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?"
"No."
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."
"Why?"
"I suspect that this bar is a front for a human trafficking ring."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Castiel felt it was his personal mission to save him.
