s claim solidified on Dean’s skin,
“Soon,” he whispered. “Soon it will all be over.”
Dean didn’t respond. He lay lax and unresponsive in Sam’s embrace. Sam could feel the heat from Dean’s skin, could feel how exhausted his pet was. But Sam needed to see.
“Sit up, Dean.”
Dean just moaned. He didn’t want to even think about moving.
“Sit up, Dean.”
It was an order Dean and couldn’t refuse. It was like his body had to obey. Dean’s mind wasn’t on board, but right now he was too exhausted to fight. And he fucking hurt.
He slowly shuffled to his knees, presenting his back to Sam.
Dean was perfect, Sam decided. Although… With a flicker of a thought Dean’s cuffs released, and although his shoulders jerked, Dean’s hand stayed exactly where they were.
“Good pet. But I can’t see my mark. Hands by your side.”
Although he was slow to obey (on top of everything else Dean’s arms must have been aching from being in that position for so long, not to mention Sam’s weight on top of them), he did as Sam asked.
Sam stared at the marks on Dean’s back and shoulders. He could feel his pulse, Dean’s pulse racing through it. It was a mix of their blood. Now he was part of Dean, and Dean was part of him.
It was old magic. Deep magic. Blood magic. Dean wasn’t marked by Hell – Dean was marked by Sam.
Reaching forward, he touched his hand to the marks he felt his power pulse through Dean’s body.
He’d done it. He’d done it! Dean was his. He finally owned him body and soul. And he would never let him go.
A year and a day after Sam had taken the crown, Heaven smiled. Well, most of Heaven, Michael allowed, glancing at Castiel’s drooping feathers. The Boy King had done more in a single year to decrease Hell's influence on Earth than hundreds of years of fighting Heaven’s armies.
The Righteous Man was a small price to pay for peace on Earth, and in Heaven.
And if Dean's first day was any indication, Heaven and Earth would be spared Hell’s touch for a very long time.