Time passed in a blur. Sam often didn't see anyone, not even ShapeshifterDean, for what felt like days at a time. It was so difficult to keep track of the time without any view of the outside, but his keepers turned the lights on and off in his cell in what felt like a daily cycle of hours. The blonde nurse continued to administer IVs to him at night and he watched as her broken fingers healed and returned to normal over a period of weeks. He tried to apologise several times, but she just shook her head and looked at the floor. She wouldn't speak to him other than to ask him medical questions or give him instructions so eventually he stopped trying.
He was given a few pairs of sweatpants and pyjama bottoms but no shirts. Since the room was generally warm he didn't kick up a fuss. His cell had a great selection of books and DVDs, so he spent much of his time reading or watching movies. He even came across a variety of skin mags and pornographic videos, which he was too embarrassed to look at initially. Eventually the need was great enough that he covered himself with a towel as much as possible before beating off in the bathroom.
He did some general workouts to keep himself fit and sane but without proper weights he knew he was losing a lot of muscle mass. He spent some time casing the room, trying to assess where there might be weaknesses in the security that would aid his escape but every time he got even remotely close to the single entrance to the room a voice would boom over the loudspeaker instructing him to back off or someone would face the consequences.
Sometimes the creature wearing his brother's face would spend time in the room with him, reading and chatting casually, as if he wasn't holding Sam against his will in some strange bunker, torturing innocent women to keep him in line. Sam didn't know what to think but as long as NotDean (he could call him that in his own head) kept his hands, and mouth, to himself, Sam accepted his company. Because he had access to Dean's memories and thoughts, it was remarkably like hanging out with his brother, and sometimes Sam almost forgot it wasn't Dean. Almost.
He knew they were drugging him, other than the very obvious IVs that took him to blessed oblivion overnight. He just felt so calm all the time. Maybe it was in the food, but he couldn't very well not eat. And the shapeshifter definitely had his number, knowing that Sam would do whatever it took to protect an innocent like his nurse. He found that he was docile and accepting of instruction, and it got to the point that he didn't care about the cameras that were obviously everywhere surrounding him, performing bodily functions and jerking off in the shower without embarrassment.
He was stretched out on the couch reading one afternoon when the monitors came on around him. There was only sound at first, sighs and grunts, and he looked around confused until the screen came into focus and he saw a woman on her knees blowing Dean, his fingers tangled in her mane of long, dark hair as he fucked her mouth. Dean's back was arched and his head thrown back in pleasure as he thrust in and out, abs rippling with the exertion. iWhat the fuck?/i
Sam looked down, completely horrified by the scene. Why were they showing him porn starring his brother - well, not his brother, but the man wearing his brother's skin? The moment he looked down, he realized the coffee table surface was also showing the images. He glanced around the room and nearly every flat surface was a screen. His brother's naked, thrusting body everywhere he could see. Sam tried closing his eyes but the volume increased when he did and soon the sighs, grunts, and moans flooded his brain.
When he reluctantly opened his eyes again, Dean was on his back and the girl was riding him reverse cowboy, her tits bouncing with her movements. Sam felt an uncomfortable stirring in his pants, and he desperately tried to think of the least sexy things he could while he watched NotDean fucking the buxom brunette, and, oh fuck, was he fingering her ass?
Mostly erect now, Sam tried to focus on gross monsters they'd fought and killed over the years, that 3rd grade teacher with the nasty, hairy mole on her cheek, various spells and incantations, but it wasn't working. He was hard and getting harder by the moment. If he just didn't have to listen to it, he might be okay, but he'd become used to the sound of his brother's breathy cries over the years in countless hotel rooms, and as much as it shamed him, it had always gotten him hard.
They changed position again on the screen and now the girl was on all fours, Dean pounding her pussy from behind. The sharp slap of skin on skin echoing through Sam's chamber. Sam pressed his hand to his crotch, trying to quell the sensation but all it did was reinforce how much he needed relief. Fuck! He rubbed the obscene tent in his pants through the fabric, moaning with desire and shame. It was so wrong that this was getting him so hard, but Sam tried to justify that it was just porn. He was just having a very normal male reaction to porn. And it wasn't really his brother on the screen, right?
That was going to have to be good enough. Sam pulled the sweats down to his hips and spat into his hand before grabbing his aching cock. He stroked hard and fast. This wasn't about pleasure, it was just about relief. Within minutes, he came all over his stomach and chest at the same time as Dean sprayed his load across the ass of the petite brunette.
I'm so sorry, Dean, Sam intoned silently as he regarded the mess on his belly with horror and bowel-clenching shame.
"I'm glad you liked the show, Sammy." Fake Dean's voice startled Sam and he looked up to see the creature regarding him directly through the monitor, absently stroking his still-hard member, "because sometime soon, it's gonna be your ass I'm pounding, and you're gonna come screaming my name."