It's All in the Wrist (or What's Left) [Alastair/Dean]
Title: It’s All in the Wrist (or What’s Left)
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hysteria
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Alastair/Dean, mention Sam/Dean
Word Count: 514
Warnings: Gore, Angst, Un-Beta'd
Summary: Alastair is going to be what Dean’s always needed.
Prompt: #29 Birth.
Disclaimer: Don’t own Supernatural, or the characters involved.
He’s clenching his hand shut, trying to see if it’d still work with a slit wrist-- “One hand isn’t so bad Dean, you look prettier with just the one.” jagged teeth forming a smile, “You know, I thought we’d start with your eyes this time; but I like it when you watch. When you pay real close attention, like a student.”
Something witty would sound more like him right about now, if he still had a tongue; the urge to fight back only made him cough up more blood-- everything Alastair wanted. “So pretty when you bleed…” he sighed, “so pretty when you break.” He watched him move to stand at his side, wet hand clenching at his torn waist; the first kiss felt like a lick and he closed his mouth tight, listening to Alastair sigh.
The next kisses adorned his cheek burning the area where skin used to be, he kept his eyes on Alastair’s lips as he drew his tongue across the red stain-- “Tastes better every time,” he brought the knife across Dean’s other cheek “getting far too fond of this,” he twisted his wrist around as if in thought, “you and I getting our alone time, you know.” With the press of Alastair’s thumb against his skin and the pull of the knife he could feel his skin being peeled back, noises coming form his throat that couldn’t even pass for a scream.
Yellow eyes watched the skin hit the ground with a wet smack, “You know Dean, maybe I should’ve waited on the tongue this time. The gurgling noises just aren’t as fun as the real thing.” he sighed moving the blade down lower to his chin-- “Just doesn’t have the same kinda ring to it as, Oh God, please stop!” when Dean didn’t look up at him, Alastair rolled his eyes and moved back to look at Dean, in full view.
“Wanna savor this Dean,” he placed his hand on Dean’s chin, giving his lips a quick lick “know you’re going to be trading up pretty soon and well, I am gonna miss this kid.” He waited for a moment before, leaning up close to Dean, ear poised at his mouth, “No smart remarks? Why Dean, I’m at a loss, and here I thought you had more to say.”
“You won’t last one more year, Dean-o.” he smiled fondly, “Who do you think you are after all? Your father?
Dean shut his eyes tight when he felt the tip of the blade pressing against his eyelid, he always hated this part.
-----
“Can’t you hear them Dean?” he could fell the warm breath on his cheek, “They’re crying for God, Dean. Begging to be saved.” the knife tracing his stomach was familiar, the sharp-serrated blade. “Heaven’s out of reach, isn’t that right Dean?”
He could feel his shirt fall back into place, the knife being removed; “That’s right.” his voice was louder than he expected.
Alastair placed the knife in Dean’s hand, smiling at the new soul waiting to bleed on his rack, “Now make daddy proud.”
Author:
hysteriaRating: Hard R
Pairing: Alastair/Dean, mention Sam/Dean
Word Count: 514
Warnings: Gore, Angst, Un-Beta'd
Summary: Alastair is going to be what Dean’s always needed.
Prompt: #29 Birth.
Disclaimer: Don’t own Supernatural, or the characters involved.
He’s clenching his hand shut, trying to see if it’d still work with a slit wrist-- “One hand isn’t so bad Dean, you look prettier with just the one.” jagged teeth forming a smile, “You know, I thought we’d start with your eyes this time; but I like it when you watch. When you pay real close attention, like a student.”
Something witty would sound more like him right about now, if he still had a tongue; the urge to fight back only made him cough up more blood-- everything Alastair wanted. “So pretty when you bleed…” he sighed, “so pretty when you break.” He watched him move to stand at his side, wet hand clenching at his torn waist; the first kiss felt like a lick and he closed his mouth tight, listening to Alastair sigh.
The next kisses adorned his cheek burning the area where skin used to be, he kept his eyes on Alastair’s lips as he drew his tongue across the red stain-- “Tastes better every time,” he brought the knife across Dean’s other cheek “getting far too fond of this,” he twisted his wrist around as if in thought, “you and I getting our alone time, you know.” With the press of Alastair’s thumb against his skin and the pull of the knife he could feel his skin being peeled back, noises coming form his throat that couldn’t even pass for a scream.
Yellow eyes watched the skin hit the ground with a wet smack, “You know Dean, maybe I should’ve waited on the tongue this time. The gurgling noises just aren’t as fun as the real thing.” he sighed moving the blade down lower to his chin-- “Just doesn’t have the same kinda ring to it as, Oh God, please stop!” when Dean didn’t look up at him, Alastair rolled his eyes and moved back to look at Dean, in full view.
“Wanna savor this Dean,” he placed his hand on Dean’s chin, giving his lips a quick lick “know you’re going to be trading up pretty soon and well, I am gonna miss this kid.” He waited for a moment before, leaning up close to Dean, ear poised at his mouth, “No smart remarks? Why Dean, I’m at a loss, and here I thought you had more to say.”
“You won’t last one more year, Dean-o.” he smiled fondly, “Who do you think you are after all? Your father?
Dean shut his eyes tight when he felt the tip of the blade pressing against his eyelid, he always hated this part.
-----
“Can’t you hear them Dean?” he could fell the warm breath on his cheek, “They’re crying for God, Dean. Begging to be saved.” the knife tracing his stomach was familiar, the sharp-serrated blade. “Heaven’s out of reach, isn’t that right Dean?”
He could feel his shirt fall back into place, the knife being removed; “That’s right.” his voice was louder than he expected.
Alastair placed the knife in Dean’s hand, smiling at the new soul waiting to bleed on his rack, “Now make daddy proud.”