A/N:
Spoiler alert for season 7 finale.
Included also some D/s stuff which is not suitable for kids — ye be warned!
After seeing the season 7 finale, we chatted with jossujb a bit and talked about how broken Sam would be on season 8 — what with Dean gone "missing". And then we pondered what would happen if Inias had been hiding at some place when the Garrison was raided. This is what my brain and fingers decided to do with these details :F
Thanks to jossujb for reading this, and for the support, too. This fic has not been betaed or even read by a native, so if you find something odd, please, tell me so I can fix it!
Disclaimer! I do not own Supernatural series or its characters. I'm not making any money with this, so, don't sue! I mean no harm to anyone, just peace and love etc. Also, Misha Collins is my god. Not saying no to McMorran either ;)
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Controllability
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Inias is... a distraction.
He's obedient, moldable and, most of all, he needs someone to tell him what to do. I accepted that role gladly since it was a perfect way to get some order in the chaos that was, and still is, Dean and Castiel's disappearance. I now know where they are but it doesn't set my mind to rest — on the contrary. Knowing that my big brother is in the same place with the souls of the very things we've hunted and killed over the years, well, it's worse than Hell.
Inias has lost a big brother too. That's what he said when he appeared on my door step; bloody, beaten, shaken all the way to the angelic core. That's what he said after resting over twenty hours on the couch, under my watchful, red-rimmed eyes. For I didn't know then, where we'd be on the next day, the next week. Next month. I only knew that I had no one but him.
And he had just me.
It is good for both of us, that's what I keep telling myself when I press him against the mattress and let my well-oiled finger glide inside him. I don't want to hurt him, not really, but every time I get too anxious and keep going fast, trying to get some relief. I never stop when he starts to whine, starts to breath deeper, even tries to crawl away from under me. Not that it happened more than once — after bending his arm tightly against the flexing muscles in his back, he caught the drift quickly.
"Fuck..."
He's always so tight, so submissive, so pure and innocent. Always just perfect for me to take. And fuck it, if I don't take him all the time, it's not that we have anything else to do. No clues, just the spell to open the window, but we both know that it's not a way to go.
Right now, Inias is sliding his hand under him, lifting his white ass higher, huffing on the pillow.
My sweat keeps dripping on the deep curve of his spine. My nails sink in his flesh, leave little red crescents on his shoulders, mark him as mine. A celestial creature under my spell, under me.
Oh, the power.
I bite down his neck, like I did to those demons eons ago. This time there's no blood, but the angry red marks make me feel powerful and in control. Still, when I pull back and spill my semen on his cheeks, thighs, all I feel is shame for dominating something so pure and bright. Something so naïve.
The best and the worst is when he rolls on his back, pulls me in his arms and whispers, whispers in my ear how he forgives me. How he loves me.
How he needs me.
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Hox! I just LOVE reviews and they really keep me going! :)