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spn_masquerade fill #1 False Pretenses [Demon!Dean/Stanford!Sam
title. False Pretenses
pairing. Demon!Dean/Sam (Stanford Era)
rating. NC17
words. 1553
warnings. College!Sam. Demon!Dean. Mark of Cain. Face-fucking. Blowjob. Spanking. Rough sex. Age difference.
prompt. Sam meet Dean at Stanford, but this Dean looks older and he finally give Sam what he wants, fucking him into the mattress senselessly. Original Prompt & Thread.
notes. One of my fills written forspn_masquerade, because the world OBVIOUSLY needs more Demon!Dean and this was too good to pass up. Also posted on AO3.
FALSE PRETENSES.
Sam narrowly avoids gagging on his own saliva. He comes up coughing and sputtering, the pressure in his lungs almost too much to endure. His cheeks bear the stain of salty tears over souring bruises and his lips feel over-stretched, already sore, spit and other fluids sticking to the corners of his mouth. He’s wrecked, shaking, and he can feel a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
And he’s never been more aroused in his life.
“I’m not done with you yet, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t bother telling him not to use that name. This Dean wouldn’t listen or care. Sam barely recognizes this version of his brother—older, harder, darker. Pretty morphed into devastating. This man is sharp and cutting, possessing a vicious tongue that he’d turned on Sam the moment he separated from the shadows in Sam’s apartment and dragged Sam to the floor.
The Dean from whom Sam ran away was noble, selfless. Sam wanted that Dean to protect him, help him, trust him. Maybe even leave Dad and start over with him.
This Dean, however, the one who bore down on Sam, snarling and muttering about time travel being an ‘unexpected perk of the deal,’ and whose soul is warped and reeks of sulfur...well, Sam wants something very different from him. He may have left hunting behind, but he knows something is very wrong with this thing wearing his brother’s skin like a bespoke suit. And yet, somehow, he knows that it is his brother. Some part of him, anyway.
“Damn you look good like this, Sammy. I had no idea what I was missing out on.” Dean laughs. The sound is cruel; Sam drops his chin, avoiding eye-contact. Unwilling to reveal more than he has to.
“Would’ve done this a lot sooner. Maybe when I go back.”
He circles Sam like a shark, purposeful. Sam’s still reeling from getting his face fucked like that. He tries to pull the wool out of his brain, but he’s dazed and horny. Dean tugs at his shirt: a cue for Sam to take it off.
It’s a blessing that Sam’s roommates are on Spring Break. Even with his scholarship taking care of the heaviest financial burdens, Sam couldn’t afford a week in Baja so he stayed back and had the apartment to himself. He thought he’d be able to relax, work ahead in his classes or take a practice LSAT. Instead he’d come face to face with the impossible. There had been a flash of relief at first—Dean came for me!—before it dawned on him that this wasn’t the brother he left behind two and a half years ago.
There had been a fight, grappling and dodging, but Sam was out of practice. That, and he was used to fighting a Dean who was twenty pounds lighter and nowhere near as...deadly. Dean took every hit with a smile on his face, inexplicably giddy at the idea that Sam wanted to physically harm him, and gave the abuse right back. Until Sam was a ragged, bruised, panting mess and Dean had his hands around his throat, demanding submission more than trying to inflict additional harm.
Sam went to his knees without being told. He should have known then how the rest of the night would go.
Dean had flashed his snake smile and started undoing his jeans. Sam endured each forceful thrust, shocked to find himself leaning in without the pressure of Dean’s hands around the back of his head. Dean’s cock tested the boundary of his throat, shattered whatever limits he thought he had. And Dean just rode him through it, cursing and laughing and fucking into Sam’s willing mouth. When Sam’s eyes began to water, his thrusts became even more violent.
He barely looks winded now, unlike Sam who’s swaying on his knees.
“How about you get on the bed?” Dean bares his teeth. “Show me your favorite position.”
He goes quietly, standing and stepping around Dean without touching him.
“Pants off, Sammy. Let me see how hard you got from swallowing my cock. I taste good, don’t I?”
Naked on his own bed, Sam lays down on his stomach, hiding his erection from Dean. The phantom follows, carelessly stripping out of his own discount jeans and faded flannel. If this wasn’t somehow Sam’s brother, wouldn’t he wear something else? Something that didn’t remind Sam of a childhood spent rifling through donation bins and second-hand selections.
“Nice choice,” Dean says of Sam’s position. “Always did love that ass of yours. Even in my time, it’s still—” He catches Sam looking, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and lets it pop. Sam stores Dean’s minor slip away to revisit later.
Dean’s not gentle, but he doesn’t take Sam dry. Maybe that would’ve been better.
“You show off like this a lot, Sammy? For all those friends of yours?”
Dean finds lube in the bottom drawer of Sam’s dresser without looking anywhere else. Like he knew where he’d find it. Sam’s brain and his body are fighting a bloody war right now: the former screaming for rebellion while the latter wants to sink into that hazy space between awake and asleep where Sam has always wanted this.
Dean faces no such dilemma. His fingers are slick and punishing when he opens Sam up, slapping his ass with his dry hand and leaning down to bite the cherry-red skin. Dean uses the time to drown Sam in the shameful secrets he’d never so much as breathed aloud before tonight. He doesn’t bother to whisper, fishing thoughts right out of Sam’s mind.
“Should’ve had you long before this,” Dean croons, “I don’t know how you hid this from me. Needy little bitch, Sammy.” Thick fingers invade Sam’s ass, two now with a third ready to stretch him even further. “Could’ve spread you out on all those filthy motel beds, tasted this ass anytime I wanted. Wouldn’t have had to go looking for trouble,” he adds, leaning forward and biting the upper curve of Sam’s ear.
Sam can’t speak, but he’s far from silent. Sweating and begging with wet moans and an arched back. Fucking back on Dean’s fingers, keening for a fourth when Dean decides he’s had enough.
Dean swears in a dark, archaic language when he drives his cock into Sam. He knows the girth and the weight, can still feel the shape of it in his throat when he attempts to swallow between thrusts. There’s no time to adjust; he barely has a second to breathe between assaults. Dean laughs at his struggles and fucks him harder, sheets chafing Sam’s skin as he’s pushed further and further up the mattress.
Unable to brace himself, Sam tucks his chin and tries to look back, eyes drawn to the ugly, raised brand on this Dean’s forearm. Knowing instinctively that the mark is the key to his brother’s appearance and...unusual behavior.
“This is what you’ve always wanted. Huh, Sammy?” Dean groans, taking what he wants and nailing Sam’s prostate in the doing. “Were you too afraid to ask? Don’t be. Don’t even need to say anything,” he says like he’s giving advice, palm coming down hard on Sam’s ass again. “Just spread these long, pretty legs. Show off that tight little ass. Or drop to your knees like you did for me. So good, Sammy. So fucking hot, little brother.”
Sam’s senses implode and he comes with no warning, orgasm burning through and exorcising his remaining inhibitions. Trapped beneath his body, Sam’s cock spurts against the sheets, stomach dragged through his own mess. Dean roars and fucks Sam with abandon, rhythm totally disintegrating. Sam’s pleasure was never his concern, but now he’s an animal, rutting and snapping his teeth, drops of sweat hitting Sam’s back.
Dazed and compliant, Sam’s eyes find the red mark on Dean’s skin. He wonders if that’s what Dean meant by the trouble he went looking for. And he vows to remember that brand—not that tonight would fade easily from memory—if he and his Dean are ever reunited. Although something like that would take nothing short of an act of God to accomplish.
Sam’s a boneless, senseless heap when Dean finally grunts and comes. Sam hides his fucked-out smile against his ruined bedsheets and tastes salt on his lips.
Dean pulls out and Sam is shocked to realized that this thing with the strange mark and blackened soul had used a condom. It throws Sam’s mind into chaos again even as Dean slaps his thigh and tells him to clean himself up, stalking off to the bathroom and leaving Sam on the bed.
He doesn’t know if Dean’s going to disappear as quickly as he’d appeared, if tonight is all he gets or if this older version of his brother is going to fuck him throughout the rest of Spring Break. All Sam knows is that in whatever time he’s got left with this thing, he’s going to use it to catalog every detail, every hint Dean gives him, and he’s going to remember.
Whatever happens to his brother in the future, Sam’s going to stop it. No matter what it takes.
Even if he has to take Dean’s advice and spread his legs the next time he sees his brother.
FIN.
pairing. Demon!Dean/Sam (Stanford Era)
rating. NC17
words. 1553
warnings. College!Sam. Demon!Dean. Mark of Cain. Face-fucking. Blowjob. Spanking. Rough sex. Age difference.
prompt. Sam meet Dean at Stanford, but this Dean looks older and he finally give Sam what he wants, fucking him into the mattress senselessly. Original Prompt & Thread.
notes. One of my fills written for
spn_masquerade, because the world OBVIOUSLY needs more Demon!Dean and this was too good to pass up. Also posted on AO3.FALSE PRETENSES.
Sam narrowly avoids gagging on his own saliva. He comes up coughing and sputtering, the pressure in his lungs almost too much to endure. His cheeks bear the stain of salty tears over souring bruises and his lips feel over-stretched, already sore, spit and other fluids sticking to the corners of his mouth. He’s wrecked, shaking, and he can feel a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
And he’s never been more aroused in his life.
“I’m not done with you yet, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t bother telling him not to use that name. This Dean wouldn’t listen or care. Sam barely recognizes this version of his brother—older, harder, darker. Pretty morphed into devastating. This man is sharp and cutting, possessing a vicious tongue that he’d turned on Sam the moment he separated from the shadows in Sam’s apartment and dragged Sam to the floor.
The Dean from whom Sam ran away was noble, selfless. Sam wanted that Dean to protect him, help him, trust him. Maybe even leave Dad and start over with him.
This Dean, however, the one who bore down on Sam, snarling and muttering about time travel being an ‘unexpected perk of the deal,’ and whose soul is warped and reeks of sulfur...well, Sam wants something very different from him. He may have left hunting behind, but he knows something is very wrong with this thing wearing his brother’s skin like a bespoke suit. And yet, somehow, he knows that it is his brother. Some part of him, anyway.
“Damn you look good like this, Sammy. I had no idea what I was missing out on.” Dean laughs. The sound is cruel; Sam drops his chin, avoiding eye-contact. Unwilling to reveal more than he has to.
“Would’ve done this a lot sooner. Maybe when I go back.”
He circles Sam like a shark, purposeful. Sam’s still reeling from getting his face fucked like that. He tries to pull the wool out of his brain, but he’s dazed and horny. Dean tugs at his shirt: a cue for Sam to take it off.
It’s a blessing that Sam’s roommates are on Spring Break. Even with his scholarship taking care of the heaviest financial burdens, Sam couldn’t afford a week in Baja so he stayed back and had the apartment to himself. He thought he’d be able to relax, work ahead in his classes or take a practice LSAT. Instead he’d come face to face with the impossible. There had been a flash of relief at first—Dean came for me!—before it dawned on him that this wasn’t the brother he left behind two and a half years ago.
There had been a fight, grappling and dodging, but Sam was out of practice. That, and he was used to fighting a Dean who was twenty pounds lighter and nowhere near as...deadly. Dean took every hit with a smile on his face, inexplicably giddy at the idea that Sam wanted to physically harm him, and gave the abuse right back. Until Sam was a ragged, bruised, panting mess and Dean had his hands around his throat, demanding submission more than trying to inflict additional harm.
Sam went to his knees without being told. He should have known then how the rest of the night would go.
Dean had flashed his snake smile and started undoing his jeans. Sam endured each forceful thrust, shocked to find himself leaning in without the pressure of Dean’s hands around the back of his head. Dean’s cock tested the boundary of his throat, shattered whatever limits he thought he had. And Dean just rode him through it, cursing and laughing and fucking into Sam’s willing mouth. When Sam’s eyes began to water, his thrusts became even more violent.
He barely looks winded now, unlike Sam who’s swaying on his knees.
“How about you get on the bed?” Dean bares his teeth. “Show me your favorite position.”
He goes quietly, standing and stepping around Dean without touching him.
“Pants off, Sammy. Let me see how hard you got from swallowing my cock. I taste good, don’t I?”
Naked on his own bed, Sam lays down on his stomach, hiding his erection from Dean. The phantom follows, carelessly stripping out of his own discount jeans and faded flannel. If this wasn’t somehow Sam’s brother, wouldn’t he wear something else? Something that didn’t remind Sam of a childhood spent rifling through donation bins and second-hand selections.
“Nice choice,” Dean says of Sam’s position. “Always did love that ass of yours. Even in my time, it’s still—” He catches Sam looking, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and lets it pop. Sam stores Dean’s minor slip away to revisit later.
Dean’s not gentle, but he doesn’t take Sam dry. Maybe that would’ve been better.
“You show off like this a lot, Sammy? For all those friends of yours?”
Dean finds lube in the bottom drawer of Sam’s dresser without looking anywhere else. Like he knew where he’d find it. Sam’s brain and his body are fighting a bloody war right now: the former screaming for rebellion while the latter wants to sink into that hazy space between awake and asleep where Sam has always wanted this.
Dean faces no such dilemma. His fingers are slick and punishing when he opens Sam up, slapping his ass with his dry hand and leaning down to bite the cherry-red skin. Dean uses the time to drown Sam in the shameful secrets he’d never so much as breathed aloud before tonight. He doesn’t bother to whisper, fishing thoughts right out of Sam’s mind.
“Should’ve had you long before this,” Dean croons, “I don’t know how you hid this from me. Needy little bitch, Sammy.” Thick fingers invade Sam’s ass, two now with a third ready to stretch him even further. “Could’ve spread you out on all those filthy motel beds, tasted this ass anytime I wanted. Wouldn’t have had to go looking for trouble,” he adds, leaning forward and biting the upper curve of Sam’s ear.
Sam can’t speak, but he’s far from silent. Sweating and begging with wet moans and an arched back. Fucking back on Dean’s fingers, keening for a fourth when Dean decides he’s had enough.
Dean swears in a dark, archaic language when he drives his cock into Sam. He knows the girth and the weight, can still feel the shape of it in his throat when he attempts to swallow between thrusts. There’s no time to adjust; he barely has a second to breathe between assaults. Dean laughs at his struggles and fucks him harder, sheets chafing Sam’s skin as he’s pushed further and further up the mattress.
Unable to brace himself, Sam tucks his chin and tries to look back, eyes drawn to the ugly, raised brand on this Dean’s forearm. Knowing instinctively that the mark is the key to his brother’s appearance and...unusual behavior.
“This is what you’ve always wanted. Huh, Sammy?” Dean groans, taking what he wants and nailing Sam’s prostate in the doing. “Were you too afraid to ask? Don’t be. Don’t even need to say anything,” he says like he’s giving advice, palm coming down hard on Sam’s ass again. “Just spread these long, pretty legs. Show off that tight little ass. Or drop to your knees like you did for me. So good, Sammy. So fucking hot, little brother.”
Sam’s senses implode and he comes with no warning, orgasm burning through and exorcising his remaining inhibitions. Trapped beneath his body, Sam’s cock spurts against the sheets, stomach dragged through his own mess. Dean roars and fucks Sam with abandon, rhythm totally disintegrating. Sam’s pleasure was never his concern, but now he’s an animal, rutting and snapping his teeth, drops of sweat hitting Sam’s back.
Dazed and compliant, Sam’s eyes find the red mark on Dean’s skin. He wonders if that’s what Dean meant by the trouble he went looking for. And he vows to remember that brand—not that tonight would fade easily from memory—if he and his Dean are ever reunited. Although something like that would take nothing short of an act of God to accomplish.
Sam’s a boneless, senseless heap when Dean finally grunts and comes. Sam hides his fucked-out smile against his ruined bedsheets and tastes salt on his lips.
Dean pulls out and Sam is shocked to realized that this thing with the strange mark and blackened soul had used a condom. It throws Sam’s mind into chaos again even as Dean slaps his thigh and tells him to clean himself up, stalking off to the bathroom and leaving Sam on the bed.
He doesn’t know if Dean’s going to disappear as quickly as he’d appeared, if tonight is all he gets or if this older version of his brother is going to fuck him throughout the rest of Spring Break. All Sam knows is that in whatever time he’s got left with this thing, he’s going to use it to catalog every detail, every hint Dean gives him, and he’s going to remember.
Whatever happens to his brother in the future, Sam’s going to stop it. No matter what it takes.
Even if he has to take Dean’s advice and spread his legs the next time he sees his brother.
FIN.