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The Sweetest Sugar

Chapter Text

Title: The Sweetest Sugar
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 297
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


It was love at first sight, or rather, lust at first sight. The boy had to be his. He had to be. It was his destiny. It would be his destiny.

He wanted him. He wanted him more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries although the buyer knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. He was a very good judge of character.

The buyer voiced his intention clearly. "One hundred thousand dollars."

"One hundred twenty thousand dollars," a voice boomed. Another buyer had also seen the potential in those green eyes.

The buyer was growing irritated as the emotion of want coursed through his bloodstream. He would not be cheated. "One hundred forty thousand dollars."

There were murmurs from the crowd. The auctioneer was beaming with dollar signs in his eyes.

The other buyer arose to a standing position. "One hundred sixty thousand dollars. That's my final offer."

There was a hacking wheeze heard somewhere in the room. The buyer smiled; thin and cruel. His challenger was surrendering. He needed to be far more agressive than that...

The buyer also stood. "Two hundred thousand dollars."

The room was alive with murmurs before settling into silence. Silence was such a final sound.

The auctioneer's gavel banged. "Sold for two hundred thousand dollars." The man looked overjoyed.

I win.

The boy deserved the best home available after all.

It looked as if the boy wanted to unleash a scream of pure anguish; the buyer so wished that he would do it. There was nothing sexier when they lost all hope.

The buyer turned to his assistant. "Put him in the car and be gentle. If one hair is found out of place, your fate will be worse than his."

Chapter Text

Title: Lollipop
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 832
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Dean gets acquainted with his living situation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


This wasn't part of the plan, not in Dean Winchester's universe. To be imprisoned in a bedroom and presented like a fucking turkey. He knew that sick fucks like this had always existed, but little did he knew how close to home they were. Dean didn't bother getting up as he knew that the door was locked. All he could do was pray that he was found.


Well, that was the last time he left a drink unattended again. That bitch Lillith. He would kill her if the opportunity presented itself, but that opportunity was long past.


When the door opened, Dean turned his face. He didn't want to see the asshole who...owned him. Immediately, the door clicked closed, and he could hear a lock turn. He stiffened as he heard his footsteps as someone walked towards him. Dean flinched as the man wrapped his fingers around his jaw; bringing his face to meet his. It seems like he wouldn't have that luxury.

Dean noticed immediately that he wasn't bad looking; he could see intelligence crackling in amused blue eyes with wicked humor curving thin lips. Even though the man presented himself as suave, he was admittedly rough around the edges. The portrait of a perfect serial killer.

The first thing out of Dean's mouth was a quip. "What? You have to buy your loving? Is the pool boy holding out?"

Dean expected to be slapped, but instead, the other man licked his lips as if Dean were a lollipop he wanted to suck until he reached the stick.

"Feisty. I knew that you were the one. What's your name, lad?"

He didn't want to tell him, but Dean knew that he didn't have the option. It was suddenly hard to swallow. "Dean."

"Dean," he repeated; his eyes boring into his own before a grin broke over his face. "I like that. Clean and strong."

"What's your name?" Dean asked pointedly. Maybe if he kept this friendly...

At first , Dean thought the inquiry would annoy him, but instead he smiled.

"Alastair. A variant of Alexander."

Dean shivered at the sound of the name. It perfectly suited the creepy castle feel. It sounded...inhuman.

"There. We're introduced now, Dean. See? I'm not so scary."

Alastair's hand skimmed the inside of his thigh.

Dean jumped involuntarily. "What the hell?" he gasped.

"Well, I didn't pay a fifth of a million dollars just to chat, Deano."

"What are you doing?" A bitter taste entered his mouth; the taste of fear.

Alastair was unbuttoning his shirt. He was really unbuttoning his shirt. Panic was beginning to set in. This was really going to happen.

The older man noticed his unease. "Your first time? I find that hard to believe. A handsome fellow like yourself."

"First time with a dude," he squeaked.

And being a rape victim.

Dean shrunk away when he reached for him. "No."

Alastair's eyes smoldered, and for the first time, he could glimpse the evil within them. "That word doesn't have a place in your vocabulary anymore, Deano."

Dean winced. "It's Dean." he replied in a voice that sounded like a plea. He was on the verge of whimpering as if he were a baby bunny.

Alastair hand stroked his hair, and Dean scooted away from him. Immediately, Dean felt a cruel hand grip his shoulder.

"Move away from me one more time, and there will be a severe consequence."

Dean felt like an ant under a magnifying glass, and he knew that he was going to be incinerated. The whimpers were coming out of his throat now, and he could no longer hold them back.

"Come on now, Dean." Alastair chuckled and nuzzled his neck. "I know how you like to party..."


"Where is my brother?"

Castiel sighed. He didn't look up at the tall man at first. "We're doing everything that we possibly can, Mr. Winchester."

At times, he hated dealing with civilians. All they did was his impede work; work that was he already woefully behind on. His eyes drifted back to the police report.

But, Samuel Winchester, the younger brother was on a roll. "You have to do something, not just sit here! It's been two days. Interview people! He left with someone. Maybe a psycho chick. He could be in a bathtub of ice cubes right now with organs missing."

A hint of a smile tugged at Castiel's lips. "You have quite a vivid imagination, Mr. Winchester."

The younger brother was talking so fast that his words were tripping together. "His car was still in the parking lot! Dean would never do that...he loves that car. Listen to me!"

Mr. Winchester's slammed his hand on the desk. Startled, Detective Castiel stopped writing and looked up into wounded eyes.

"Please, detective."

Castiel felt a sudden tug of destiny to this case that he couldn't explain, and his hand stopped stopped writing. Sighing, he set down his pen. He'd done enough paperwork.

He cleared his throat. "Okay."

Chapter Text

Title: Mousse
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 845
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



As if one word would change his situation.

"It's all right, Dean. I trust you." Alastair had the smile of a serpent.

Dean was nearly hyperventilating. All doubts that this was really happening had vanished. This was all too real. He had been sold and bought and now...

There was the sound of a zipper unzipping and one glance confirmed that Alastair was already hard.

Dean was struck speechless as he lay on the verge of losing it completely. He knew what the bastard wanted. Though he was a complete stranger to sucking cock. He had heard of dumb guys doing things like that to each other in some sort of hazing rituals at college. Dean hadn't gone to college.

When Dean looked up, Alastair responded with a sneer.

"Go on. It will...please me."

Dean's first task would be to get him off. Just like the whore he now was. Suddenly, he felt an irrational pang of guilt at all the porn he had seen in his life. But, then again, he and guilt went hand in hand. Dean had never dreamed that one day he would be in the same position.

At his hesitation, Alastair hooked his fingers into his yanked on the back of his head. The threat was out in the open.

"Don't keep me waiting now," Alastair hissed in his ear. "It's rude."

So, Dean reluctantly took him in his mouth while wrestling with the urge to vomit all over the bed onto the silken wine red sheets. While sucking, Dean closed his eyes and tried to imagine that he was sucking on the straw of juice pouch, but the mental picture didn't help very much. When Alastair eventually emptied himself into his mouth, it didn't taste like fruit juice. Dean wanted to desperately spit the foul liquid out, but he knew that Alastair would want him to swallow, and he didn't want to piss him off. Dean gagged as he managed to do so.

Immediately, he turned his head to the side out of shame and disgust. At himself. Had he always been so easy? So easy to victimize?

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Alastair chuckled.

"Sick fuck," Dean mumbled under his breath.

But, to Dean's horror, Alastair wasn't finished. Did he expect that he would be? He cried out in surprise as he was rolled onto his stomach. It wasn't long until Dean felt invading agony as Alastair breached his delicate defenses, and he stifled the urge to cry out as he felt Alastair's length stretch and flex his body.

"Pain is unfortunately a gurantee the first time. You'll get used to it in time. I promise."

Dean never wanted to get used to it. He clawed the sheets like an abused cat as he endured the older man's thrusts. Dean had never felt so helpless. It took all his self control not to break down on the spot.

"There," Alastair sighed contentedly. "Pure as a little snowflake."

Dean didn't know how to retort to that comment. He was shutting down.

It seemed as if hours passed when Alastair at last withdrew from him like a sword. He had lost track of time. Dean hissed in pain as he collapsed on his side. Through the soreness, he could feel something leaking. Blood...or something else. Dean never wanted to get up again. In time, he felt Alastair's weight left the bed. He shivered when Alastair's fingers combed through his hair.

"Don't worry your pretty head, Dean. Everything will be taken care of. As long as you do as I say of course."

Dean forced himself not to bawl. The tears were building fast. Too fast.

Alastair was still talking. "There's a bathroom through that door. Toilet, shower, and sink. It will more than likely take care of all of your needs."

Dean waited until he heard the door click closed for the sobs to be released as he curled up in the fetal position; desperately trying to recover.

Today just was not his lucky day.


Alastair found himself humming a happy tune.

Dean had practically been a virgin by his standards, and he had surrendered so gracefully. So beautifully. As exquisite as a swan with a broken wing.

As a flower would at dusk, his pet had folded inside himself, but his petals would open again. If not, Alastair would simply pry them open one by one.

Alastair walked into the kitchen with a confident stride where he found Meg in the middle of her usual routine.

He cleared his throat. "One lobster tail entrée. It's for my newest acquisition."

"Lobster tail?" she repeated. Meg frowned.

"And something special for dessert? Perhaps chocolate mousse?"

She nodded. "Of course. Making a good impression, are we? Someone must be in love."

Alastair allowed himself a brittle smile. "He's a special treasure. I can tell."

Meg's smile was unreadable as her eyes went back to her work. "I can't wait to meet him."

Her quick lethal fingers continued to cut the carrots for the evening's salads into vicious shreds.

Chapter Text

Title: Cinammon
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 997
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


Eventually, Dean got tired of crying. It wasn't helping his situation. Tempting as it was, he couldn't just sit back and give up. It wasn't what his father had instilled in him.

In truth, Dean was exhausted. He felt drained, weak and just too tired. Too tired to fight back anymore. In under a mere hour, he had been broken.

In the midst of his agony, he could hear the click of the door. Dean froze. A desperate sound was already clawing at his throat. So, the master was back for another round. For the first time since he was small, Dean thought about hiding under the bed as if a monster was going to eat him. The reality wasn't so far from the truth.


To his relief, a dark haired woman he had never seen before rolled a wheeled cart into the room. He could tell from her white garb that was a cook of some kind. Her demeanor was calm as her eyes swept over him.

So. He was to be given food. How thoughtful of Alastair.

"Bon appétit," she chimed almost sadistically.

"Tell him I want to starve," Dean spat.

The woman scowled as she abruptly brought her cart to a stop. "Okay, honey, I have PMS, and I don't need any attitude. I can see that you've seen better days yourself. Eat. You'll need your strength."

Dean's voice was raw. "I don't want a damned meal; I was just fucking raped. Can't you help me?"

She served him a faux smile. "I'm involved with criminals, sweetie. They sign my paycheck. Do you think I can get the authorities involved?"

"Does Alastair have any other slaves, or am I his one and only?" he rasped even though he knew that he was wasting his breath.

Thoughtfully, she set the buffet tray down on a table. "There was someone else here besides you."

He patiently waited for her to say more but, of course, she didn't.

"What happened to him?" he prompted.

She shrugged. "The boss sent him somewhere else. It was a few months ago. I don't keep track."

Dean should have guessed Alastair was that type of guy; playing with his toys until they broke. Then, he threw them away when he didn't want to play with them anymore. Dean guessed he had better be entertaining if he didn't want a worse fate.

The woman raised a finger. "One word of warning: he likes the fight. If you make it easy for yourself, you might just survive here longer."

Was he looking at an ally? Dean wasn't sure. In any case, Dean wanted to punch her in the face. He was beginning to feel like a pressure cooker, and Dean didn't do well in enclosed spaces.

The door banged shut behind her. Its sound was deafening.

"And I bet he lived fucking happily ever after." Dean whispered to himself.

For the moment, Dean just listened to the quiet. He knew that he was caught in the spider's web, but the spider wasn't here at the moment. Meg was already prey too in a way and wouldn't be interested in helping him.

Dean looked over at the tray before deciding that he wasn't interested in what was under in the silver dome even if it was the rarest of truffles sprinkled with gold shavings. When he glimpsed the bottle of champagne and the accompanying stemware, he cringed. Two wineglasses?

Dean tried to lay back down to relax and couldn't. He had to do something about his desperate situation not just fall asleep. He ignored the mess that Alastair had left behind soaking into the blankets and literally threw himself onto his feet before forcing himself to head for what he assumed was the bathroom. Fuck Alastair and his dinner date.

Upon turning the doorknob, Dean's vision was assaulted by white. It was as if he died and gone to heaven. He watched the track lighting dot across the wall; the lights illuminating a gold marble sink and wide bathtub. White terrycloth towels hung on old-fashioned bronze rings.

Dean's fingers twitched. His mind was practically racing. Suddenly, he launched himself forward and found himself frantically rummaging through the drawers.

He uncovered useless items. There was cinnamon massage oil in one drawer and body wash in another. Another drawer revealed loofahs. Another held bandages of all sizes. Everything but what he wanted.

It took Dean a moment to realize that he was looking for something sharp. A moan of frustration rose up in his throat when he realized that there were no razors. No harsh chemicals or cleaners. Hell, not even a fucking toenail clipper.

Dean was in the middle of seriously contemplating if it was possible to overdose on toothpaste and found that he was already reaching for the tube of fresh mint. Sam would know if too much toothpaste was toxic. However, Sam wasn't here to ask.

Dean's fingers began unscrewing the cap before he dropped it to the floor; His hands trembling with emotion. If he killed himself, he would never see Sam again. His life would be over.

Still, Dean wondered how long he could survive as someone's plaything. A whore.

But, he had to survive this somehow. Life had never been a piece of cake after all. This was yet one more obstacle in his life he needed to chip his way through.

Hesitantly, he left the opulent bathroom and trekked back across the plush carpet to actually try the door that kept him in his prison. The lock held fast no matter how much he jiggled it. Security was as tight as a drum. So. He wasn't leaving any time soon. Beyond the door, Dean could guess that there were sensors and everything else that was necessary to detect his presence.

Beyond this bedroom, he didn't exist anymore. Dean had never been in a situation where he was so...trapped.

All he could do now was pray for an angel.

Chapter Text

Title: Strawberry
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 919
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Warnings: Mentions of suicide and self-harm.


"You've never seen him before. Is that correct?"

"Yeah." The bartender's attention seemed to be wholly focused on cleaning the shot glass.

"And, you serve all the customers?"

"No," he grunted. "I'm not the only bartender."

"Where is your partner?"

"Not on duty tonight." The man looked up for a fraction of a second.

"When will he be on duty again?"

Castiel could sense the man was trying to weasel out of the conversation. Every fiber of his training was telling him so.

"Tomorrow night."

Castiel then took a moment to absorb the night life. This is where Dean was last seen. He turned his head to survey the room where he immediately noticed a blonde giving him the eye at a nearby table. She crossed her legs; pastel babydoll dress riding up as she leaned over to talk to her pretty brunette girlfriend. They giggled together conspiratorially. Castiel coughed as a blush began to stain his cheeks. It had been a long time since he had a date.

Sadly, the bar was never Castiel's's scene. They were too dark, and the music was too loud. The building overflowed with scattered conversations and derisive laughter. Anyone could be lurking in the shadows. Criminals, rapists, or human traffickers. Individuals who couldn't be classified as human anymore. Which is why he went into law enforcement.

In truth, Castiel was getting a migraine from the experience.

"Here's my card. Call the number if you see him."

"Sure," the bartender replied casually. ""I'll do that."

Castiel could clearly see the bartender's reluctance as he grabbed the square piece of paper; his shoulders tense as he slid in his shirt pocket. He didn't like the look in his eyes. Castiel wondered if perhaps he had something to hide.

His intuition had never been wrong before.


Dean had cried himself to sleep despite his best effort not to and awoke to a deceptively soft hand stroking his hair. He tensed up.

He's here.

"Easy, boy. I just wanted to check on my prized possession."

Dean froze as he endured Alastair's face rubbing into the crook of his neck as if he were a furry terrier on a pillow. He was not a fucking dog, but there was no point fighting. Not yet. Dean knew that he wasn't strong enough.

Dean could sense that Alastair was enjoying exhibiting control over him no differently than a tick feeding on blood.

"I must have tuckered you out. You haven't even eaten."

He allowed himself to sigh in relief as he felt Alastair move away to reach over for something. Soon, Dean heard feared fingers uncork the champagne before the hiss of liquid pouring into a flute glass.

"No champagne for you? Don't mind if I do."

Dean nervously drummed his fingers on the ruined bedspread while dreading with his heart and soul what was going to happen.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Dean kept his head down low.

"You know, you'll learn to like me, Dean." The ruthlessness hidden under the kind words were unmistakable. "Just like I learned to like champagne. I don't personally enjoy sweet liquor myself. What about you? You seem to a beer or whiskey man. Am I right?"

Dean remained silent; an action that turned out to be a mistake. Moments later, he was forced to take a sharp intake of breath to avoid crying out when Alastair grabbed a fistful of hair.

"Participate, Deano," Alastair hissed. "I didn't buy a mute slave."

That was the first time Dean heard it. Slave.

"Yes." Dean whispered as he scribbled a mental note not piss Alastair off in the future.

"Good. I must remember that for next time."

Alastair threw his head down roughly, and Dean could feel a bit of his pride wither.

"Just because you can't play outside doesn't mean you can't enjoy the good life. I can't force you to enjoy it, but you will obey. Is that clear?"

"Yes," he repeated.

Alastair's lips stretched into a lazy smile that hinted at victory.

"You should shower, son. Dress. Make yourself look pretty."

Dean's throat spasmed. What a sick fuck. He wasn't a girl either.

"If you're bored there's a flatscreen. There's also a laptop if you search around. No internet access of course. You wouldn't want to alarm the public by typing any disturbing messages, would you?"

Dean knew that he would have to answer. "No."

Yes. No. Maybe. More of his independence was being stripped away.

"But, before I go..."

Dean's chin was raised and he found his lips covered with Alastair's own. His hands unselessly scrabbled at the older man's shoulders. Dean could feel his tongue in his mouth, and he soon felt the unmistakable urge was going to throw up, but there was practically nothing in his stomach. There was the unmistakable taste of strawberry on Alastair's saliva.

It seemed like an eternity when they broke apart. Alastair was a good kisser, and Dean knew that it was one of the best kisses he had received in his life. Alastair was an expert at tongue.

Dean hated the bastard and now himself even more intensely when he realized that he had almost kissed back.

"I will have a maid take care of these sheets," Alastair announced as he rose from the bed. "Now, be sure to be a good little boy and dress...and not in those jeans." He glanced at where they lay on the carpet with disgust in his eyes.

Dean watched his "master" leave the room.

Chapter Text

Title: Citrus
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 997
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


The shower had been nice considering the circumstances as much as much as Dean hated to admit it.

He was no connoisseur by any means, but the aroma of green tea, dark citrus, and something called bergamot smelled expensive. After scrubbing himself with the shower puff that had been waiting for him, he then followed with some salon shampoo that he had also found in the bathtub. He took his sweet time to rinse the rich foamy lather off of his slick skin longer than was necessary. If only he could become one with the liquid and go down the drain with the water.

He exited the shower as quietly as possible and stepped into the adjoining room with only a towel swathed around his waist; gazing reproachfully over at his discarded jeans and t-shirt. Dean wasn't ready to break the last link to his old life, and he didn't want to participate in Alastair's twisted roleplaying game, but he knew that he didn't have a choice.

Holding back a sob, Dean threw open what he assumed was a closet door that had been lovingly carved with figs and maple leaves and entered. Once inside the gargantuan walk-in closet, he glanced at his available clothing options. With disgust, his eyes scanned the rows of polo shirts, white button downs, slacks, and sweaters. Dean knew it did little good to be picky but this sort of wardrobe just wasn't his style. It looked like the dress code of a prep school that he felt lucky he never had to attend.

Finally, he settled on jet black. Could never go wrong with the color. Mechanically, he fastened his trousers before he pulled on the designer shirt; buttoning and straightening his collar in the mirror like a good little boy. Dean did his best to ignore the slight tremor in his hands and instead focused on how silken the fabric of the outfit felt against his skin. How fine. Dean knew without a doubt that it was one of best outfits he'd ever worn in his life if not the best. All he needed was a diamond encrusted Rolex and he would be set for a night out on the town.

A shame he couldn't go out in public. In these clothes, he could pick up girls with ease and get into all the fancier bars. There was an old adage all dressed up and no place to go...

However, unbeknownst to him, this was about to change. Dean was barely by himself for one hour before the door swung open.

Alastair looked him up and down in a way that would even put a sexual predator shame. "Very nice. We're going out."

"No thanks. I'm not feeling too hot. I have a headache."

Alastair simply smiled. "I beg to differ. We're leaving now."

Dean was left for no space to argue.

For the first time in two days, Dean left his suite. Also known as his prison. Accompanied by his "owner" and two other men, Dean was marched out through the house and into a garage. There, handcuffs were immediately secured around his wrists before he was put in a car like a piece of luggage. He listened to the engine purr to life.

"Don't go anywhere." Alastair mocked as he slid onto the seat beside him.

Dean stayed silent even when the older man pulled him into his lap. It was going to be a very long drive.

Crying out to gain the attention of other drivers would be useless and even dangerous. He was surrounded by tinted windows, and he knew that no one could see him. At least the leather seats were comfortable. However, being so close to Alastair was not. Dean could swear that he was measuring his breaths. Neither spoke. The only sound of communication was the thudding of his heart.

The roomy sedan drove down lawless lanes and highways until the car stopped an hour later at a mystery spot. Dean was unsure of what to expect so he remained on his guard.

The driver opened the car door to reveal an impressive mansion behind him. Dean should have guessed that where he had been headed; a luxurious place for criminals hidden in the charming country where the public wouldn't talk about. Places that shouldn't even exist.

Dean grunted in gratitude when the handcuffs were finally unlocked from his wrists as he gaugingly looked out over at the scrub and brush surrounding the property. He knew that he tear off and run right now. Start running and never look back; pray that he would be rescued.

"Ready, boy?"

Once again, Dean was forced to contend with reality as he was steered away from his fantasy. He knew that he would never make it. A house packed full of people and nowhere to hide. If only the place had been bordered by towering trees...

"Yes, sir," Dean quickly replied.

Dean watched Alastair greet his peers; his fellow criminals. Dean watched as he waved. Smiled politely. Dean saw right through his charade as a monster pretending to be a gentleman. None of the party guests asked about Dean, but he wasn't concerned. He knew that better than any of these bastards.

"How about ten thousand for a piece of that action?" a man even older than Alastair guffawed.

Dean froze in absolute terror. Would Alastair force him to be with other men?

His master clamped a viselike hand on his shoulder. Fortunately, Alastair seemed possessive.

"That's not even a tenth what I paid for him."

Dean's jaw clenched. He was not a piece of meat. Maybe he would remind Alastair later. Maybe.

"Dean, meet Azazel."

"Pleasure." Azazel fanned out his palm.

Dean shivered inwardly at the contact of flesh as he was forced to shake his hand. Azazel's smile reminded Dean of a perverted camp counselor or someone's closet pedophile uncle.

All of a sudden, Dean realized that he had felt safer in his room.

Chapter Text

Title: Cheesecake
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,183
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


Dean was forced to endure two more introductions before he was ushered inside where he was nearly devoured by the flashy atmosphere. Crystal chandeliers hung high above his head, and Ming vases were at his feet. Ivy spilled down several free standing ivory columns. The flowers overflowed the tables. There was even a tropical fish tank against the far wall.

It was pretty safe to assume that the owner of this were obscently fucking rich.

"I'm going to leave you here. You may eat and socialize. Now, while I'm away, don't get any ideas. I have other business to attend to." Alastair whispered in his ear.

In truth, Dean was ravenous. He hadn't eaten anything since he was first abducted and he was starting to feel a deep ache of hunger gnawing at his gut.

Making himself as inconspicuous as he cold, Dean did his best to blend in with the crowd as he approached the buffet tables.

Here, Dean was awed that he was presented with any kind food he could think of. The tables nearly bucked under trays of shrimp cocktails, roast beef, chunks of melon chilling over ice, cheese cubes, crab legs, and more. There were also several soups including French onion and lobster bisque. For dessert, there was strawberry shortcake, cheesecake, and éclairs just for starters. There was even a chocolate fountain. Dean immediately grabbed a plate and served himself taking care not to make eye contact. The "slave" didn't want to cause problems. It's not as if anyone would help him anyway.

As he sat down at a vacant table, Dean reminded himself that he wasn't here to enjoy the cuisine. He needed his strength to fuel his muscles in the form of fat and calories. Nothing more. But, then again, he might as well make the most of a bad situation.

The food was delicious. In no time at all, he had polished his entire plate clean. After a second or so of deliberation, he decided that he would go for seconds. What the hell.

Dean sighed deeply as he sliced into a delectable cheesecake. After setting in on the bone china, he dug his fork into the dessert and took a bite. As expected, it was delicious. Beginning to feel pathetic, Dean popped another bite in his mouth. Food couldn't solve his problems, but it could help.


Dean was so startled he almost dropped the plate. Azazel was calling him. His name was not boy, lad, or bitch. Under normal circumstances, Dean would ignore him, but here, he didn't have much of a choice. Dean could've sworn that Azazel's eyes nearly flashed yellow as he reluctantly drifted towards him.

"So, what's your story, lad?"

"I'm a car mechanic or was. I was also starting to go to college night classes for a degree. Then, I ended up as someone's bitch." Dean wasn't even trying to joke as he recited his life history.

Azazel threw head back and laughed. "Like life in general, eh?"

For Dean, the situation was less than amusing.

"Alastair keeps to himself too much. He's such a hardass, but he's definitely master material. I don't know if you consider yourself lucky or not."

Dean didn't, and he vocalized as much.

"You should all be in cells at the local prison being played around with men who can fight back." The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back.

Dean watched Azazel's smile turned cold and knew that he took a step too far.

"You're in our world now. Here's a word of advice: Alastair isn't going to let you mouth off without consequence, kid."

Dean stonily watched Azazel sip more of his cognac. He just wanted to get away. Escape. He needed to escape.

"You should mellow out more. Go to the bar." Azazel motioned to the structure. "It's fully stocked. Alcohol often makes matters easier, doesn't it?"

Dean sensed the end of conversation and thankfully turned away with not even a smile.

"And Dean?"

He froze; dread rooting his feet to the floor.

My offer still stands. Alastair is too greedy sometimes." Azazel actually winked.

A threesome? Like hell.

Dean took a retreating step backwards. He'd have a problem on his hand if he was serious.

Azazel grinned. "I'm joking! Don't worry."

"I won't," Dean snapped.

As tempting as it would be to get totally smashed, he couldn't dull his wits. He needed all of his senses to be sober and alert if he wanted the chance his escape.

So, Dean waited at the edges of the room. Laughter floated in his direction every now and then. There was no sign of Alastair. His master seemed to have forgotten he'd existed.

This was the moment. He could feel it. Dean cautiously searched the room. Alastair was nowhere to be seen. Good. He only needed a minute of two...

Dean took a deep breath as he scurried to a doorway and slipped inside the hallway. There was no turning back now, and Dean knew he had to make every second count.

He rushed past the paintings adorning the snow white walls until he eventually came to an atrium with an ornate gilded fountain under the skylight. Dean could hear the water gushing in the porcelain basin as he closed his eyes. Dean was thankful for the crimson plush carpeting his footsteps; it didn't make a sound under his shoes. He knew that he could hide anywhere, but what he really needed was an exit. Maybe luck would be on his side.

"Sir? Sir!"

Alarmed, he turned to see two suited goons trailing after him. Dean broke into a cold sweat. He'd been spotted.

Desperately, he ran into another corridor. He wasn't going back. Dean followed the hallway until he ran into another one. His progress had been blocked. Dean paused in shock, and one moment was all it took for him to be tackled to the ground.

He struggled and fought like a demon, but the men had already pinned his arms behind his back. Dean had been immobilized. He wasn't getting out of here. In desperation, he made a sound wounded animal. It was so unfair.

Great. Now, Dean felt like his head would squash like a grape under the weight of the merciless boot on his cheek. After what seemed like hours, Dean heard something awful.

"Ah. There you are."

That voice.

He looked up to see Alastair elegantly holding a martini. Though his smile was genial, his eyes were cruel.

"Well, boy. I can see that you're going to be a handful." However, Alastair seemed pleased as punch about this.

Feeling as low as a whipped dog, Dean watched him turned to address the gathering throng of people. "I'm sorry, friends. I must cut this party short. My slave's behavior must be corrected, I'm afraid."

Dean noticed Azazel and caught his eye. The older man's expression was unreadable.

He began to shudder when he thought about what might await him at home. Dean had blown it. He'd blown perhaps his only chance of escape.


Chapter Text

Title: Cappuccino
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,120
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


The ride back was eerily silent. Cowed, Dean slunk down into the car seat. He was pretty sure that he was getting his very first panic attack.

Blood thumped in his ears as he nervously clenched his hands together. He wanted to claw at the window and cry out to get the attention of the other drivers on the road, but he had every reason to suspect that Alastair might break his neck before the possibility of help arrived.

At last, his master spoke. It was almost a relief.

"You made me an embarrassment, Dean. That won't be forgotten. I never forget."

Dean began to tremble. He was beginning to feel like his luck was wearing thin. In this new reality, he was essentially a captive, and as such, he could be seriously hurt. It wasn't a game.

The car suddenly came to a stop. Immediately, the door was yanked open with vicious force before Dean was being ushered inside. Not a word was exchanged. Alastair watched him with the eyes of a predator until they were both safely inside his prison also known as his new bedroom. Dean already knew what was coming.

"Get on the bed and stay on it." Alastair hissed.

To his astonishment, Dean found himself instantly reacting to the order. There was unmistakable ring of authority in Alastair's tone, and responding to authority always had been hardwired into his genes. With his butt planted on the bed, he waited. For the first time, Dean realized that he was truly afraid.

Dying of anticipation, Dean jumped when he heard a knock at the door. He knew that it couldn't bode well. Craning his neck, Dean watched him open the door to reveal a man dressed in black. Wordlessly, he handed Alastair a leather handbag. He caught Dean's eye and smirked.

"Thank you, Crowley."

The door closed. Dean was almost certain he stopped breathing when he contemplated what was inside the bag. He didn't have to wait long. From its deep interior, Alastair produced a whip. He smacked it with purpose against his palm to reveal its potency.

Whatever happened, Dean promised himself that he would go down swinging. This wasn't just someone's roleplaying fantasy; he knew now that he was in real shit.

"I've wanted to whip your little ass as soon as I bought you." Alastair confessed.

"My father already beat you to it." Dean quipped.

The other man's eyes sparked fire. "I'll bet he enjoyed it too. He probably wanted to screw his own son."

A subtle mist burned Dean's eyes. Bastard. Nobody mocked his father.

"Fuck you." Dean snarled.

Instantly, Alastair's hand cracked against his face. Dean had been…bitch slapped.

"Eventually," he sneered.

Dean cradled his cheek protectively.

"Oh, don't make me break you, boy." However, Alastair's tone suggested wouldn't mind doing that at all.

Dean wondered how Alastair had become so twisted. Genetics? Environment?

"Lose the slacks," he ordered. "Everything."

His breath hitched in his throat. If Alastair was anything like his old man, following his command would mean fewer blows. Hating himself, he complied and rolled over on his stomach; fighting a wave of embarrassment. It was meaningless now.

"Ready?" Alastair raised the whip.

He endured the first blow. The second. The third... Around the fifteenth or so, Dean cried out as much as he hated himself for it. He knew that Alastair wouldn't stop until he got the reaction that he desired. Around what he guessed was twenty-five or thirty, Alastair suddenly stopped.

Dean glared at him, but Dean knew that it was as futile as a mouse glaring at a snake; he knew that he would still get eaten one way or another.

"The candlelight can wait for a bit. You will learn to respect me first." Alastair seemed sure of that statement.

There would never be any candlelight. Not as long as Dean lived.

"How? What are you going to do? Remove my gallbladder?"

His spirit was dampened, but Dean was still ready to fight. So, he got beat with a crappy little whip. It hadn't inflicted much damage. In fact, his father had done worse. So what? Dean had honestly been expecting more.

Alastair brought his face closer to Dean's own. "Your retorts are amusing, but can they save you?"

Alastair began to rummage through the bag again, and Dean pretended not to notice.

"Ironically though," he continued, "I am a surgeon. However no hospital will employ me again, I'm afraid. Good thing people still make house calls and ask for my services."

"What did you do? Go psychotic MD with your patients?"

In answer, Alastair dangled a pair of gleaming handcuffs in front of his shocked eyes.

"Spread your arms."

Dean wasn't going to let Alastair handcuff to this damned bed. No way in hell.

"Do I have to make you?" Alastair asked sweetly.

Dean absorbed this. Alastair was tall not to mention built. That much was certain. It would be more than a fair fight. The older man might even win in Dean's weakened physical and emotional state.

Though abused and broken, Dean found the nerve to smile and gracefully fall back onto the bed; arms outstretched as if in sacrifice. Dean needed to get through this. For Sam. He wouldn't see him again if he was dead or mutilated. Ignoring the monster's grin of triumph, Dean had the vague impression that this was turning Alastair on.

Alastair quickly moved to fasten his wrists to the head board. Escape was impossible now. It seemed that they were now crossing the threshold into bondage territory. And, from the way he was looking at him, Dean could tell that he wasn't through.

"I believe this is necessary now."

What? What was necessary?

From his little bag of horrors, Dean watched Alastair bring out a cappuccino brown leather collar that looked like it was designed for a pet. It was at this point that Dean believed that a part of himself began to wither. He was beginning to become unsure if he could take this.

"Don't you?"

A whine was threatening to escape his lips; Dean could feel them quiver. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes as he endured the sensation of leather slowly sliding across his neck. Dean betrayed no emotion on his face when the buckle was finally fastened.

"Mine. Do you know that you are mine, Deano?" Alastair oozed.

With great effort, Dean opened his eyes. He had to see what was happening. Perhaps to see how fucked he was.

"Though it is a little plain."

Alastair inspected the collar-Dean's collar.

"Which would you prefer as adornation? My initial or yours? Both?"

Senses overloaded, Dean stared at the ceiling.

"Who owns you, boy?"

He couldn't respond.

Chapter Text

Title: Vanilla
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,073
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
A/N: All titles revolve around something sweet.


Dean said nothing. It was almost worth it to watch Alastair frown dispersedly.

"Fine. Think about it. "

Mercifully, he left. Dean sighed as he heard more of his time tick away on the vanilla marble clock that sat on a nearby bookcase.

Dean's exposed flesh was exposed to the air. He hoped that there were no roaming dogs to tear him to pieces or something equally sadistic Alastair had up his sleeve. So, what was this? Time out? While chained up, Dean took the time to wonder how long he could play this game. Resistance was getting him nowhere. In fact, it was making Alastair angrier, and as a result, his life was steadily getting worse.

Dean's blood pressure surged when Alastair finally reappeared.

Possessively, he touched his chest. Dean was forced to endure the sick ministrations as Alastair slowly unbuttoned his black shirt so that he was completely nude.

"I like you, Dean. Could you ever find it in your heart to like me?" Alastair reached up to unlock one handcuff. His other hand remained immobilized in its prison.

Alastair...was nuts. Like him? He wasn't in the mood to lie either.

"No. Your approach is a little rough."

"Wrong answer."

Dean had pissed Alastair off. Again. His free hand scrabbled only at empty air, and Dean couldn't fight one-handed.

In reply, Dean heard the sound of unzipping. It was happening again. With no preparation or mercy, Alastair burrowed his way inside. Dean's breath caught in his throat. He promised himself that Alastair would never hear his cries.

"You no right to deny me what's mine." the older man hissed in his ear.

In Victorian days, all the young married women would lie back and think of England. In this case, Dean thought of his car. Bacon cheeseburgers. Sunlight spilling over the pavement after the rain. His brother.

No sound escaped his lips as annoying tears built in the corners of his eyes; Dean refused to unleash them.

After what seemed like decades, the older man's body stilled. His breath was harsh. The pain wasn't as bad as last, but the rape still hurt. Dean felt Alastair move away from him; his alpha status reestablished.

"Now, are you going to be good boy? Or, do I have to leave you chained to this bed for the rest of the week?"

"Yes, sir."

With a smirk, Alastair unlocked his bound hand. Now, Dean was free again, or as free as he would ever be. He knew somewhere in his being that he was getting off easy.

"Can you put a fucking calendar in here?" Dean suggested when his voice returned to him. "So, I can know what day it is?"

Dean expected to feel pain again for his smartass remark.

Alastair looked startled before a lazy smile smoothed his features. "Good idea, Dean. You can mark the day when you start training."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. He knew what "training" implied: to break him. Dean was the type who never surrendered easily. He had survived Alastair's assault two times, but how would he fare after twenty? Forty? If Alastair intended to keep him that long.

"Also, I want you to wear that around your neck to remind you of your position. No taking it off now."

As Alastair departed, Dean was left with unrelenting silence. After twenty minutes, when he couldn't stand it anymore, he looked over at the television. With shaking fingers, Dean turned on the flat screen, and he was immediately greeted with some hyper reality show. It dawned on him to find some music, preferably rock to soothe his nerves, but then he began searching through the local news channels. He had reestablish some sort of link to the outside world, but he knew what he was really looking for...

As fate would have it, he was not disappointed.

"Dean Winchester, aged thirty, disappeared Thursday night a week ago. Anyone with any information can call..."

Dean gasped when his high school photograph appeared on the screen. People knew. They were people searching for him.

Then, out of nowhere, his hopes began to deflate as if air was being let out of a balloon. Dean absently stroked his new collar. He wasn't a puppy, but he still wasn't going anywhere. No one had any idea where to look. He could be five hundred miles away. He knew better than to disturb it, or Alastair would jump on him. Literally. There could be unseen cameras running here.

Truly, Dean's life was in Alastair's palm. If he displeased him too many times was nothing would stop the older man from side of the road and pulling the trigger.

Compliance was needed for Dean's very survival, and he wasn't sure if he could fake it.




Castiel was getting desperate.

"Do you remember him?"

He watched the man on the grainy surveillance video. Dean Winchester on the night he had disappeared. Cas saw with his own eyes that he was served at this very same bar.

The man behind the counter spoke with great reluctance. "Yeah. The good looking guy ordered a Jack Daniels, and the lady ordered a rosé."

"Was the woman a regular?" Castiel eyed the woman on Dean's right. She very well could be the person who last saw him.

"Couldn't tell you. A lot of pretty women come in here. Hell, don't even know if she's a natural blonde. I think that was the first time I saw her though."

"Did you see anyone else suspicious?"


There was something not right here. Castiel scratched his pen on the notepad. It was mostly for show. The bartender hadn't told him anything.

"Thank you for your time."

Dejectedly, Castiel exited the building and got in the police cruiser with his partner, Bobby Singer. He had a hunch, and if his hunch was correct...

"I wish you would have gone in there. You're better at this sort of thing," Castiel despaired.

"You have to get in some experience somewhere."

Once, when Castiel was a rookie, he even presented himself to a suspect with his badge upside down, and Bobby had to rectify the situation by turning it right side up. Both detectives still chuckled in fond remembrance.

"Bobby, we may have to go undercover."


"I suspect that this bar is a front for a human trafficking ring."



Castiel felt it was his personal mission to save him.

Chapter Text

Title: Crème Brûlée
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,176
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


The collar stayed on Dean's neck like a good little boy. Even thinking about removing it seemed like a punishable offense.

Dean was in currently engaged in thoroughly washing Alastair's touch dirty touch from his skin until he felt clean. Until he defiled him again.

Tired of feeling naked and vulnerable, Dean searched for new clothes and moaned in frustration when he couldn't find anything...normal. No denim jeans. No t-shirts. No casual clothes from off the rack at all. All he had were clothes designed for the prep school students that usually got their ass kicked by people like him.

Finally, he settled on a navy blue t-shirt without buttons and black Dockers. Dean saw no point in dressing nice like this, but it was the best he could do. There was no employee of the month award after all.

All of a sudden, the door opened, and Dean's mouth went dry. Was Alastair back? Dean spun around to only to face Meg again. She had returned with more food and unfortunately noticed his collar immediately.

She smirked. "Cute."

"Aww, you think so. Why don't you wear one?"

"I have." The cart stopped rolling.

Dean wondered if she was lying. Did Alastair's taste include women? It would explain why her psychology was so screwed up. Still, Dean felt no sympathy for her. He had to feel sympathy for himself.

"Any chance of helping me?"


Dean wasn't surprised. But, instead of clamming up, he decided to continue chatting. He was so tired of only himself for company. They were both trapped same world after all.

"Do you live here?"

Meg seemed mildly surprised. As such, she was slow to answer. "Sometimes here. Sometimes, I go back to my apartment."

"Aren't you lucky to go back to the real world?" Dean mocked with just the right amount of bitterness he intended.

Meg had no retort for him, so he kept talking.

"What's under the lid?"


Dean made a face. "I hate fish."

"Take it up with the boss. There's also French onion soup and crème brulee for dessert. I don't know if you like those."

"I love dessert."

"So does Alastair." Meg remarked snidely.

The venom of her tone stung of him before he moved on. She wouldn't get the best of him.

"Why doesn't he just find a boyfriend who's into kinky stuff?"

Meg shrugged. "Ask him."

As if Alastair would provide with him with an answer.

"If you want to talk, you may be in luck. Crowley is curious about you."

"The guy in black? What's his deal?"

Dean remembered him. He had brought Alastair his instruments of pain. Dean didn't like him.

"He's Alastair's go-to guy. He disappears for long periods of time because he goes away on business a lot."

"Doing what?"

Meg shook her head as she placed the serving tray on the table. "I have to go."

"Alastair runs you ragged." Dean observed.

"It's what I'm paid to do."

"We should watch a movie here sometime." he called after her retreating form. Dean figured that it was smart to keep on someone's good side.

"I don't think so," Meg replied flatly.

She left.

Again, Dean was left staring at four walls. Suppressing a yawn, he ate what he could before he laid down on the bed and promptly fell asleep. He didn't know how long he had been napping when he heard the door fly open once more.

Dean grew tense when he saw Alastair walking through the doorway. He never knew what to expect from him.

He smiled. "You've eaten, and the collar's still on. It proves you're listening. Quite an improvement."

With growing unease, Dean watched as Alastair walked around the room. He resembled a monster prowling around in his lair. Dean's stomach was in knots. He knew that he couldn't stop him from doing anything. If he attacked him, Alastair would set the entire household on his ass.

"I think I'll sleep here tonight," his master announced.


So, Dean was forced to endure Alastair sliding next to his prone body and stay still as Alastair possessively wrapped his arms around him. Dean knew that he wasn't going to prevent his wandering hands, and he could predict already that he wasn't going to have a nice sleep. Alastair clung to his property like a rock in a storm. Dean didn't want to cuddle, but he didn't dare slide out of his arms. Eventually, he blacked out into unconsciousness.

"Did you sleep well, lover?" His voice was in his ear.

Dean didn't answer him. Instead, Alastair's hands drifted lower until Dean's personal space violated. He didn't want him touching there.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"If you want to," Dean answered with effort.

Fucking leave.

"I'll send someone up with breakfast."

At least Alastair wouldn't let him starve to death. He imagined himself with manacles around his wrists in a cold drafty dungeon. Dean guessed that Alastair was the modern sort of villain.

"But, first, I want a kiss."

Alastair roughly turned Dean to face him before gripping his hair. He bent his head down low.

"You know what I want, baby. Do I have to show you?"

Dean was brought face to face with Alastair's erection, and he knew that Alastair wanted his cock in his mouth. It was as if he wanted him to venerate it. Dean really didn't want Alastair in his mouth again, but knew that he had no other option.

This was wrong. Dean knew it, but he couldn't escape from it.

With bile rising up into his throat, Dean tongued and sucked the organ until he eventually swallowed the older man's load.

"Good boy." Alastair chuckled.

Dean wanted to reach up and choke him.

The older man got to his feet. "I have business to attend to most of the day, but I'll be sure to return at night."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Dean was shaking with rage. Alastair had taken his pleasure and just...left him. Left him and used him like a cheap slut. He was angry. So angry at himself for his weakness.


Out of nowhere, he punched the wall. Dean felt could wreck the room if he wanted to. However, he knew there would be hell to pay

The reality smacked him across the face. This wasn't a sumptuous suite after all.

It was a prison cell.




"Been a while since I hit the bar scene."

Castiel frowned. "This is an investigation and not an opportunity for leisure."

"Just a joke."

He was never one for jokes or fooling around. Castiel found that they interfered with his work.


"It's okay. I still don't have anything to wear though. I might stick out."

"We'll go shopping then."

It dawned on Castiel that he had nothing in his closet either.

"I'm going to wear my blazer."

Castiel groaned inwardly. Bobby felt more of an attachment to that particular piece of clothing than what was considered healthy.

Right now, Castiel mused over buying a leather jacket.

Chapter Text

Title: Honey
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,090
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


As soon as Dean opened his eyes, he was depressed. He had woken to yet another day with absolutely nothing to look forward to.

His breakfast was delivered an hour later by someone other than Meg. Dean didn't even bother to engage in conversation.

Hours later, he poked at his pancakes with disinterest. Even pouring more maple syrup on them didn't make them taste better. No luxury could distract him from the fact that he was confined for the rest of his days, or as long as he amused Alastair.

That prick.

Throughout the endless stretch of day, Dean couldn't help himself from getting bored. Now, he knew how ladies had felt in harems. Locked away in a cloistered existence; dependent on someone else's whims. Dean wanted to go out. Do things. Drive in his car. Get a sunburn. Simple things he couldn't indulge in anymore.

Then, to make his day even better, the door swung open to reveal someone familiar.

"Hello, gorgeous."

He glared at the stranger in black.

Dean was on his guard. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Crowley, and I'm a businessman."

Automatically, Dean didn't like the sound of that. "Yeah, well, my name's Dean, and I'm a slave. Get the fuck out of my room."

Unfortunately, he only seemed to encourage the newcomer. "You might want to hear what I have to say. I'm an associate of Lilith's."

Dean immediately knew who he was talking about; the blonde bitch who had slipped a mickey in his drink. He had passed out somewhere in the parking lot and had never even made it to the Impala. Yeah, he remembered her.

The man went on. "As you might have guessed, I trade in sweet-looking things like yourself."

"You're a slave trader?"

Dean knew that he was radiating menace as he glared at him with loathing in his eyes.

"Don't look at me that way. I didn't choose you. My associate did. Let's just say that Lilith is quite discerning when it comes to taste."

Dean might lose it if he saw her again. He might kill her if he saw her again. Already, he could picture his hands wrapped around her neck. Regardless, Dean didn't want to lose it in front of him.

Dean balled his hand into a fist of restrained aggression. "Tell her that I want to see her again."

"No can do. I believe she's in Cancun at the moment." Crowley smiled secretively.

That bitch was probably sauntering around in string bikini probably wanting to get her hooks into another unfortunate man. She needed to be stopped.

"So, what? You want a piece of this too?"

Although, Dean didn't know what he would do if Crowley yes.

"You're not my type, love."

Was everyone around here into men? Dean wished that the suit would take his creepy ass out of here. However, he soon found his trouble multiplied when the door opened once again with Alastair walking through it. Dean stopped breathing.

"Why are you bothering my boy?" his master drawled.

"I wanted to meet him for myself. He has a lot of personality," Crowley remarked.

Alastair's warning eyes skimmed over him like a razor. "Unfortunately, he has too much."

Dean could feel the collar chafe against his skin as he listened to the two men talk over him like a filet of meat.

"Do you want to see what tricks he does?"

A sob threatened to escape Dean's throat.

Crowley nodded.

Alastair pointed at him. "Kneel."

Dean instantly complied. The sooner he followed Alastair's commands, the sooner this experience would be over. This experience anyway.


"It seems like he broke in under a week. He's not like the other one. Your previous slave was an ornery little bugger."

"That's because he's a good boy. Aren't you Dean?" Alastair nearly cooed.

Dean knew that he needed to play along for the moment. If they suspected that his apparent submission was a farce...

"You should find one of your own, Crowley. You've become too lonely."

"When the right one shows up, I will."

Dean blanched. Was everyone that lived here sick in the head? Did they have any humanity at all?

Hell. At this moment, Dean decided that he was in hell.

"Dean." Alastair's voice was so saccharine. It was literally dripping with honeyed affection.

Dean wasn't fooled.


Alastair delivered a sudden attention-getting kick.

Oh, shit. He had forgotten...his place. His new place.


"Kiss my shoes, Deano. Show appreciation to the one who owns you."

Dean didn't want to kiss his filthy fucking leather shoes, but he knew that he had no other choice. Sucking in his breath, he forced himself to plant his lips on one then the other.

"Good. Now, clean them. Use your tongue." Alastair hissed.

"Oh, so sadistic," shivered Crowley.

Dean's stomach threatened to rebel as he sucked and licked the edges of Alastair's shoes. Dean could taste both the well-worn leather and shoe polish. He was finally beginning to understand the way things worked around here. Behind closed doors, Alastair and his cronies could do anything they wanted to him, and he would have to obey or risk their wrath.

He was mortified. Dean's ego had been brought down to the height of a cockroach. Which was exactly what Alastair had intended.

"You may stop now."

Dean was crunching the dirt and grit in between his teeth; his pride now nonexistent. The expensive boots in front of him now shone with his saliva.

Crowley clapped his hands together. "So devoted. It's a match made in heaven."

How wrong he was. It was a match made in Hades.

"I can't wait until we get more acquainted with each other. Can't you, Dean?"

He could feel the old Dean begin to die. Dean didn't want that. He didn't want to fade away and become an empty shell.

But, at the moment, he had no hope of a different result.




In bed, Sam tossed and turned. He could swear that he could feel his brother's pain, and somehow he knew that he was suffering. Several people said that he was dead, but Sam refused to believe that he was buried in some unmarked grave off a lonely stretch of highway.

Sam sighed. It was late at night, and he knew that nothing would ease his worried mind.

While fussing with the blankets, he decided that he was going to call that detective first thing in the morning to get his ass moving.

Before they were too late.

Chapter Text

Title: Plum
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 852
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. "A Whole New World" belongs to Disney.



"You're going to do this when?"

Samuel Winchester was upset. Castiel self-consciously took a bite of his glazed doughnut.


"He has been gone for almost two weeks! Can't you hurry it up a little faster instead of sitting on your ass eating doughnuts? Go tonight."

Embarrassed, Castiel set the baked good down. "It might look suspicious if we hang around at the bar all week. Thursday was the night he disappeared," he explained. "That date could be important. My partner and I will be there undercover as plain clothes policemen."

"Are you going to search for the woman?

"Yes." Castiel swallowed a knot that had grown in his throat.

The younger Winchester looked like he would personally slam any woman with long blonde hair up against the wall and start questioning her. A fire burned in the tall man's eyes. Not a criminal blaze, but the glow of a hero. Castiel wondered if he had what it took to be a cop.

However, Samuel didn't seem to be mollified by this news.

"I could go there. I'm a good investigator. I've even gone been inside the bar before."

Castiel was suddenly alarmed. "Don't," he warned. "We don't need two brothers missing."

"I'd be careful!" Sam argued.

Castiel shook his head. "You would just put yourself in danger. Besides, you don't have a badge, so you can't make an arrest."

That was considering if they even found anything at all. There was still the possibility that his brother or his brother's body could remain missing.

Threatingly, Sam gripped both side of Castiel's desk. "You'd better find him."




Alastair had fucked Dean right in front of Crowley. After getting his jollies, the businessman had left him alone with the monster.

He wanted to kill them both.

Right now, Alastair was caressing his shoulders.

"Do you like this?"

Alastair's grip seemed inescapable because it was. However, Dean didn't know how much of it was a product of his own cowardice and how much was fact.

Dean couldn't respond.

"How about this?"

Alastair's hands moved lower until his fingers wrapped around his cock. Dean gasped as he felt a hint of traitorous pleasure.

"Now, that's just wrong."

His appendage didn't care as it swelled with blood.

"Is it? Your body doesn't seem to think so. It's okay to feel pleasure, Dean."

It wasn't his fault. His body didn't understand.

"Actually, it's not," Dean

"Are you sure? Listen to my voice, kitten. Know who owns you."

Dean trembled as he bit his lips together to stop the plaintive mewls.

"I could show you so much pleasure. I could take you to so many places. There is freedom beyond these walls. I could take you there when you want. All you have to do is accept me."

"Really? Are you going to show me 'A Whole New World?'" he managed to choke out.

Dean finally managed to inch away from the older man. He was relieved when Alastair didn't pursue him.

"You and your sass. You'll learn. One way or another."

Dean could see the truth in his words. There was no way out of here after all.

Dean sat there for he didn't know for how long until he broke down in tears. He didn't even notice door softly open as the rivers began to roll down his cheeks. He tensed when he felt a body slide next to him. Was it was going to happen all over again?

Suddenly, he felt arms around him. When Dean looked up, he registered that the person had long dark hair. It was a woman.


Meg sat next to him. "Give in."

He wasn't sure if he heard her right. "What?"

"You heard me. It's the only way you can survive him. Alastair will find any vulnerability or weakness and use it against you."

"I can't." Dean Winchester was no victim. So, he told himself.

"Your options are scarce, hon. Pretend if you have to, but please just...give in. Or, he'll take you down below," she whispered.

Did Meg mean a dungeon? Dean could imagine manacles, a rack, hot oil and bull whips. And worse.

"Believe me, I know. I've been through it."

Dumbfounded, he watched Meg shrug out of her plum sweater so that he could see the scar on her shoulder.

Apparently, Meg hadn't been lying about the collar.




"How is he working out?"

The woman, more child than adult, was all sweetness and smiles. Alastair knew better.

"Very nice. I'm pleased with his progress. Though, he is admittedly a little stubborn. I'm surprised that you weren't taken with him."

Lilith's expression changed as her gaze darkened.

"Now, Lilith, that scowl is most unbecoming."

He grinned behind his wine glass. Alastair knew that she hated men. Her main squeeze as of present was Ruby. He detested her, and she returned the gesture in kind.

Alastair took a deep sip of his chardonnay. He was assured that Dean was giving away.

And, when he eventually broke completely, he would be the only one there to pick up the pieces...

It was yet another perfect evening.

Chapter Text

Title: Caramel
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,074
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



Dean's new room had a window for what it was worth though it was heavily fortified with thick glass and iron bars. He could see the sun, feel its rays, but he was never allowed go out in it. Instead of giving him the gift of a view, Dean knew that Alastair had really done it to torture him more.

And so, life had settled into some sort of routine. The definition of a "caged bird" wasn't lost on him. Alastair entered his personal space whenever he pleased. Sometimes, it was for a booty call. Other time, he invited himself "just to talk." Anything to catch him off guard. With every sickening touch, Dean knew that his master sought to break him down. Slowly but surely, Alastair was slowly breaking though his resistance, and sooner or later, Dean would run out of material to rebuild his walls with.

With nothing else left to do, Dean was beginning to watch television. Mostly cartoons, anime, and reality shows. Any entertainment to put his mind somewhere. He was even taking to drinking when he was offered alcohol. The four walls were almost tolerable when he was nearly plastered. Even though it made it easier for him to be taken advantage of.

Through it all, Dean was trying to hang in there, even though he was already near the end of a metaphorical rope that was steadily fraying apart.

Suddenly, Dean's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock. Of course, Dean couldn't open the door. This is the first time anyone had knocked before entering. Perhaps he had finally been rescued?

Then, as quickly as they had spawned, Dean's happy fantasies evaporated when the door opened to reveal who it was.


"The one and only. I thought it only proper to knock."

"You're spiffed up."

"You noticed. I'm stepping out. To the Wild Card."

Dean was intrigued. "Really? Are you going to kidnap somebody else?"

Crowley shrugged. "Never know. I might see another morsel that just begs to be tasted."

Dean began to shake with anger. "You're a sick fuck. You seriously call this your business?"

"It's lucrative."

"Was I the only one?" Dean dared to ask.

The man in black took a moment to think. "To date."

It didn't surprise him that he had been the only one abducted there; Dean had never had much luck.

"I bet you were popular with the ladies there." Crowley's expression was sly.

Dean remained silent. It wasn't his damned business.

Crowley grinned at Dean's discomfort. "Well, I really must be going. I'll be sure to have a toast in your honor."

Dean didn't even watch the door closed. He knew that he was now defanged and declawed for the moment.

Out there, the world was still turning. People were getting home for work. Couples were going out. Children were doing homework for class the next day. Babies were being born.

And, Dean was missing it all.

Once more, Dean was mulling over suicide. But, he couldn't fathom how he would do it. Maybe he needed to find a reason for Alastair to get rid of him such as catching a disease or becoming disfigured. However, how he would do it was a mystery.

Minutes later, the door opened once more. When Dean saw who it was, his heart began to race erratically.

"How do you like your new room?" Alastair cooed. "I just want you to be happy."

"Perfect. Let me go."

"But you make me happy." Alastair towered over him. "Come on, Dean. You know you're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. Why don't you at least try to enjoy yourself?"

Dean stood there in the middle of the room unwilling to move. There was a sensation that the walls were closing in on him.

"Come here, sweetheart."


Grudgingly, Dean padded over to him. As he approached, Alastair dragged him into his embrace like a trapdoor spider.

"Why did you buy me?" Dean asked against his shoulder.

"You looked so alone scared there in that big brick building. So out of place. I knew that I was the only one who could give you the best home available."

All Dean could do was focus on his breath.

"By the way, Azazel wants to see you at the next soiree, but I had to tell him that you haven't been very good lately. It is shame. Someone as good looking as you should be out and about in the social sphere." Alastair began to knead his ass. "Actually, I should be working now, but somehow you distract me away from it."

"Come on. Don't go chick flick on me," moaned Dean.

Alastair chuckled as he began to inspect his hair. "We should really frost these tips, or get you some highlights. Caramel highlights. Good enough to eat. How would you like to be upgraded from slave to escort?"

Both titles sounded awful, so Dean said nothing. He wasn't really in the mood to go toe to toe with Alastair tonight. He was just too tired.

Dean knew that the older man was gauging his reaction. Alastair pulled him closer. Dean stood rigid in the circle of his arms.

"Not very affectionate tonight, are we?" There was a note of displeasure in Alastair's voice.

"Well, I'm a little depressed," Dean confessed.

"Maybe I should take you to my room for a change. It can be a date. We hardly know each other at all, my boy."

"But I'm so underdressed."

Alastair eyed him sharply. "Always looking for excuses. I'll be back for you in an hour. Get ready."




"How do I look?" Castiel was hoping for an honest answer.

"You look hot."

The younger man glared.

"I mean that in a friendly way," Bobby added quickly.

Castiel eyed the snowy fedora. "Is the hat necessary?"

"I can bring it with me. We have to look like we want to blend in."

Truth be told, Castiel was uncomfortable as he studied his reflection. The heavy boots, the glossy leather jacket, the studs. It was too much. Definitely not his usual attire.

"Really, Bobby? White?"

"White's hip." Bobby replied defensively in his freshly ironed blazer.

Castiel sighed. His partner's taste was still stuck in the early eighties.

"So, are we good?" Bobby asked.

Castiel nodded. "Let's do it."

Castiel prayed that they would find something. If they didn't, there was a possibility that Dean would never be found.

Chapter Text

Title: Fudge Cake
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,104
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



The contents of the closet were at Dean's mercy as he ferociously ripped through them. He swept past through shirts, vests, and sweaters until he found what he wanted.

The outfit he chose was so uncharacteristic of him. That's why it was perfect. It was easier to pretend that all of this was happening to someone else. Dean chose a deep burgundy velvet shirt and silken gray slacks that gleamed near silver. It was as if he was intentionally presenting himself as a wrapped present. He gazed at his reflection and hated it. No, he hated himself. At least, Alastair would get what he wanted.

No. He wasn't surrendering this soon. He would go down fighting because that was his nature. His spark was the only thing he had left.

As the minutes ticked by, Dean hoped that Alastair would forget about him. But, all too soon, the door swung open.

The older man's gaze targeted him. "Ready?"

Dean nodded. He could sense that something was going to happen tonight. A line would be drawn in the sand.

Meekly, he followed Alastair outside. As they walked, he could feel the heat from the older man's eyes. He almost expected Alastair to take him right in the hallway. They both knew that he was capable of it.

Soon, they stopped in front of an unassuming door. Alastair threw it open before he reached in to turn on the light.

"Come in."

Dean did so knowing full well that he had no choice in the matter.

"Like it?"

"It's...the bare essentials."

"I'm a simple man with exquisite taste."

Indeed, Dean believed him. Black flocked wallpaper covered the walls, and the king-sized bed was a radiant white gold. A genuine crystal chandelier sparkled above them. The room was indeed striking. It certainly reflected the personality of the person who slept here. The room held apparent hand carved deeply stained furniture that Dean identified as mahogany.

Alastair smirked and closed the door. As always, it was locked tightly behind him. Dean's life now revolved around locks and keys.

Slowly, Alastair circled him. "In here, you're like a spot of flame. I actually like you in this color. Be sure to wear red more often, Dean. That's an order not a request."

" what? Will there be dancing? If so, I don't think I'm wearing the right shoes-"

Alastair cut him off. "Stop. This game that you're playing-you can't possibly win it. You know that."


Dean gasped as Alastair palmed his crotch through the slippery fabric of his slacks.

"Oh, I see. Here I thought that you were going to continue educating me on the finer points of interior decorating."

"What did I just say?" Alastair demanded.

Dean could see that he had already pushed the older man too far. And, he didn't care.

Was it really going to happen again?

It seemed like the answer was a 'yes.' Roughly, Alastair shoved him to the bed.

"As amusing as they are, your jokes, your snark, is a deflection. They can't and won't save you from me. I'm not going away."

Dean could feel his heart tap against his ribs. Quiet whimpers exited his throat.

"I could please you," Alastair continued as his greedy hands roamed downwards. "I could pleasure you. If only you would just let go. You're much too tense, son, and you don't need to be."

"Do you love me or something? Or, am I just a good lay?" Dean asked breathlessly.

"Believe it or not, I care for you. I want you."

Dean was starting to sweat as his body went into flight or fight mode.

"Tell me, Dean." Alastair began to undress him. "Don't you want me?"

Dean felt himself moving across an invisible threshold. If he walked over it, his decisions wouldn't be his own anymore; he would be owned. The word 'no' would become meaningless. So, he used it now as his only weapon.

"No!" Dean struggled against him.

The face above him twisted in anger as Alastair's fingernails grazed Dean's skin. "If you don't start obeying, you will sleep downstairs."

"What? Do you have a kinky dungeon or something downstairs?"

Alastair slammed him to the mattress. "Try me, Dean," Alastair hissed. "Keep testing me. Cooperate or not. Your choice."

Dean whimpered. He wasn't sure what to do...




Castiel couldn't believe they were finally inside. After wading through glistening sweat-slicked bodies moving on the dance floor; inhaling thick clouds of aftershave and perfume in the process, they eventually made it to the bar.

"I suppose we should order a drink," Bobby mumbled.

Castiel turned to the bartender cleared his throat. "One beer. My friend will have a..."

"Scotch. On the rocks."

Both detectives stood in the hub of activity as they waited for their drinks to be served. It was hard to believe that something sinister could lurk amongst the chattering couples and sparkling strobe lights.

Castiel was already searching for a blonde head. He always knew that there was always good chance that they would find absolutely nothing tonight.

"See anything yet?" he asked his partner.


Then again, they had only been inside for approximately fifteen minutes. However, as they waited for their drinks, they attracted unwelcome attention.

"Well, aren't you a huge slab of...fudge cake." a vaguely British voice commented in their proximity.

Bobby turned around in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

There was a swarthy man dressed in head to toe in black standing behind them. Castiel didn't know how long he had been watching them.

"The name's Crowley."

"You don't sound like you're from around here, Crowley."

The dark stranger seemed pleased that he had gotten Bobby's attention. "I'm originally from Scotland, but I've traveled extensively. I consider myself cosmopolitan, you see."

"Um, well, I'm sorry, but you're not my type."

"Then, why are we blushing?" The man smiled charmingly. "Got a name, love?"

He was actually flirting. Castiel was on the verge of laughter. This was certainly something he hadn't expected.

"Bobby Singer."

Castiel was jerked back to reality. No, Bobby was supposed to be James. He wasn't supposed to reveal his real name. However, if he thought better of it, it was too late to correct his mistake.

"And your friend?"

Castiel looked into the man's eyes and shivered at the predatory coldness there. He wondered if Bobby could see it too.

"Zachariah," Castiel replied.

"Shall we drink together, mates?"

Castiel wanted him to go away; he was compromising their investigation. Or...was this a sign? A clue? Maybe Castiel should follow up on it.

After all, his intuition had never led him astray before.

Chapter Text

Title: Blackberry
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,158
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



Dean Winchester had to be the stupidest human being in the country, or possibly, the world.

Instead of lying back and taking it, literally, he had made everything a hell of a lot worse for himself.

Now, Dean hung suspended from the ceiling in leather and chains awaiting another visit from "the boss." He had no idea what awaited him when his master returned. Dean knew that he looked a sight. He would never forget what had happened after he had declined Alastair's advances. The older man literally tore through his expensive shirt like it was tissue paper; scattering the metallic buttons across the bedspread before hauling him off to be punished for his indiscretions.

Dean reminded himself that it wasn't his fault that he was trapped in this game where all of the rules were convoluted. Perverted.

With nothing else left to do and nowhere to run, Dean began to tap his shoe against the floor before he felt someone hiding in the shadows begin to approach. It seemed as if he had returned.

"You look good in leather too. Not a surprise. You'd look good in anything. Even better yet without a stitch."


Triumphantly, Alastair lifted his head.

"Shut up." Dean snarled. His control on the situation was weakening.

Dean watched as Alastair shook his head as if taking pity on him. He could bark and growl like a dog all he liked, but the truth was that he was still chained.

"You've been down here for hours." Alastair patiently reminded him.

The older man leaned in and took the liberty stroking his hair as he held his gaze. "I'm the only friend you have here, Winchester. Be smart. How long do you think you should be denying what your master wants?"

Dean wondered what Sam would do in this situation, if God forbid the roles were reversed. Dean wanted to spit in his face, but he knew that would only send him into another rage. However, Alastair was incorrect. He wasn't the only person he had here, but of course, he couldn't mention Meg. She was the sole trump card who Dean had stashed up his sleeve. If he still had a shirt to wear that is.

"So, which do you prefer? Romantic or hardcore?" Alastair's fingertips skimmed Dean's bare chest. "I'll bet it's the latter. It could be the only reason why you piss me off so much."

Dean swayed in his chains as the older man licked along his jawline. It was useless trying to get away.

"Are they tight? If you're a good boy, I'll take them off."

"And, if I'm not?" Dean challenged.

"You'll see."

Dean actually shivered. He wondered if he could predict what would happen next. He was already bound in the kinky dungeon. Meg had tried to warn him, but he didn't listen to her. Matters could only escalate between him and Alastair. Perhaps Alastair would begin to let him starve or just let him rot down here until he learned to comply. Dean knew that he was capable and willing to hack away through his every defense until he folded. It would happen eventually. He couldn't keep fighting him. Not like this.

Finally making his decision, Dean went rigid in his bonds. Breathing hard, he watched how Alastair would react through his eyelashes.

Alastair smiled "That a boy."

Dean was totally helpless when Alastair moved in to claim his prize.

It's just temporary...

"You'll know only pleasure, boy. If you just let me touch you."

It didn't take much to realize that Dean was Alastair's new obsession. He found that denying this obsession was just as dangerous as standing unprotected in front of a roaring fire.

But, at least, Dean would be free of his manacles.




"So you're a chef, and you're a technical writer? What kind of cooking do you do, Robert?"

Castiel noticed that Bobby fidgeted when Crowley called by his full name. He wondered if his partner was playing along or genuinely interested. Castiel reminded himself that one never really knew a person.

Bobby shrugged. "All kinds. Right, Zach?"

Not quite. Castiel fingered the badge hidden in his pocket that he would only reveal it when he discovered the perp.

"Yep," Castiel replied smoothly before changing the subject. "So, see any sexy ladies tonight? Any blondes in particular?"

Castiel knew that his apparent gaiety was false. He was a police investigator playing a role, but the dishonesty was slowly getting to him.

"No blondes tonight, I'm afraid. Oh, well. I'm more fun anyway."

Crowley winked at Bobby, and his partner coughed in embarrassment. Castiel could detect a blush around his cheeks. He wondered what Ellen would think right now.

And so the three men continued their drinking even though Castiel was starting to become rather irritated by their guest. They couldn't shake him loose, not that they tried very hard. Bobby certainly didn't.

At long last, Castiel managed to break away under the pretense of visiting the men's room. A scan of the dance floor revealed that no one matched the description of the woman from the surveillance tape. Everyone and everything was infuriatingly normal tonight. It seemed that Dean Winchester wouldn't get justice after all. That fact saddened Castiel more than he thought it would.

When Castiel made his way back to the back booth, he immediately noticed that Bobby and the man in black were sitting too close. He also noticed the scrap of paper that Bobby held in his hand.

"What's that?" Castiel asked casually.

"My number," Crowley replied crisply. "I'll be here tomorrow. What about the two of you?"

Castiel managed to even his tone. "That sounds fine."

So. They would find a clue tomorrow night. Simple.




After Zachariah and Bobby had departed, he lingered for one last drink while waiting for his partner-in-crime to show up.

"Fashionably late, I see," he commented dryly when he finally saw her approach.

Ruby shrugged. "I got caught up."

A likely excuse. The little tart was always with someone somewhere or involved in some other sordid affair.

"I don't know how to say this," she continued, "but I think your mark is a little...old."

"Yes, I know. But, I was actually admiring his friend. He's absolutely perfect. In fact, we have another date tomorrow night. There's something unforgettable about them."

Ruby's blackberry lips twitched into a smile. "I see that you still have a taste for quality."

Right now, Crowley was in the mood for celebration. The future of their business was bright, and he had Ruby around his finger. Nothing could be better.

The brunette cocked her head to the side. "But, are you sure this is a personal rather than a professional interest?"

He bristled. "You've had too much to drink tonight if you think you're on a level high enough to lecture me, dear."

Ruby smiled so wide that he could see her even white teeth.


Chapter Text

Title: White Chocolate
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,204
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



The evening had turned into a disappointing failure after all. That would remind Castiel in the future not to be too idealistic.

Castiel slammed the door of the apartment behind him with more force than what was deemed necessary. Instantly, he tossed his leather jacket aside, and the sofa had no choice but to grudgingly catch it. When he entered the kitchen, he walked right past the pile of dirty dishes in the sink with only one destination in his mind: bed. He needed to go to sleep and return to work as soon as possible.

A bit groggily, he undressed, threw back the shower curtain, and hurriedly prepared his shower. As soon as he got inside the tub, he rested his aching head against the cool tiles before reminding himself that that he needed to wash while there was still hot water to bathe in. He could lament later. He showered quickly, not even bothering to use conditioner. Castiel wondered if it was indeed possible to scrub away the filth of failure.

Hair still dripping, he hastily combed it before squeezing some toothpaste on his toothbrush and savagely ripped the bristles across his teeth. He didn't even bother getting redressed and instead stormed to his bed in his navy blue bathrobe. Fuck it. He already knew he wouldn't be sleeping much in his state of mind.

To add to his sour mood, the cell phone on his nightstand rang. Normally, he would have ignored it, but it very well could be from Bobby. Who else would be calling this late?

Castiel immediately answered it. "Hello?"

"Castiel? Oops, wrong number. Terribly sorry to have awoken you."


His brother's laughter was as charming as ever. "Present."

"Actually, I haven't slept yet." the detective dared to reveal.

Balthazar chuckled more. "Burning the midnight oil, eh? Good. It's about time you stepped out and enjoyed life."

"It's not what you think. It's for a case."

There was a slight pause. "Oh. I see."

Castiel sighed. He knew that his line of work made Balthazar uncomfortable.

"So, what's going on?"

For once, Castiel didn't feel like sugar coating it. "A man was kidnapped. I believe that he was captured by a human trafficking ring. I consider it important."

"Of course. Saving a missing person is definitely more important than debauchery."

Somewhere in the background, Castiel thought he could detect music.

"But, you do promise that you will relax one day? After you save the world?"

Castiel pretended to mull it over "Maybe one day. When I'm not so busy."

"I suppose that's the curse of having a purpose," Balthazar drawled. "I have to go now."


Castiel flung the phone aside before he lowered his head onto the pillow. He wasn't offended by Balthazar's near panicked reaction as Castiel had known for years that his lifestyle as a police detective was not for him. Balthazar was too much of a free spirit. Too sensitive. But, that was all right.

Castiel supposed that God had a plan for everyone after all.




Dean flinched as Alastair rested an unwelcome hand on his shoulder as they walked down the hallway together. Dean looked down and noticed that his fingers were appropriately splayed out like a spider.

"Don't feel so bad. I know you held out as long as you could,"Alastair cooed as if trying to reassure him.

Dean was left swallowing a lump in his throat. He wondered if he would ever be free again. Of course, he already knew the answer to that question.

Dean nearly moaned as familiar door came into view. The bedroom. Alastair's bedroom. It seemed as if the older man was determined to continue where they left off. For a moment, Dean rubbed his still sore wrists. He wondered what other surprises awaited him from beyond that door...

Frozen, Dean watched the door to hell open and was forced to walk inside. The grip of the man who owned him and now demanded his surrender was as immovable as steel. Dean knew that he would never get used to being treated like a possession. He could also guess that Alastair didn't and wouldn't care.

"Hungry? I had some provisions in case you came around."

So. Dean's arrival had been expected. The night hadn't even begun, and he felt wearied. His emotions were getting slow to process. He already knew that he was a coward. If he had any balls left, he would still be hanging out in the basement. Dean supposed that he had just lost his nerve. Being immobile and helpless would do that. All he could do now was play pretend that he was still Alastair's special pet.

"Come on, Dean. Try to enjoy yourself at least. We can always spar another day."

Alastair walked ahead and bent down. Dean knew that was the opportunity to race out the door...if it had been left open that is.

"Champagne?" Lazily, Alastair offered Dean a full glass.

Dean gave Alastair a steely eyed glare and drank it fiercely in one gulp. He wanted to drink and drink until he was too drunk to function however impractical it was. Alastair chuckled, and suddenly Dean wanted to punch him.

"If you wanted some so badly, all you had to do was ask. Take anything you want. I insist."

"You went through all this trouble for me," Dean commented.

True to Alastair's word, there were trays of strawberries, cheese, and even some white chocolate. After not eating for hours and hours, all of the food looked tempting. Why shouldn't Dean enjoy himself? He was already fucked. Seconds later, he found himself nibbling a strawberry.

"So, tell me, honestly, have you ever considered modeling?" Alastair asked as Dean chewed.

Go to hell.

It was on Dean's lips to say, but the words remained in his head. He knew that it was better that way. In answer, Dean scowled at Alastair, and sensed that he was only amusing him further.

"Let me guess, nude?"

Alastair chuckled. "All sorts. Such a limited imagination, you have. You never give yourself any encouragement. Didn't your daddy give you any growing up?"

Dean was horrified by the revelation that he was serious. Alastair was challenging him. Taunting him. However, Dean wouldn't take the bait. He knew that the bastard was testing to see how far could push him. How long until he broke.

"Didn't you have any aspirations at all growing up?"

Dean kept silent.

"No need for a reply. I'll uncover them eventually."

He nearly choked on the strawberry and instead forced himself to swallow. Immediately, Dean picked up a piece of cheese and took his sweet time eating that as well. Then, he tried the chocolate. Alastair waited patiently on the bed until...

"I know what you're doing," he whispered.


"You know what."

Stalling. Dean was stalling. Even now, Alastair was trying to get under his skin, and he was succeeding.

"Are you really that hungry?"

"Yes, actually," Dean snapped.

"Well, I'm bored."

A keen shiver up Dean's spine told him that he may very well be in danger here as Alastair approached him.

"You've always been a great source of entertainment, Dean. Help me out here. Entertain me."

Chapter Text

Title: Banana
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,150
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



Dread was beginning to set in. The door was locked, and Dean knew that wasn't going anywhere. Alastair surveyed him with the eyes of a shark, and Dean suddenly felt like a floppy fish with a wounded fin. He knew that he was in deep trouble.

Dean could feel his heartbeat accelerate ever so slightly." Entertain you how? I'm not a clown."

He wasn't hungry anymore. In fact, Dean was begging to feel sick. Every nerve stood on alert. He stifled a cry as he watched the older man's unclasp his belt buckle. Dean should have expected this. It was going to happen again, and he couldn't prevent it. Of course, Dean knew why. It was because there was no way to stop it from happening.

"Your body will suffice. It's a shame you're not a dancer. Now, that would be entertaining."

Dean knew that he would enjoy that. Watching him prance around near naked as a kept harem slave would. How did he Alastair get so twisted?

Dean avoided looking directly into his eyes as if afraid that the older man would steal his spirit.

"Come on, Dean. You have already denied me once. Don't you think you're being a little cruel?

Yet again, he had inadvertently afforded Alastair another pass to screw with his head. Dean watched him drift closer until he was invading his personal space, but he was quickly realizing that sanctuary was a privilege that was not to be afforded to him anymore. To Alastair, he was simply another possession to be played with. Nothing more.

What? What had he done so horribly wrong in his life to get here?

"I'll make it easy on you. Just close your eyes."

So, Alastair was trying the gentle approach, and it was working. Insidiously, he was making his move, undulating like a serpent under his skin. Dean almost wished that Alastair would be rough so that he could have a target to hate. Right now, the only person Dean hated was himself. But, Dean needed to relax. The constant tension was slowly breaking him down. He was weak and wanted to rest. Dean wanted it to be over. He needed it over. He could always fight another day.

"Lay back." Alastair soothed.

For once, Dean didn't fight as he flattened out against the mattress and awaited his fate.

"Good boy," Alastair whispered. "If you're quiet, I promise that you'll enjoy it."

Dean sincerely doubted that. His mouth was dry again, and he suddenly wanted another glass of champagne. Hell, he wanted to drown himself in it. He wanted to withdraw into himself until he couldn't feel anymore. Dean could almost his father commenting on what a pansy he had become. A victim.

From the pillow, Dean watched Alastair open a bottle and liberally coat his fingers with the substance. He closed his eyes resignedly. Eventually, Dean had always known the kinky stuff would come out.

Dean jumped slightly as he felt a gentle touch brush against his skin. His eyes flew open as Alastair began to massage Dean's chest with the substance. It dawned on Dean that the mysterious substance was massage oil. The older man's touch was soft, experienced, and felt...good. A familiar sweet tangy scent from the oil floated past Dean's nostrils. Banana. Although, Dean wasn't thinking tropical paradise.

It reminded him of the times that he and Sammy had shared a peanut butter and banana sandwich back when they went to school together. He'd never liked those sandwiches. And now, he would never see his brother again. No. He had to stop thinking about Sam lest Alastair perverted those memories as well.


Dean nodded while his stomach churned in hatred. He knew that the massage only served to humiliate him; he shouldn't even be enjoying it. Dean didn't want to be held and stroked as a precious thing by the monster in front of him. Dean's breath hitched in his lungs as Alastair's fingers grazed a particularly sensitive nipple. Alastair took that opportunity to surprise Dean with a purposeful kiss.

With a sob lodged in his throat, Dean found that he was kissing back. Hard. Dean wanted to give Alastair his prize. His kicks. He was just a whore now, wasn't he?

Dean could only wonder what would happen when he wore out as a toy.




Castiel woke late. Later than he wanted. Before Castiel knew it, it was another night.

He literally dragged himself out of bed and began the slow process of getting dressed. He was in no hurry to return to the club, but what choice did he have?

The detective toyed with the thought of either skipping or having breakfast when he heard a knock at his door. He frowned. It was unusual for anyone to come at this hour. Reluctantly, he trudged over to open it, and rubbed some sleep out of his eyes when he saw who was waiting behind it.

"You're early," he complained to Bobby.

"That's what you're wearing?"

Castiel looked down at his casual dress. "What's wrong with it?"

"I thought that you said that we were blending in."

"This isn't a social affair to me." Castiel reminded him.

Last night, Castiel had already made his entrance, and it was more than he wanted. Castiel opened the door wider, and Bobby finally stepped inside.

"One thing has been bothering me. Why did you give the suspect your real name?" he finally dared to ask.

After a long pause, Bobby shrugged. "I slipped up. I don't think it matters though. What's he going to do? Find me on the Internet?"

Castiel was inclined to disagree. Still, the odds were ninety-five percent or higher that the suspect was innocent. Castiel just didn't believe it.

"I do think it matters," he confessed.


"Bobby, that man is dangerous."

Yes. There was a reason that Crowley had approached him that night. It was all a little too coincidental.

It may have been his imagination, but Bobby seemed a little annoyed. "Suspicions are nothing until they're proven it in a court. You know that. We need evidence."

His other coworkers had already warned him not to rely on his hunches too much. Robert Singer was his senior, and Castiel couldn't forget his place. Luckily, his partner was good natured.

"I can't help what I feel."

"But, what if he's not the one? What if we don't find anything or anyone else tonight?"

Castiel set his jaw. "Then, we'll try again the next night."

"How far are you willing to take this?"

Castiel didn't reply.

Bobby shook his head. "You know that there is a time limit for missing people. I've been through this a few times before, and it don't end pretty. Every case closes eventually."

Castiel knew that his partner's words rang true. The hours were ticking ahead to the time when Dean would be lost forever.

Chapter Text

Title: Pineapple
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,287
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
A/N: Mentions of self-harm.



Castiel couldn't let that happen.

"We have to try."

On second thought, Castiel decided that he would have breakfast after all; an event that that didn't sit well with Bobby. While he fretted about the time, Castiel deliberately chewed and swallowed slowly. The young detective needed food or something to steady his nerves. He refused to return to pills; he'd already explored that route.

Bobby was the one who drove, and frankly, Castiel was grateful for it. He wasn't in the mood for any of this. He was weary, and he remembered all too well how chaotic the bar had been last night.

The bar was just as raucous as ever as soon as they got inside. Castiel knew that he would be lucky if he could find anyone in this flashing strobe light pollution. The music was so loud that it was actually bringing his headache back. But, ironically, he did feel like he could use a drink even though he had only awoken a few hours ago. It was as if the miasma of depression and unfulfilled desires that permeated this place was trying to pull him under.

Castiel knew he had to keep it together. He was all too aware that with every footstep, he dragged another man's future behind him. He wasn't here to "party."

"Well, where is he?" Castiel finally asked when their suspect was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe he stood us up."

Castiel could almost hear disappointment in Bobby's voice.

Good. It wasn't as if Castiel was exactly anticipating the encounter. Still, they needed him. A man's life was on the line, and he couldn't afford to be picky about company. The suspect had to be in here. Castiel's emotions were flitted from one form to another as if they were a flock of nervous birds hopping from branch to branch.

Once more, they walked out onto the dance floor and became immersed in another crowd of dancing revelers when a brunette unexpectedly bumped into them.

"Excuse me." Bobby automatically apologized.

The woman said nothing, however her eyes lingered on Castiel's face far longer than what was necessary. He immediately noticed that her gaze was flirtatious.

When she was out of earshot, he felt Bobby nudging at his shoulder.

"And, you claim that you have no sex appeal," the gruff man joked. "You know, if you want to go back..."

"No." Castiel scowled before adjusting his shirt collar. He just wanted to get back to business.

When he looked up, unfortunately, he noticed their mark all too soon. Crowley waved at them and it was Bobby who waved in return. Castiel shivered in revulsion. The sooner they got this over with; the sooner this night could end.

"Right on time, gents. I knew that you would come back." An easy smile came to Crowley's lips.

"How?" Bobby chuckled.

"I can read people."

Castiel could bet. He couldn't help but notice the man's dark unfathomable eyes. They seemed to be brimming with secrets. Castiel and his partner eased into their chairs to join his table.

"May I pay for your drinks?" the Englishman gallantly offered.

"Oh, no." Bobby held up a hand. "We couldn't do that."

"I insist."

When their mingled protests got them nowhere, Bobby resigned and ordered a long island iced tea while Castiel ordered a piña colada. He already knew that Crowley wouldn't wasn't going to allow them to refuse.

Castiel couldn't help remembering that he had dreamed of Dean last night. He was happy and driving a car. He wondered if it was possible that he and Dean already shared a connection in spite of the fact that they had never met. A bond. Of course, he couldn't tell from his partner, or he would again accuse him of being too attached to this case.

"So, has your friend ever thought about of doing some modeling?"

Castiel stiffened. Did he mean him?

"I could imagine him as a soap opera star. A teen heartthrob."

Bobby chuckled. Castiel hoped that no one could the blush on his cheeks.

Words, he reminded himself. They were just words. Meaningless words.

Then, the subject smoothly changed.

"So, any girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" Castiel echoed.

Crowley raised his eyebrows "It's the 21st century."

Castiel didn't like the look Crowley was giving. In fact, he was slowly growing uncomfortable.

"No." The answer was truthful.

"What about you, Robert? Do you have a special someone?"

The older man looked down. "Sort of. But, nothing official."

Bobby was already eating out of the palm, and Castiel could no longer tell if he was playing along or not.

Their drinks arrived later. Moodily, Castiel removed the pineapple wedge from the rim of his glass and began drinking. Surprising, the taste of the rum soothed him.

As much as the three chatted, Castiel wasn't truly learning anything of use. And, in no time at all, Bobby was even telling Crowley about Ellen. Castiel cringed. He didn't want him delving too deeply into their personal lives or revealing too much information. However, he knew that he couldn't stop his partner once he got talking. He wondered when Bobby was going to ask about Dean. Sometimes, Castiel had to wonder if he were intruding on a date.

Abruptly, Castiel excused himself from the table. Bobby's look was quizzical yet said nothing. He hoped their suspect wasn't getting suspicious.

As he moved away from the table, he silently reminded himself that he had to put on better manners. It was impossible to discover who had secrets and who didn't until he had concrete proof. Everyone was innocent until proven guilty.

As soon as he walked out on the glistening dance floor, he was once more drawn into the crowd. Castiel was currently engaged in ignoring the whisper as the back of his head that told him that Dean's perpetuators were already long gone and that he was wasting his time.

He was on the verge of utter hopelessness when he suddenly spotted someone interesting. A blonde. The blonde. With her long hair and petite stature, she bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the surveillance video. At last, he had possibly caught up with their only clue. He could see that she was talking on a cell phone; unaware of his existence.

Castiel resisted the urge to call out to her. Instead, he wanted to silently track the woman, but to his dismay, he found that he was already losing her as she moved away.

"Wait!" he couldn't help but to cry out.

The detective didn't even realize that he had broken into a run until he found himself careening into other people.

Once Castiel had crossed the dance floor, he frantically looked around in desperation as air escaped his lungs.

She was already gone.





Back and forth, Dean paced. It was the only thing he could think to prevent himself from screaming.

Through the cage of bars, a lonely moon hung in the sky beyond the window; a mourning moon. As Dean studied the bruises Alastair had left behind, he caught his reflection in the mirror across the room and saw the eyes of a whore.

Dean growled in frustration and flipped over the silver platter that held his dinner. He wasn't going to be kept like a pet, or so he told himself. However, the likelihood of anyone letting his starve was rather small.

But, Dean was unprepared for the sudden sting of pain that followed. He looked down to see that he had unintentionally scratched his arm on a sharp edge of the silverware. When the thin line of scarlet formed, he was actually pleased at the welcome distraction.

Dean needed to get out of here.

Chapter Text

Title: Coconut
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,235
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
A/N: Mentions of self-harm.



Stupid, stupid.

Castiel was a failure. At the moment, he felt that he didn't even deserve a badge anymore. He couldn't stop from berating himself, even if he knew that it wasn't going to help matters let alone Dean.

Where could have she have gone? To the bathrooms? Is that why she had been so intent on running away? Or, had she seen him? Defeated, Castiel trudged back to their table until his feet stopped moving. He could have sworn that his heart stopped for a moment.

Crowley was on a cell phone. He was actually talking on a cell phone.

Castiel could feel his jaw drop. At last. There was something. A clue. Of course, others would dismiss it as a coincidence, but a clue was a clue after all. A small link in a chain that would perhaps lead to Dean. They had experienced very few breaks in this case, and, Castiel welcomed this sight with happiness.

Yet, somehow, he had to act natural. For the sake of investigation, he couldn't afford to arouse suspicion. Castiel tried to keep his gait casually, but he knew that he was aware that he was moving quicker than he needed to be. As he neared the table, he caught welcome snatches of conversation.

"All right, I will. Hang in there, love. We've been both there before."

So, the other party was a female. But, what were the odds that it was her?

Casually enough, Castiel took his seat and instantly picked up his drink. Castiel knew what had to be done now. He had seen it approaching before, and now he saw the move as necessary. The easiest way to learn more was to dangle himself like a fish out on a hook.

"So, what business are you into exactly?" Castiel dared to directly address the Englishman.

Bobby's face went blank. Castiel kept smiling.

"Business?" echoed Crowley.

"The modeling position. I wanted to hear more about it."

Crowley's smile was repulsive. As his witnessed it, an involuntary shiver ran down Castiel's spine. He definitely had something to hide even if it was something as mundane as tax fraud.


Castiel nodded. He swallowed a gulp of the sweet drink he now sorely needed

'Finally, you're warming up to me. I was beginning to think that you didn't like me."

"Nah. He's just shy." Bobby chimed in. "Right?"

Castiel felt the discreet toe of a suede shoe bump his under leg under the table, but he ignored it.

He would explain his plan to his partner later.




Dean shivered in the bathtub. Already, the water was getting cool. When he wondered if the night could get any worse, the universe had replied loudly that, indeed , yes, it could. He couldn't decide which was worst day of his life he was. The day he had been kidnapped, the night he had been assaulted, or this.

It was beyond creepy, but still Dean had to resign himself to the fact that he was going to stay in the bathtub until he was properly sanitized. Apparently, in Alastair's eyes, he was dirty. Strange, since Dean had been clean up until the time Alastair had touched him.

Dean found the courage to steadied his voice. "You know, it's nice that you want to help, but I think I can bathe myself."

Dean was rewarded with a chuckle. It was as if he had just told a joke. All he could was hold his breath as he felt fingers tighten in his hair.

"Be nice to me, Dean. It would be in your best interest to."

Dean tried his damnedest to ignore the smiling rubber ducky that floated towards him as it was pulled along by the water. It was too happy to belong here, and Dean wondered about the psychological implications of a rubber ducky being here at all; this definitely wasn't Sesame Street. The toy was trapped too. Alastair most likely wanted to get under his skin, and he was succeeding all too well. It was taking all of Dean's strength not to show it.

Now, the bastard was humming. Dean closed his eyes. It was too much to process. He flinched as he felt unwanted fingertips massage his scalp as he was forcibly shampooed. Through his nostrils, he caught a fleeting whiff of coconut.

"I was just wondering if we should of dye this. Maybe more of a sandy color. Golder. What do you think, Deano? Should we go with a lighter shade?"

Dean refused to answer Instead, he bit his lip. For a moment, the pain cleared his mind and momentarily distracted it to another place. He wanted to live in that other place.

With Alastair attention focused elsewhere, Dean meekly hid his cut from the serving tray lower in the murky water. He already knew that the older man would not be pleased that he had marred his valuable flesh.

"Whatever are you thinking, Dean? Alastair clucked his tongue. "You're intentionally neglecting yourself. Neither bathing nor eating. You should take whatever help I can give you. You leave me no other choice after all."

Dean grimaced as the soap suds slid down his chin and invaded his ears. He made no attempt to wipe any of it away; he was too numb. Impatiently, he ground his knuckles against the tub and savored the forthcoming ache.

When Alastair rinsed his hair free of lather, Dean silently endured it. No one had bathed him since he was five or six, and he would have preferred to keep it that way.

Dean knew that he could attack Alastair right here and now. He could put him in a headlock and drown him or at least attempt to drown him. Maybe Meg could help him afterwards, and Dean would escape to go back to his life. However, if there was ever an attempt on his life, he knew that Alastair would make him pay dearly. He would be killed before he could even contemplate freedom. Or worse.

"There, now. All clean again."

The older man's voice pulled him out of his fantasy.

Dean knew that he would never feel clean ever again. He could taste the bile coating the back of his throat. He wanted to vomit all over his sparkling clean skin.

"You've been soaking in there long enough. It's time to come out." Alastair's tone was now commanding.

With eyes burning into his skull, Dean reluctantly exited the tub only to be left standing there dripping. He knew that Alastair was enjoying every minute of his helplessnesses. Wordlessly, he presented him with a bathrobe and Dean nearly snatched it out of his hands. He wanted to cover up as soon as possible even though he suspected that Alastair had already committed his body to memory.

Before the bath, Dean had been weighed on the bathroom's scale. Now, it seemed that not even his hair would be left untouched. He wondered if Alastair recorded all of his physical characteristics in a chart somewhere including his eye color. Alastair was evaluating him as if wondering what the perfect mold for him was. That is, if a perfect mold even existed in the first place.

"You really need to become more adjusted. What if company ever wants to see you?"

Dean held his tongue, and instead of talking back, he lowered his gaze.

He was reaching his limit of this bullshit.

Chapter Text

Title: Butterscotch
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,421
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.




Castiel knew that he had to grow more acquainted with the feeling that what was commonly known as victory. He had been unfamiliar with it for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Almost.

There was no good excuse for how tightly he held the paper in his hand. Indeed, he was on the verge of crushing it. He was half expecting that the wind itself would blow it away.

"Are you sure about this?" Bobby worried his lips.

To be honest, Castiel wasn't. It was taking him far too long to discover his confidence in this case; he didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. But, of course, he knew that the patient detective was better than the hasty detective, but he was beginning to wonder if he was wasting too much time simply by being too thorough.

Castiel was honest. "I have a deep suspicion that Crowley is involved."

Castiel was unprepared when Bobby changed the subject.

"But, a model? You?" Bobby began to chuckle. "I mean, no offense."

"None taken."

He let the remark pass, but he wondered if his partner was missing the point. The reason he was inquiring about having photographs being taken was not to be in a magazine

Still, Bobby continued to studied his face. Castiel stiffened under his partner's gaze. It was uncomfortable, especially because Castiel couldn't read the look in Bobby's eyes.

"Then again. if you learned to own those looks..."

"It's not about that," Castiel growled.

"Don't get me wrong, I understand, Cas," the familiar gruffness was now present in Bobby's voice."My problem is that it's a long shot. What if you're wrong?"

Finally, it hit him. The reason why Bobby was so standoffish.

"Do you...want him to be innocent?" Castiel asked

Bobby was visibly taken aback at the intensity of the question. Under Castiel's probing stare, he sighed.

"Well, it would suck. I'm rarely a poor judge of character. Imagine me, taking a liking to a criminal. Then again, I am getting old and foolish at my age."

Sometimes, Castiel wondered if Crowley truly was aware of them and who they were. Perhaps he was taking his time as well to lure them into a trap. It was yet another inkling didn't want to share it with Bobby yet. Not that he would believe him.

"We do have other cases." Bobby continued apologetically. "It's been over a week. It's like you're holding out for a miracle."

Castiel dug into his pocket and and withdrew a butterscotch candy. The taste of sugar was a welcome distraction for his overworked brain.

"I know. But, if it comes down to it, I shall investigate alone."

Bobby seemed ready to argue more, but Castiel was glad he didn't. For this case, Castiel was willing to sacrifice a lot. He hoped that Bobby would begin to accept that fact.

However, one thing remained certain to Castiel.

Dean Winchester was still alive.






Hours ago, Alastair had watched Dean get dressed and raved until he shivered over how good he would look in leather. The look in the older man's eyes froze his blood into ice. Dean was no bondage slave, but he didn't know know much longer he could back up his that particular assertion.

In truth, he was little more than was a trapped bug that was rapidly running out of air. Soon, he would run out of reasons to fight, and he would lay gasping at the bottom of the jar waiting for long, slender fingers to cradle his corpse.

Dean couldn't let that happen. All his life, everyone had told him was a tough bastard. Strong. His brother could vouch for the countless bullies he had beaten up so that he could have a decent high school experience.

Now, Dean was the punching bag. The victim. It seemed that the universe had a sense of irony

He couldn't sleep again, so he was at the mercy of his torturous thoughts. The truth was that Dean had too much time to think. Which was what precisely Alastair had intended. Even when he wasn't there, the older man was in control.

Every so often, Dean looked up to watch the door with a sort of paranoia. It had become a habit. Dean could guess that he was stuck in a waiting period and he was becoming moody and irritable. Somehow, he knew that he was Alastair was making him learning patience whether he wanted to or not.

As Dean nearly curled up in fear, he wondered how he was to go about getting himself out of here.

If only Dean could get sick. Maybe then, he would get the opportunity to get out and leave these four walls. He knew that upon examining him knew that doctor would definitely sense something was wrong. He could be saved.

Then, he realized that Alastair would simply take a doctor or some other medial practitioner, licensed or not. He knew that the older man no doubt had connections . If Alastair didn't simply let him die, that is.

A haze of sadness that came over Dean as he reluctantly let the idea pass. He was running out of comforting ideas and scenarios.

Dean was seriously contemplating the benefits of having no existence when the door opened. He shrank back.

The first thing Dean noticed was the smirk on his face. Slowly, Alastair moved through the room until stood in front of him.

No. Dean wouldn't do it. He would have to force him to do it.

"Well?" Alastair peered at him curiously. "We talked about this."

Shit. That tone of voice was already affecting him. Dean knew that he couldn't risk angering his supposed master.

Dean was surprised to find himself obediently sinking to his knees. As Alastair's demands grew bolder, Dean knew that his life would get worse.

"Now, you shall have the opportunity to try something new tonight. But, as always, I shall give you a choice."

Dean had always known that it would only get more experimental; he just didn't expect it so soon.

Dean could only watch helplessly as Alastair reached down and pulled a whip out of his boot. Lovingly, he caressed the leather. Dean winced as he watched it crack against his bare palm and somehow managed to stifle his cry. He could just imagine how it would feel against his bare skin. Still, Dean could see that it wouldn't cause much damage. It wasn't a cat o' nine tails after all. Even though it wasn't an instrument crafted for brutality, it would still hurt, and Dean didn't want to be hit.

"Pain is universal. Every human brain can understand this. But, where there is pain, where there is the potential for pleasure."

Dean didn't want to hear his voice anymore. He wanted to withdraw into a cocoon so that he couldn't feel a damned thing

Soon, he knew that Alastair expected him to get on the bed so that whatever kinky sex ritual he had planned could commence.

Even though he could feel hot tears building, he refused to release them. Dean's vision blurred.

"Or, you could simply...assist me. The choice is yours."

Dean vigorously shook his head; his heartbeat thudding in his ears. It was either going to be one or the other.

Dean's stomach was in knots when he unzipped Alastair's pants. Chest heaving, he pulled out the monster's engorged member and forced his lips around it.

"Make it a good one, Deano."

As Dean could feel Alastair tensing in pleasure, he mused that Death would be pleasurable right about now.

When Alastair was spent, Dean didn't know if he should swallow or chance spitting. However, as soon as he turned his gaze, Dean hastily made up his mind, and he spit right on the floor. Immediately, he rubbed the mess into the carpet with his hand to hide the evidence of his disgust.

On his knees, he already knew that he looked like a little lost puppy. But, Above him, Alastair was as tall as a monolith. He was gloating. He loved it.

The shame was so overpowering that Dean shut his eyes.

Seconds later, he wasn't aware at what point when the emotions of fear and despair gave away to indignation and rage all the while knowing that he was forbidden to express them.

Still, Dean knew that the volcano would release one day. Even if he destroyed himself in the process.

This incident would not be forgotten.

Chapter Text

Title: Pomegranate
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: M
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Alastair/Dean
Words: 1,443
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.



Caught in a deluge of emotion that never seemed to end, Dean managed to stumble over to the sink. His very soul was caving in on itself out of pure despair. He was officially Alastair's bitch boy and he was beginning to realize there was nothing he could to change it. The game was on, and he knew that Alastair was already anticipating the time Dean would screw up again so that he could discipline him again. Alastair was going to get his money's worth one way or another. If anything, flirting his way through the situation would be easier even though the very thought of it turned his stomach. No matter how desperate he was becoming, Dean wasn't going there yet.

Furiously, he began swiping at his arms as if he could scrape away the filth. The helplessness. He just couldn't take anymore. As the weeks rolled along, he knew that he would explode from the tension. Dean seized a welcome glass from the sink and filled it the brim before rinsing his mouth out over and over again. It was no good. He knew that he would never forget the taste of him. Not completely. Not ever the unlikely scenario that he would escape.

He ground his teeth together and near cursed the fact that he needed a shower. Dean knew that, above all else, Alastair would appreciate his clean body. He could only hope that his appeal would become marred or that he would lose interest, but unfortunately, neither would happen soon enough.

At this point, Dean needed to get beyond this room. The solitude was slowly driving him insane. His mental processes were a mess, and they were impossible to unravel. By himself, he knew that he couldn't to stop this. All this enclosure did was mercilessly box all of his frantic energy with nowhere to put it. He could now relate to an animal in a cage.

After the steam from his miserable shower cleared, he caught a glimpse of the reflection that had so damned him. It felt good to blame the other Dean; the man in the mirror, and for a moment, he cursed his beauty. His father had often warned him breaking girls' hearts, though Dean bet that he had never fathomed a situation such as this.

Dean looked around cautiously before swathing the towel around his slick hips. The longer he was naked, the more he felt vulnerable. It was a new emotion that he was slowly growing all too acquainted with.

Now, Dean knew that he was now expected to change his clothes; clothes that were meant to display his body for Alastair and only Alastair. So, he purposefully dressed in black. it was one of the few rebellions that was afforded him. He knew that Alastair preferred rich colors. Bold. Red. Plum. Good enough to eat. Instead, he dressed as somberly as one would would for a funeral. Dean already knew that it was for his own. He was in mourning after all for a lost life.

All the same, he knew that he had better enjoy his "free time." It was only a matter of time before he was used again, and he refused to be weaker than the day before. He still refused to be devoured completely. There could be a day in the future where he make no move to fight back, but, that day was not here yet.

Dean was tired of thinking. Fully dressed, he lay back on the bed. He was exhausted.

Letting down his guard for the moment, his eyes drifted shut. He managed to close out the world for ten whole minutes until he realized that there was someone at the door. Dean's pulse skyrocketed as he sat up.

Was it Alastair. So soon?

Apparently, Alastair was permanently horny. For him

Dean soon found himself leaping off the bed to turn the lights off. He would take the fuck by surprise; choke him until he gave him his freedom. But, in reality, he remained frozen in terror, especially when he couldn't see.

I don't have it in me...

More than anything, Dean found that he was afraid. He hated himself then. Even more so than Alastair.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?" a female voice remarked.

Dean let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Meg. it was only Meg. All the same, he knew that he couldn't underestimate her. She worked under Alastair. He could only wondered if that was to be taken literally.

As the lights flickered on, he fought the urge to hide.

"Leave me alone," he groaned

Interaction was the last thing he needed.

"You're not getting anywhere fast might, so you might as well talk to me," she reminded him. "I can already see that you had a night worse than mine."

No, shit.

Dean didn't respond. He didn't want to play her games even though he sure as hell had. What use was it to confide her?

Meg wheeled the vacuum cleaner into the room. "You know, the nicer you are, the more parties you go to shows you off. You don't get to go anywhere if you're a bad boy."

As he watched her plug the convenience into the wall, Dean finally dared to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind.

"Did...anyone ever escape?"

A wicked smirk appeared on Meg's lips. "You know better to ask that."

However, Meg did have a point. More travelling, more opportunities to escape. More opportunity than he had now.

He remembered the last and only party Alastair had dragged him to and remembered that he had been left alone for a spell. Long enough to do something. But, he had screwed it up. Now, Dean wasn't getting away under his thumb any time soon. He should have done something. Anything. It would be an effort to get Alastair to trust him again.

"Now, I do have to clean up in here. If you take offense, tough."

Dean nodded numbly and considered her words as she began to vacuum.

Fantasies of escape on his mind, Dean absently chewed on his thumb until it bled; his mind no longer present.




Castiel blink at the phone number Crowley had left him as if the mere act of touching it would burn his fingers.

It had all come to this. All the suspense was leading to a grand finale, and Castiel found himself unprepared.

One thing was certain. He and Crowley had to meet him before the businessman lost interest. The entire case depended on it. Repeat performances at the bar wasn't solving anything. It was time to take definitive action.

Bobby noticed his movements.

"So, you're really going?"

Castiel was loath to discuss this with his partner, but he had to make his intentions clear. It was the point of being partners after all.

The younger detective's fingers shook as he unbuttoned his collar. From excitement or fear, he didn't know.

"That was always the plan, wasn't it?" he replied calmly.

It was an effort to keep his body smooth and in control, especially when it was betraying that he was not. Again, he could feel an element of destiny pressing around him. Something would be out of his hands as soon as he dialed the number. Castiel could feel it as sure as the bolt of lightning that flashed after a clap of thunder.

"Wish me luck," Castiel smiled.

Bobby nodded. The atmosphere in the room had grown tense. It was now or never.

Castiel's palm grazed the plastic casing of the phone as he picked it up

"I just...have bad feeling abut this," Bobby blurted. "I should go too.

Bobby echoed his thoughts perfectly, but more people would draw suspicion. Castiel was sure that he should go alone

"We'll see."

He flipped the cell phone open.




"He's coming."

Crowley turned around to face his guest. He was quite pleased with himself Yet, Lilith regarded him with disdain. There was a momentary flare of light across the room as he watched the woman light a cigarette. Most unladylike.

Lillith shook her head. "You should leave him go. He could be trouble," she warned. The cigarette smoked away between her fingers; blonde hair vivid against the pomegranate wallpaper.

Crowley already suspected that Castiel was a cop, but no matter. Crowley knew that he could always trap a problem. However, he wouldn't argue with her. He was painfully aware that she was still his superior. Out of the bed or in the bed, it would seem.

And, he wanted Bobby Singer for himself.