Title: One Little Word

Author: fennikusu_ai

Claim: Alastair/Dean

Table: DIY

Prompt: #2 Reputation

Rating: M

Summary: Only someone of his caliber, his reputation, could work on a soul such as Dean's.

Word Count: 431

Dean closed his startling wood green eyes. He kept his eyes closed much of the time. Such a nasty habit. Alastair wanted the young Winchester to be fully aware of the ravages he was inflicting on his body. Dean's lips moved silently, but no audible words could be heard.

"Whatever are you saying, dear boy? Are you thinking of me?" He kept his tone playful.

The muffled swear Alastair did hear.

Disrespect was one thing he did not tolerate. His nostrils flared in anger as he ripped the knife straight across Dean's chest in a deep oozing gash prompting the boy to shriek and jerk against the restraints.

"You twisted bastard!" he roared at his torturer.

Alastair was sure the scream was heard all over hell. Perfect. Ever since John Winchester escaped from the pit without breaking, some of his fellow brood peevishly questioned his methods. The event had dented his reputation, and down here, reputation was everything. Reputation was the difference between being a slave or a master, and it had been several millennia since he had been at the bottom.

Alastair brought his lips close to Dean's ear. "Are you deliberately trying to test my patience?" he purred.

Dean shuddered. In revulsion.

"You know, there's only one way to stop our little game. One little word. I can't say it for you."

Dean whimpered.

"End it," Alastair whispered before dragging his tongue across the soul's cheek. "End the pain. Become my pupil."

The boy focuses his gaze on him. Parts his lips...

Is this it?

The demon waits in anticipation.

Alastair dodges the gob of spit. The boy was getting too predictable. A well aimed punch to the jaw reasserts dominance, but he is ultimately disappointed. He thought he had been getting somewhere.

Hell's executioner glowered down at his prey. Only someone of his caliber, his reputation, could work on a soul such as Dean's. Many other demons would have ripped him into unworkable shreds by now.

"Now, then. Your fingernails are getting a bit too long. They've grown back again."

The look of anguish on Dean's face is priceless. He mewls like a kitten when Alastair seizes his hand, but he does not beg. With vicious pleasure, Alastair sets the pliers on the right forefinger.

Dean is beyond beautiful when he is in pain. The way he writhes, wriggles, and squirms with his head tossed back in agony. Pretty whimpers escape his lips.

"By the way, Happy Anniversary, Dean."

This evening marked two wonderful years that they had been together.