Supernatural: Dean Winchester/Henrickson "do you believe me yet?" ~Possessed~ ADULT, non-con, Dean/Henrickson ~cringes~ I tried, this is what I got.
***
The hand slid up his stomach, his flannel shirt and t-shirt fell obligingly open, buttons cut away, material sliced open by the knife. His knife damn it. Dark skin on pale, a smear of blood from the scratch of the knife.
"Now what are you going to do, Winchester?" the voice purred, more than Henrickson's, demonic, damn it, Bobby, hurry your ass up. Find the whatever and destroy it already.
"Figures you'd be into bondage." Dean managed. The damn cuffs weren't giving, neither was the bar above his head they were attached to. "Careful.." Dean growled nervously as the knife sliced open his jeans. His knife. Sharp enough it went through the leather of his belt and denim of his jeans like butter. He'd bitch about his favorite jeans and his belt later.
"You're going to beg."
"Heard that one before," Dean snorted. He never had, not for himself. For Sam, pretty damn close, yeah, but not for himself and Sam was safe on Bobby's couch with the flu.
"You are going to beg." Henrickson/it repeated, leaning in close, teeth tugging painfully at Dean's earlobe, pain soothed away with tongue and lips.
The hand moved slowly, sticky-drag of drying blood from the scratch down the center of his chest fingers finding their mark, teasing his nipple.
Dean fought the urge to shake as Henrickson stepped away, shoved Dean's jeans and shorts to his ankles then walked around behind him. Out of sight the way Dean was chained leaving him unable to turn to see. Rustle of cloth, the sound of a zipper tore through the air. A growl, the soft sound of skin sliding over skin like gunshots in Dean's ears. Then Henrickson was there, body heat against his back, cloth against bare skin except for the erection that slid against the crack of Dean's ass.
"You like this, don't you?" words nipped against his neck. "Not have to do, not have to think..."
"Dude, rape by possessed fed is no one's kink." Dean managed to grate out as hands moved over his body, twisting a fond fantasy about being caught and seducing his way out of Henrickson's custody into a nightmare straight from hell. Par for the course with just about everything in his life. Sticky-catch-smear as one hand moving over his chest slid downward fingers teasing lightly low on his belly before moving farther downward hand wrapped around his cock slowly stroking. Christ, even callouses in disturbingly familiar places from guns on Henrickson's hand.
"If you're gonna do it just fucking get it over with," Dean growled out through gritted teeth, the drag-slide of Henrickson's cock against his ass, slow, teasing punctuated by a random series of sharp thrusts against Dean. Hands worked his traitorous, adrenaline-flooded into responding which caused Dean's stomach to roll, ever muscle knotted, trembling. Goddamn it, Bobby, hurry, the hand on his cock tightened fractionally, just enough to be rough, callouses rub, hand twisting over the head and fuck that would be just about perfect if not...hurry, hurry, Bobby,fucking move your ass
Dean hissed as fingers dug into his chest, tightened painfully on his cock bringing out a strangled yelped moan as Henrickson shook, gasped behind him.
Henrickson dropped to his knees shaking, head leaned against Dean's thigh. "What the hell? Winchester--" the broken thready voice.
"Thank you, Bobby," Dean managed, shaking hard himself. "You going to uncuff me, Hendrickson?"
"What the hell happened?"
"Congratulations, you survived your first possession. You believe me yet?" Dean managed to smart off.
"Winchester," Henrickson gasped out in a strangled voice.
"And you owe me a new set of clothes. My favorite jeans, damn it." Dean continued. Push it all down, push it away, a wise-crack, on to the next nightmare. Henrickson's fingers dug into Dean's ankle as he wretched. Dean closed his eyes and swallowed down the rebellion in his own stomach. "And you're cleaning my damn shoes."