:

"You do magnificent work, my dear boy," Alastair crooned, slinking his way around Dean's body, while brushing suggestively up against him.
"Many students have passed though my hands but none possessed of such unique talent for the blade."

Dean's instinct was to cringe away, but he'd learned not to; just like a whipped dog he knew better than to offer any resistance.

What was the point?
Alastair had already invaded his body in every conceivable way and even in inconceivable ones. Trying to edge away was pathetic.
What Alastair wanted, Alastair took, and the more you struggled the more he liked it.

So Dean had dominated his body language, not reacting to snide remarks or despised touches. It was hard though, and only his innate stubbornness kept him from complete insanity.

:

Since he'd accepted Alastair's proposal and been taken off the rack, thankfully his mentor had left him more or less alone, limiting himself to overseeing Dean's work with an almost paternal pride, and Dean was grateful for that small mercy.

Keeping his focus on his work, he expertly incised the screaming soul's back, freeing the spinal cord and severing the vertebra one by one, until they fell to the ground in a gruesome disarray of white bone and red blood.

Alastair looked on admiringly. "Excellent, Dean. If you continue like this, you'll be vying for my job before long!"

:

He ran a caressing hand from Dean's shoulder to his ass, and Dean had to delve into all his willpower to stop from shuddering at the repugnant fondling.

As if disappointed by Dean's stoicism, Alastair retracted the hand.
"You know, Dean. There are things I regret now that you're off the rack, among them is not being able to hear you scream.
There was something sublime about the way you begged and pleaded. But of course you know that, don't you," he purred, leaning in and passing the tip of his tongue over Dean's ear.

Once again, Dean repressed the urge to pull away in disgust.

:

Alastair tutted.
"Yes, we have gained a talented recruit, but I have lost something so very delectable. Perhaps... one day... you will come to appreciate me in other ways, Dean and I'll be on the side-lines waiting.
Just envisage the team we could become...envied by all of Hell as Master Carvers... and perhaps ...more."

:

Dean closed his ears to Alastair's ramblings.
If he was fated to remain in this hell-hole, teaming up with Alastair would be the last thing he'd do. The pain and humiliation he'd been subjected to by him and his demons would be purged when he rose through the ranks of Hell.
His soul was already damned, nothing could wash it white again, so why not go for it? Why not carve and shoulder his way to the top?

When, and not if, he wielded the power, he'd make sure every fucking demon who'd laid a finger on him would suffer as none before, and at the top of the list was Alastair.
None of this showed on his face, however, as he turned his head to glance back at the leering demon.

"Perhaps," he conceded, a smirk on his face.
"Maybe I will come to appreciate your talents, Alastair, and one day we might make a twosome to be envied, but I've still got a lot to learn. When the time comes, I'll be putting it to good use."

Strangely enough Alastair didn't have any cosy feelings of future collaboration, instead a tiny tendril of unease uncoiled itself in his gut.

He contemplated Dean thoughtfully as the young man made the soul on his rack plead and bewail, and he wondered.

:
The end.