Sweet Dreams Are Made of These[1/4]

[theinsaneeraser]

Title:
Author: theinsaneeraser
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Au, bondage, Claiming/Marking, D/s, Dark, Electricity!Play, Food!porn, Forced Orgasm, Hand/Finger, Nipple!Play, Humor(slight), Hurt/Comfort, Roding/Whipping, Sensory Deprivation, Tempature!Play, schmoop(there is some nestled in here, I swear!).
Characters/Pairing(s): Becky, Rumble(kitten), Michael, Raphael. Castiel/Gabriel/Sam(implied, not main pairing), Dean/Lucifer(most of the fic)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Dub-con at the beginning, torture(not explicit, more sexual torture), Loss of sight: not permanent and character death minor)
Word Count: 35,039
Summary: With a war raging around them, and brother’s long forgotten. Lucifer intended to break Dean, to make him into a toy he could use at his will, and somewhere, somehow the hunter steals his heart, ensnares him in a trap. Dean, blinded and completely dependent completely on Lucifer, finally learns to let go and let someone else take charge… let someone take care of him.

~*~*~*~

Dean woke up to the soft drip, drip, drip of water.

There was no light, and upon further inspection he realised that he was blind-folded, the material soft against his chin; silk. He cursed and moved his arms to try and dislodge it, but his arms were restrained. Not painfully, just above his head. His senses were only now starting to come back to him, sluggishly; he’d been drugged. That was the only explanation as to why he was not more aware of his surroundings. He cursed again and tilted his head back, tugging at his wrists.

He licked his chapped lips – how long had he been out? – and then back down, kicking out his feet, which created strain on his arms; his legs were free. He sighed and looked to the side, trying to concentrate in his hearing. He needed to see if he could recognize where he was, maybe some sound that would trigger a memory. With his hunting, there weren’t many places he hadn’t been. The crash of waves alerted him to water; Florida?

“Wrong continent.” A voice called out, someone was in the room with him.

Dean tried to place the voice, he recognized it from somewhere, but he couldn’t make the connection, as the drugs were still making him sleepy, still making his mind foggy. He licked his lips again and turned his head to the left towards the voice. He was surprised when the next time the man spoke, it came from right in front of him, because he damn well hadn’t heard any footsteps.

“Come on now Dean, you’re smarter then this.” The man spoke again, his voice filled with something close to disappointment. For a second he was reminded of the tone his father would make whenever he’d do anything wrong. “Come now, your father wasn’t such a bad person, he did resist Alistair’s torture for a good hundred years.”

“You’re an angel.” Dean spoke out with a dry throat, the words cracked and hoarse. “You’re reading my thoughts.” There was something that could have been labelled laughter from the man, but it was a dead, hollow sound that caused chills to run down his spine.

“Very good, Dean.” The man places a hand on his chest, trailing a finger down then around, tracing his bottom rib, till it met the small of his back. “But you can do better then that.”

“Lucifer.”

He didn’t know how he knew it, but something inside him just screamed that this was the devil, the same angel who wanted to wear his baby brother to prom. He licked his lips and shook his head, trying to loosen the silk cloth around his eyes, but it did nothing; it was secured tightly in place. This bothered him more then anything, with his hands restricted, he would have relied on his eyes to get him out of this.

He had nothing.

He cursed.

“Come now.” Lucifer murmurs in his ear, sending shivers down his spine as he tries to pull away from the cold breath, brushing against his already cold skin. “Yes, humans are so… susceptible to hot and cold, aren’t they?” Lucifer was once again in front of him, and then Dean was shirtless, the cold air hitting him hard. “It could be colder, in fact it is, but I’m controlling how much you feel.”

Dean turned his head, trying to follow Lucifer’s voice as he stepped away from him, moved behind him. It was hard, but with the drugs finally starting to wear off, he could now start to hear the footsteps. He was sure Lucifer didn’t need to be making them, but maybe Lucifer wanted him to know where he was. The thought caused him to look back in front. He was stubborn through and through.

“You’re special, Dean.” His voice came from somewhere behind him. “Even after everything my brother put you through, you still refuse to say yes, to accept your fate. This makes you interesting, the one thing my brother wants so desperately but can’t have. It’s only a matter of time before Sam says yes, be it because of my head games, or his will to do the right thing.”

Dean tried to follow the footsteps, but they died out, going silent and Dean was once again left with the feeling of being alone. He didn’t like that feeling, didn’t like not knowing where Lucifer was, what was coming next; what he was going to do with him. The cold was also starting to get to him. It wasn’t really cold, but it was insistent, like having an air-conditioner pointed at you, and he could feel himself start to tremble from it.

“This is what my Hell feels like Dean, a constant cold, it digs down into your bones, or in my case Grace, and stays there; sticks. It drags you down, makes you feel helpless. I guess that’s what Michael wanted, for me to feel helpless, maybe make me think about what I’d done and change my mind. No, It just made me angry, warped my Grace. I used to be warm too Dean, so very warm and bright.”

“As interesting as this sob story is, just get on with it, you’re going to torture me right?” Dean snorted. “Been there, done that. There is nothing you could do to me that Alistair didn’t do. Sure he won, but I’m different now, stronger. I won't let you do to me what that bastard did.”

“Oh Dean.” he was right in front of his again; cold breath brushing against his lips and chin. “That’s where you’re wrong, on so many levels. There is plenty I could do to you that he hasn’t, and no; I’m not going to torture you. Torturing is dirty, and not that I don’t mind getting dirty, but like I said Dean, you’re special.” He pulled back, at least that is what Dean thought, as Lucifer’s breath was no longer on his face.

He tried to follow the sound of footsteps but there were none.

He licked his lips, when there was rustling sound and the silk across his eyes started to lower to his cheeks. He blinked it away before staring into the stony blue eyes in front of him. It took him a few seconds to realise that the eyes belonged to Lucifer. He watched as they softened, slightly as if he was sorry, but Dean wasn’t fooled. He moved to turn his head away, but fingers stopped this. He licked his lips, tongue brushing against the thumb that was pressed against them, and for a second Dean thought Lucifer was going to kiss him.

This was proved to be a wrong assumption as the thumb on his lip pulled back, and the hand was placed over his eyes. There was a shine of intense light that he didn’t avoid fast enough. He knew something was wrong, when the hand on his face pulled away and the darkness stayed. He shook his head, closing his eyes and gave himself a few minutes, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light before opening them again.

He couldn’t see; Lucifer had fucking blinded him.

“What… what the hell!” He struggled against the bonds, the leather digging into his wrists but he didn’t care. He needed to see, needed to be able to tell where he was, his way around; to escape. He didn’t know what fucked up shit Lucifer had in store for him, and he didn’t believe him when Lucifer said he wasn’t going to torture him. How could he believe the devil, when all he seemed to do was lie?

“You’re wrong again Dean, I have never once lied to you, or your brother.” He was moving again, making his way around his back. He had stopped breathing – angels don’t really need to – and silenced his footsteps, but he was trailing a finger from his collarbone around his shoulders to rest on a spot just above his shoulder blades. “I’m going to break your body Dean. Your soul has already been broken, it won't take as long, but your body; you take pride in that. It’s one of the reason you haven’t said yes, because it is truly the only thing you own.”

The finger on his back was gone, and oddly he was more scared because of that. He’d rather know where Satan was then be left alone in the darkness.

“You’re scared of the dark?” before Dean had a chance to protest, he was cut off by chuckles. “It is human instinct to fear the dark. It is not the absence of light that makes you fear it so much, it is the unknown. Even though you know exactly what stalks the shadows, you take refuge in your knowledge. Not knowing something terrifies humans.” There was a pause. “But I’ve gone off track now. Where was I? Oh, that’s right, about your soul.”

There was silence once again, as if Lucifer was gathering his thoughts, and Dean found himself lost in the lack of sound.

“Alistair owns your soul; he broke you and took claim in hell.” the words sent shivers down Dean’s spine. “And you lost your innocence the day your mother burned on the ceiling. You lost your brother the moment you gave up on him, and the world is now going to burn. All you have left is your body, the one thing you can control. It is the one thing my brother can not claim, so I’m going to take it for my own.”

Dean swallowed and shook his head, because it was lies; all of it.

“Is it really Dean?” Cold air brushed against his ear and reminded him of the chill in the room. He shivered because of it, and not because of Lucifer’s challenge. “I told you, torturing was dirty and unneeded, I didn’t lie, I’m not going to. Pain doesn’t always mean torture; some use it for pleasure, some for lessons, others to grow stronger. We’ll see what path you take.”

Before Dean had time to comprehend what that meant, there was a snapping sound. It took a moment for his numb skin to realise it was the bite of leather hitting his back; thin leather. A startled cry, more out of surprise then pain, left his throat. But soon the numbness started to ebb away, and Dean was left with a burning, throbbing welt that lay diagonally across his back. It started on his left hip and made it’s way up to his right shoulder.

He had a moment to suck in a breath before a second snap echoed around the silent room. He was ready for it this time and was able to hold back any sounds; only a slight grunt of discomfort could be heard. He closed his eyes, not that he needed to block out any sight, but because he needed to clench them, like his fists. The burn came quicker this time as well, his skin already started to defrost from the first welt, which radiated heat, burning at his skin; searing where the two met.

They came faster after that, louder and more pained grunts leaving his lips as the whip dug into his back, and then his exposed thighs. He tried to lift them up, but his arms couldn’t hold him up anymore, with the pain coursing through his nerves. His back was aflame with the welts – ten, twenty, he’d lost track by now – scattered across his back.

He swore he felt blood dripping down his back.

When more then two minutes went without the bite of leather, Dean let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He licked his lips, wincing at any movement that irritated his back, which he was now sure was coated in stinging-burning welts. He tried to listen for Lucifer, letting his head fall back, trying to suck in the oxygen he’d deprived his lungs of.

The air in Dean’s lung disappeared again when he felt the snap of the whip against his chest. A choked cry forced its way out of his throat, causing it to become inflamed, adding to the assault of pain. He closed his eyes tighter, biting down hard on his lips.

“No witty remarks Dean, don’t tell me I’ve lost you already?” Lucifer toyed and Dean had to chuckle, it was dark and empty but Satan seemed to be bi-polar, able to go from something dark and dangerous to playful and comedic – a dark humour, but humour at that. “Hmm, what’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said go fuck yourself.” He snapped, he hadn’t really said anything, but Lucifer seemed intent on pushing him, so he’d push right back. “You hit like a girl.”

“Ah, there it is.” He chuckled again, and Dean opened his mouth to make a retort, but the air was once again taken from him as the whip connected with his chest. He groaned and yanked hard at his wrists, the leather starting to chafe. Truth was he wanted Lucifer to keep boxing him, keep pushing his buttons to get him to fight back, because part of him was just giving up. It wasn’t just this, it was the world ending, losing Sammy, Ruby, learning of Zachariah’s real intentions; all of it.

“You know, Cas caused me more pain, and I’d punched him.” Dean chuckled before crying out as the whip landed harshly against his chest, the tip nicking his jaw, and yeah he was sure there was blood that time.

Family seemed to be a touchy subject with all angels.

The next snap of the whip was gentler, but not by mush; a warning. And Dean, who was Dean did not abide by the warning, because really, Lucifer had started it. He wanted Dean to run his mouth then he was going to run it to his Grave.

“Even Zachariah was craftier, and Uriel, well he just used Alistair to get to me.” He chuckled and winced when the blows came more frequently, knocking some of the wind out of him. “And here you are using a whi-” his head snapped back as the whip landed on his chest. He felt the skin rip and the blood start to trickle down it, sending sharp stabs of pain every time it touched a welt.

He let his head fall forward and his eyes fall closed. That was it - that was all he could take. Each new whip pulled a soft cry from his lips and it was all he could do not to cry. His whole body was on fire, and he just wanted this to be over with, because Lucifer was right. His soul had been broken, and although he wasn’t broken now, he was just done. The pain was too much and he just wanted to sleep, he’d throw more witty responses at Lucifer after a good twenty four hours of undisturbed rest.

Then it was over, he had gone a full five minutes with no new pain, and although Dean was still ready for the snap of the whip, he was hoping it was over. There was the clinking of chains and the leather around his wrists loosened. He was unable to hold himself upright, and his legs crumbled under him, sending him to the floor. His palms connected with the concrete and the fresh pain left him painting, gasping for breath that seemed to never come.

Dean blinked when he was shoved back, an arm catching him at the back of his neck, while another arm was slid under his bent knees, lifting him up weightlessly. He groaned in pain and closed his eyes, not that he needed to but maybe he could get some sleep, maybe if he slept this nightmare would turn out to be just that, It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d tortured himself through his dreams, and sometimes he wondered if maybe he was a masochist.

He lost track of how long he’d been carried before he was placed on something cold – a toilet? – and left there. He licked his lips and looked out into the darkness, wincing when movement would cause more pain to ripple up his back, trying not to shake. He didn’t like the silence, how his own blood seemed to pound in his ears like a loud drum. It was frightening in the lack of sound, and when a hand moved him forward he jumped.

He regretted that.

“Relax.” The words were softly spoken, and this couldn’t be Lucifer, not the angel who had taunted him and whipped him. No, this had to be someone else, but who? “Stand.”

Dean was helpless against the command and got to his feet. He wished he could see, so he could place the face with a name, instead there was the sound of water; the bath. He was pushed forward towards something cold and marble, and then helped into it.

The tub was made of smooth stone, possibly marble as he’d guessed before. The tub was cold, but the water that was filling it was warm and he closed his eyes, thankful for the heat. He hadn’t realised how cold his body really was until the water started to sear his skin. He didn’t mind it though, it felt good, and even though it made him tremble; he relished it.

There was a sloshing sound and Dean turned his head in that direction before crying out as a cloth was placed against his back. He tried to shy away from it, cursing, but a hand placed against his chest and held him there. It was painful, the fabric clung at his welts, tugging them and causing flares of burning pain to explode once more. Still the hand was gentle, using soft strokes and working slowly. He was sure it could have been more painful then it was.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean whispered, shivering when the cloth disappeared, only to cry out when it started on his chest. This part had taken a worse beating after Lucifer had lost his temper. He let out a shaky breath. “Fucking hell…”

“You were bleeding. I don’t want blood on the sheets.” Came the answer after a pause that seemed to last forever. Dean rolled his eyes at the statement, unable to come up with anything better because now he was sure it was Lucifer. Still, the gentle way he seemed to stroke his chest, tenderly, like he wanted to explore it with his finger-tips instead of the washcloth; surprised him.

He didn’t say anything else, just winced every time Lucifer caught a more painful spot or welt, before the cloth was dropped into the water with a plop and splash. There was the sound of something being messed with and a steady rain of water started to fall on his head. It was the shower and Dean bowed a little, eyes closing again as he felt it run in rivers, finding paths around the raised skin of his wounds, hissing as the hot water pelted them.

There was another sound, like a cap being popped open and Dean started to panic, ready to flee – not that he could get very far – when hands settled on his head, something cool running down towards the back of his neck. Cupped hands caught it before fingers massaged his scalp, causing his hair to become thick with something foamy. He realised then that it was soap, or shampoo. He swallowed as Lucifer worked it into his short hair, head bowed just in case any decided to make it’s way towards his back, but every time he felt the suds crawl down his neck, swift hands caught it before it could mix with his welts.

His head was pushed forward more, till his could feel his knees against his shoulders as the shampoo was worked out by the spray. He relaxed under it, starting to feel sleepy now, wishing he could just go to sleep. He doubted he’d be allowed, sleep deprivation did a lot to break the body, he knew that. There was many times in hell, he’d wished he could fall asleep just to escape the torture he was enduring, but he was never granted that,

And now that his body needed sleep, it would be much worse.

The water was turned off and he was once again lifted and cradled close like a baby, from the tub, towel wrapped around him. He was seated on the toilet and sat there as Lucifer carefully worked the water off him with it, minding his cuts and wounds before setting it securely around his shoulders. It was then that Dean realised he was naked, and he felt his traitorous cheeks flush, but he just placed them against Lucifer’s chest as he was picked up for a third time.

If Dean hadn’t been a hunter, fully aware of everything around him, he would have fallen asleep as Lucifer carried him; where to, he didn’t know. At this point he could have been carried back to the cold room and he’d have been too tired to care. He closed his eyes and let himself be calmed by the warmth of the towel, which was too fluffy for his liking, and the rocking movement Lucifer’s arms made as he walked.

It seemed to take forever to get where they were going, even longer then the room to the bathroom, which meant that they couldn’t be going back to that room. Maybe Lucifer had had his fun and was going to kill him now, make sure he could never say yes to Michael. Instead he was gently laid down on something soft. It was not a bed; a bed couldn’t be this comfortable. In fact he was pretty sure he was surrounded by pillows.

He felt his way around and yes, he was surrounded by pillows, and blankets, and under him was more pillows, but if he felt through enough of them there was a mattress there. This seemed to go on forever, and it was probably a king sized bed, but it was also warm. He laid down against his better judgement and looked out into the darkness, wishing he could see what this was supposed to be.

There was a dip in the bed and he was pulled into something – Lucifer. He stiffened, ready to struggle, but every movement just caused him pain, so he fell helplessly against his chest. He stared up in the direction he figured Lucifer’s face was and tried his hardest to glare, but he wasn’t sure if he pulled it off.

The combination of the warmth and comfort of the bed, nest, thing and of Lucifer’s tight and possessive grip around his back, careful of any welts, was starting to do a number on him. His eyes felt heavy and he couldn’t keep them open anymore. He gave in and closed them, placing a hesitant hand on Lucifer’s chest and relaxing against it. He was tired and as much as he would beat himself up about it tomorrow – if he woke up – he fell asleep.


He hurt.

That was the first thing was aware of when he woke up. He hurt badly, his whole body was one flaming ball of pain. He tried to push himself up, eyes opening, only to meet darkness. He furrowed his brows and wondered how it was so dark in the early morning, when he remembered; Lucifer had blinded him. With that realization came the memories of last night, causing him to push harder against the chest and grip that held him close.

Needless to say it didn’t do anything, and there was a soft chuckle; a mocking chuckle. He glared in the general direction of Lucifer’s face before shoving against him again and felt a small victory when Lucifer released him, only to grab his wrist – this hurt too, and his hand was freezing – to stop him from going too far away.

He opened his mouth to talk, but let out a startled mix of sound when he was shoved back gently against the pillows and he could sense Lucifer hovering over him, hand still tightly gripping his wrist. It oddly didn't hurt anymore then it already was. He froze, looking up at Lucifer as he was once again struck by the notion that Lucifer was going to kiss, him, like he had when he’d placed a thumb against his lip.

Dean shivered and tried to pull his wrist free, but this proved as effective as trying to push himself away earlier.

He continued to struggle, trying to buck Lucifer off; do something to get him away. All this did was cause him more pain as his welt flared, but he ignored it, he had given up so easily yesterday and that pissed him off. It angered him more the Lucifer’s chuckling taunting as he helplessly fought against his hold. It bothered him, to know that it was futile but he didn’t stop until Lucifer spoke again.

“You talk in your sleep,” He stated, like they talked about these things all the time.

“I do not.” It was his instinctive response. He licked his lips – they were dry and his stomach growled. This reminded him that he’d not eaten since lunch yesterday and his stomach felt like it was about to commit mutiny, but he ignored it for once; there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“You feel guilt about telling Sam he should leave; as much as you hate him you miss him.” Lucifer stated and Dean’s whole body stiffened, his blood running cold.

His dream last night had been about Sam saying yes, and watching his face with Lucifer’s expressions contorting it into hatred and anger. It has given him a restless sleep, but he’d slept the whole night through without waking up, which was at least something new. Usually he slept on the verge of waking, waiting for someone to jump out of him, but he’d found comfort in Luc- he stopped his thinking because no.

“You’re hungry.”

Yes, he was but he wasn’t going to tell that, the stupid archangel-devil would probably just taunt him with food, or food-like smells. No, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he needed food to keep himself aware. Sooner or later his stomach would betray his silence with a growl or a gurgle and he’d be fucked, but for now he was going to stay stubborn and quiet.

That stopped as soon as he smelt pie.

Dean’s mouth watered because it smelt like good pie, something homemade, like his mom would have made if she was still alive. This reminded him of that one diner he’d been in with that really hot waitress who had given him his number and an STI but it had been completely worth it.

Then, mixing with the smell of pie – apple – was the smell of bacon; fresh bacon like it was made on an actual farm. All of this turned his traitorous stomach against him completely as it growled, demanding that he eat the food his nose was picking up on, only Dean couldn’t see it, for all he knew it could just be the smell, and not actual food.

That was until a piece of bacon was placed against his lips.

He pulled back, startled and furrowed his brows as the bacon was once again placed against his lips. As hungry as he was, and how good the piece of meat sounded, there was no way he was going to let the devil feed him, no way in hell. He kept his mouth shut and turned his eyes in the direction he hoped was Lucifer and attempted to give him his best smouldering look.

“I can feed myse-nugf.” He blinked as, while he had been talking, the bacon had been shoved in his mouth. He gave himself a moment to chew and swallow before glaring. “Stop that, I can eat it myself.”

“Oh, well then, go ahead.”

Dean smirked triumphantly before he realised he had no clue where the plate was, or if it was even on a plate. He frowned, but didn’t say anything as he sniffed, trying to find the direction it was coming from but the smell seemed to be filling the whole room. He would not give in though, he kept trying, and reaching out to see if he could feel it in front of him, but it wasn’t there either. Which figured; he wouldn’t make it easy in him.

Finally another piece was pressed against his lips.

Dean kept his mouth shut for a few moment before taking the piece into his mouth with a grumble. He didn’t like this, didn’t want this but he was hungry and Lucifer was cheating, so he’d eat now, and when he got out of this he’d get back at him. Though he didn’t know how that would work, as he couldn’t see, but maybe he could smell his way out, or listen to sounds, like doors or drafts, or keep track of where things were.

When the food was placed to his mouth this time, it was something different, and on a fork. He bit into it and surprised at the chocolate that melted over his tongue, and the fluffy, light pancake that went with it. He flicked his eyes in the direction that he deemed Lucifer to be in and then back down, hopefully towards the fork as he chewed and swallowed. He opened his mouth quicker the next time the fork was placed to his mouth again, and was pleasantly surprised by the taste of syrup.

This went on, switching between bacon and pancakes as Lucifer kept feeding him - it was weird and uncomfortable – and Dean let him. Well, he didn’t so much let him as he had no choice really. He sighed as Lucifer stopped feeding him, still a little hungry, and then blinked when fingers pressed against his mouth, fingers holding something flaky and crumbly.

The pie.

He opened his mouth quickly and took the fingers – and pie – into his mouth, closing around them both and startled by the cold feeling of the archangel’s cold fingers against his warm tongue. The fingers jerked out of his mouth, almost as if in surprise as well and Dean had to chase them a little to keep the pie from falling out as well. He chewed slowly, moaning because this was damn good pie, before pausing when the fingers – and pie – didn’t return.

He waited, not knowing if he’d get more – which sucked, because the pie had been good and he detected a hint of caramel – but was surprised when the fingers pressed against his lips again. He opened his mouth and took the pie, his fingers dragging against the fingers that didn’t pull out this time, not until Dean closed his mouth to chew. They still stayed close to his lips, Dean could feel their chill against them, but then they withdrew.

He swallowed, and another mouthful was offered, and he took it, wanting more of that wonderful pie taste – and something else. He closed his eyes as they continued, the fingers lingering longer and longer and Dean wondered why Lucifer was so cold. Cas had been warm, very warm and Uriel too. So why was Lucifer cold? Cas said angels didn’t feel the cold or heat, but maybe being in hell changed that, maybe Lucifer was trying to warm his fingers.

Dean shook his head, banishing the thought and licked his lips when he was full. He shook his head against when another piece was offered, and felt them pull away. He moved to slide out from under him, his other bodily needs were calling him, but the grip on his wrist tightened, and ow. He stared upwards and tugged a little more insistently.

“You’re not coming with me to the bathroom.” Dean countered and tugged, the hand letting him go, allowing him to crawl out.

A hand on his waist and he was being led towards the bathroom that must have connected to the room – how big was this place? – and he was there. He was about to protest that Lucifer could not stay in here with him while he was going to the washroom, but his hand was pulled forward. He was bent at the waist as his hand was placed against something smooth and cold. He realised it was the toilet lid and that Lucifer was showing him where to aim.

Oh.

There was the sound of footsteps, like he was reassuring him he was leaving and then the door was closed. He was left alone in the silence again and it unnerved him, but duty called and he went to remove his pants, only he realised he wasn’t wearing any; he’d been naked this whole time. He flushed deeply and cursed it as he went about his business before washing his hands, feeling around for it and cursing when he’d turned on the hot and not the cold.

He opened the door a little, sticking his head out, but kept his body from view.

“Where are my pants?” he demanded, shivering a little as the cold started to settle in. He didn’t know why he was only noticing these things; it had to do with Lucifer. His presence just seemed to make everything else fade away, which was wrong because without his sight his other senses were sharper; they shouldn’t be fading like that.

“Nothing I haven’t been staring at for the last twelve hours.”

“Where. Are. My. Pants.” He states with a bite.

He had two seconds before the door was being pushed open and he stumbled back, falling, arms flailing out to catch something, but strong arms wrapped around his waist to keep him up.

His eyes flicked upwards as he pushed at the chest, trying to get Lucifer to let him go, which he did, causing him to fall onto his ass with an ‘oof’. He glared up at the devil, or well, he thought that was the direction he was in, if he wasn’t then well, he didn’t care. He licked his lips and got to his feet, only to stumble back down when Lucifer was right there, shoving fabric into his hands, denim; jeans.

He took them roughly and started to quickly force them on. They were a little tight and restricting, but they were clothes. He expected a shirt too, but when none came he was happy with just this. He looked up at Lucifer again before scooting back and scrambling to his feet, dusting himself off; not that he needed too.

There was silence, when neither one of them said anything, before a hand – cold still – pressed against his hips and led him from the bathroom. He was startled when he was led from the bedroom too, but decided to count his footsteps, he’d be better to start mapping out where Lucifer took him, so he’d be able to know. Maybe then he could escape, with or without his eyesight.

They walked for a while, and Dean wondered if they were in a damn mansion. They reached some stairs, which Lucifer helped him walk, catching him every time he stumbled. He didn’t know why the devil was being so kind to him now, when he’d been whipping him just the night before, but he didn’t question it. If he didn’t have to go back to that then he’d not mess it up.

His hopes were dashed when a door was open and a bone-deep chill hit his face, making his step back. A hand caught his wrist, an arm around his waist and he was being half-pushed half-dragged into the room. He struggled, trying to turn, to flee, not really sure to where but he didn’t want to be in this room, he know that for sure.

He felt the shackles encase a wrist and he jerked away, yanking at it, only to have his other wrist follow suit. He cursed and yanked, testing; trying to pull them out of the damn ceiling, but it didn’t work. He breathed and looked around the room, trying to point where Lucifer was, stomach churning in unease and fear.

“What the hell, first you’re feeding me, now this? What is your problem?” Dean shouted, angry and scared and damn it, he didn’t want to be whipped again; he was still in pain from the first. “What is wrong with you?”

“You want to know why I’m cold, Dean?” It’s not the answer to his question, but it stills him. He doesn’t answer though, don’t voice his confirmation because yes is a dangerous word to use around any angel, let alone Satan. “Most people assume I burn hot, that hell is a place of flame and lava.” He chuckles as if amused by humanity's assumptions. “They are only half right, hell is warm, but I was not in hell.”

Dean stayed silent, hoping that maybe if he kept Lucifer talking he’d not do anything. The longer he kept Lucifer's focus on himself and not on him, the more likely he’d forget why they were here.

“I was in a cage, an ever-lasting darkness, and a world without light is a world without heat. It was cold, colder then humans could imagine, it sunk into my very Grace. So cold it burned Dean, and I was there, for millions of years, waiting for the day when you and Sam would set me free.” There was silence and then there was something small, like a stick only firmer, pressed against his thighs, dragged down then up. “I have to thank you Dean, without you opening the first seal I wouldn’t have been free to walk the earth.”

“You’re still cold.” Dean puts out there, not wanting to know what he was going to use that stick for. “Not all of you, your hands mostly.”

“Yes, see coldness like that stays with you, changes you.” He states and Dean can’t help thinking if he was that cold for that long he’d be angry too. “But that doesn’t matter though, I’m free and the earth is ready – ripe – for my taking.”

“You’re wrong.” He whispers, and it was the wrong thing to say because there was a snap, his body taking time to register where the sound was coming from; the pain, which was blossoming from his bicep where the stick had connected with his arm. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, taking sharp intakes of breath. This hurt more then the stupid whip.

He choked on a whimper as it came down again, this time on his shoulder, nicking his ear as pain flared down his arm. He almost wished it was the whip again, and when another hit came, on the inside of his elbow, he cried out, unable to stop himself. He was being harsher this time, hitting him harder and God he just wanted Lucifer to stop, he didn’t care now if the was fed, if Lucifer saw him freaking naked he just needed to stop this.

"Naked?" Lucifer's voice is amused, cold. "As you wish." Cold air hits his thighs suddenly, and Dean twists in the chains, cursing. His pants are gone, and he can feel Lucifer touching his back with the stick lightly.

The next few hits after that came quickly; his inner arm, bicep and shoulder of his other arm, causing him to bite back a cry, and the hits went lower; his sides, his ribs; his waist. He closed his eyes before they flew open, a startled cry as it landed on his thighs, just before his ass checks. Fear flared in his chest that his was going to go somewhere he really, really didn’t want it to, but the hits went lower still, then back up his other leg.

“Spread your legs.” When Dean didn’t comply he brought the stick down on his knee. “Spread them or I will spread them for you.” When he kept them closed, the stick came down on the back of his knee and Dean let out a broken breath and finally did as he was told, panting heavily.

Dean winced as the stick; rod - what ever it was – came down on his inner thigh. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his skin as it came down again, lower, then again on the other side. It hurt, hurt more then it had any right to, and Dean wondered if Lucifer wasn’t putting some of his angelic strength into it, moving the stick to hit his hip, then back. He couldn’t stop a cry as the rod hit the old welts, setting them aflame once more.

He bit back another as it came down in rapid succession up his spin before moving to his front, grazing his nipples and working it’s way down. He swallowed and choked on his cries, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of them as Lucifer moved back to his thighs, hitting harder.

Then it was over.

It had taken less time then the whipping had, but now his whole body burned with welts and fire. He hung loosely in the shackles, trying to suck in air that never seemed to come. There was the sound of footsteps and then a door closing. He was being left alone like this, to just hang there, in pain and part of him was glad. He didn’t want Lucifer to be in here, didn’t want him to unshackle him like Dean had a feeling he would, to care for him again; to mess with his fucking head.

He licked his lips and tried to count the seconds, but he lost track somewhere around two minutes, the pain a constant throb that the cold only seemed to make worse. It was like they were both fighting, the burning from his wounds and the unnatural cold of the room. He just wanted to sleep now, or maybe scream, hit something; break something… like Lucifer’s neck.

Hours, days could have past before the door was opened and he was once again released from the shackles. He once again fell, but before he could hit the ground an arm wrapped around him, lifting him into strong protective arms. He wanted to fight, to kick out and hit at them; they lied. As much as they seemed caring, as many soft swipes of the cloth or the gentle massaging movements from the washcloth was giving; he didn’t care. It was probably all a part of his stupid plan.

What that plan was Dean didn’t want to know.

He counted the footsteps again, and guessed that they were back at the bedroom, and when he was laid on the bed, chest first he knew he had been correct. He tried to pull himself up and away, but pain – and an arm – held him in place. He panted, glaring at the sheets as the hand withdrew, only to return every time he tried to get away. This continued until something cold – cream – was placed against his back, causing him to jerk away.

The hand on the small of his back returned as the cream was rubbed into his wounds.

Dean hissed and cursed as Lucifer gently massaged the cream over the welts, coating his shoulders and shoulder blades before adding more and making his way down to the small of his back. The cream smelt like mint and it was a comforting smell, something like a Vicks cream you’d use on a child who has a cold to help clear his sinuses, and the soft caring motions of Lucifer’s hands cause him to calm.

He let out a soft sigh and then cursed. He couldn’t get comfortable with Lucifer, no that was the wrong thing to do. He tried to pull away, but that didn't work as Lucifer was holding his thigh dangerously close to his manly bits.

He closed his eyes and let Lucifer spread the cream on his legs, working the muscle until the cream became hot, and aggravated the welts before calming them to a light, dull throb.

Lucifer then worked on his wrists, working it in and moving up his arms. He stopped to flip Dean onto his back as he worked on his chest, thumbs grazed over his nipples, causing him to arch and suck in a harsh breath. The hands stilled before getting back to work, though Dean swore the next few times his thumbs touched his sensitive nubs, it was on purpose.

Then it was over and Dean was left laying there, breathing and staring into the darkness. He knew Lucifer was still there, he could hear him walking around purposely, like he wanted Dean to know where he was; maybe he did. He didn’t care at this point, because all he wanted right now was to sleep for eternity, or maybe for Lucifer to kill him. Because at this point he didn’t care what Lucifer did, it would probably be a small mercy.

Then the bed dipped and he was lifted, something – a cup – being placed against his lips. Dean opened his mouth instinctively and almost chocked on the cold water that hit his throat. He hadn’t known how dry it was, and how badly he’d needed this drink until he was given this, drinking greedily, not knowing when his next drink would be. When the glass was done and removed, Dean licked his lips, catching any water droplets that had escaped and relaxed back against the bed.

Fingers brushed his cheeks and he flinched away from them, only to have them return, caressing them in an oddly soothing way. He tried to search out the direction Lucifer was in. He wished he could see Lucifer’s face, see if he was sincere or laughing at him.

Lucifer pulled his fingers away and Dean looked from side to side, trying to see if he could sense him, or hear him or something. He hated not knowing where Lucifer was, though he wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to be alone in the darkness, or because he was scared Lucifer would leave him here for good. Neither of those were things he was willing to accept so he bowed his head and pushed himself up on his elbows slowly, fighting the pain that spiked, before stopping as a hand shoved him back down.

The weight on the bed shifted – it had never left, Dean was becoming paranoid damn it – and suddenly the weight was in his lap, resting over his hips. He hissed and reached his hands out to try and shove at him, force him away, but cool breath ghosted over his face and he knew Lucifer was leaning over him. He shivered and gripped at Lucifer’s shirt, ready to shove if needed.

Instead he arched and choked on a cry as thumbs brushed over his nipples, already hard from their last assault.

He swallowed and pushed at the chest, his breathing picking up. He was stunned once again, jaw going a little slack as he fought back a moan at the second brush of thumbs, followed by insistent fingers. He squirmed a bit, not knowing why his body was reacting this way, why his cock twitched with interest. He shoved at the chest again, grunting before finally letting out a moan as the thumbs pressed down, moving the hardened nubs in slow, deliberate circles.

“You like that Dean?” Lucifer chuckled and he pressed harder before releasing and gripping them between his thumb and pointer finger, pinching. Dean let out a startled cry and bucked upwards, his tip gliding across the leather of Lucifer’s jeans. “Is this what you want Dean, do you want me to touch you like this?” His voice was a whisper as his fingers continued to pinch and tug and tease him.

He couldn't think straight, couldn't form thoughts quickly enough as Lucifer did everything just right, just perfect enough for him to lose it all completely. He’s experienced pain and care and now this, extreme pleasure and he can’t deal with this one. He can take the pain, because he’s had it before, he’s been cared for too, and yes he’s had pleasure before; but not like this. There is something about the way the Devil touched him that’s testing, teasing and carefree, like he knows every move to make him come undone.

No, he didn't want this affection and kindness, he’d take the pain and anger, because at least that he could understand. He could understand why Lucifer hated him, wanted to beat and hurt him, but what he couldn't understand is why Lucifer wanted to do this. Why he wanted to care for him after he’d hurt him: did he feel sorry for the pain and marks he caused? He couldn’t feel that because he left them there, did it again, but yet still he cared for him. Did he feel sorry for Dean, about how pitiful he is, about how easily he was breaking? No, that can’t be it either, none of this is taunting, none of Lucifer's actions mock him.

Dean gripped his shirt tighter, crying out as Lucifer tugged a little harder, holding them that way and part of Dean wished he’d twist them, yank them more; cause him pain. He can’t deal with this kindness, with all these emotions raging in his head. There was anger, anger that Lucifer has caught him like this, can make him make these sounds, confusion at the situation, pleasure and many, many more.

Dean panted as the fingers stilled before they released him.

He licked his lips and tried to calm himself as his body finally came down from the high that Lucifer had tricked him into, before he was shoved right back up.

Lucifer blew his cold breath against his left nipple and Dean shied away, biting his lip to stifle a moan. He reached out, trying to grab at Lucifer’s head and shove him away as he blew over it again, sending chills down his spine. It feels good, really good and cold; but he’d never admit that. He’d never tell Lucifer how much his cold breath made him hard, but he’d probably be able to tell anyways; he was naked.

He cursed and arched at the next burst of cold air before his eyes flew open, a wrecked shout slipping past his lips as Lucifer took the hardened nub into his mouth. His mouth was different from his breath, which was cold, his mouth was hot, burning hot and that heat engulfed his nipple, tongue swirling and coating it in saliva.

He shoved at Lucifer’s head, gripping his hair tight. “Nng, no, st-stop.” Dean let out in a breathy moan as he arched. Lucifer’s teeth bit down on the soft flesh as he sucked, tugging on it. “A-ah - ” Dean arched forward and yanked at Lucifer's hair. “N-No, sto-ah-op.” Dean cursed and arched again as Lucifer’s teeth bit down harder. He was helpless against the onslaught of teeth tongue and suction.

Dean writhed and jerked his hips upwards as Lucifer teased the tip with his tongue before pulling back, cold breath coming out in puffs against the over-sensitive flesh. Dean whimpered and shoved at his head, trying to push it away, not wanting this even if his body said otherwise. He panted as he continued to shove at the head which gave way, only to move over to the neglected nub.

“No!” Dean shoved at his head before crying out as Lucifer took it into his mouth.

This time Lucifer was rough, teeth and tugs hard, sending pleasure directly to Dean's cock, which was hard and leaking.

Lucifer’s tongue wrapped around it, just as he applied a harsh suction and Dean thrust forward, cock bumping against the ass of Lucifer’s jeans and at this point he didn’t care. He needed to come, needed this teasing to be over, needed release so he could think straight. He couldn’t get a clear thought as Lucifer continued to tease and toy with his nipple, pulling back ever so often to blow that cold breath over it, before taking it back in the searing heat of his mouth.

Dean continued to thrust against Lucifer, needing that extra bit of friction and he moved back to his other nipple, teeth and tongue tugging and lapping at the poor abused nubs. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, how much more his mind could handle when that familiar heat started to pool in his stomach. It was slow, tauntingly slow but there was nothing he could do to quicken it, he was already grinding his erection against Lucifer’s jeans as much as he could from this angle.

There was a chuckle, and he felt it more then he heard it and that was all he needed. He cried out, yanking hard on Lucifer’s hair as he came. It was hard, Dean’s eyes wide as he mouthed incoherent words before collapsing back against the bed. He trembled as Lucifer lapped at the over-sensitive flesh before pulling back, making a pleased noise.

“I hate you.” Dean whispered and Lucifer just chuckled.

“No you don’t, not truly.”

The horrible thing was; he was right.


Lucifer had left him alone in the room to deal with his mess. It had taken him a while to get the energy to move, but when he did he wiped it off on the sheets and got to his feet shakily. He felt his way around the walls until he found the bathroom, and then memorized how many steps – fifteen – it was away from the bed and shut the door. He locked it too for good measure before feeling his way over to the tub and turning on the water.

He tested it with his fingers before he deemed it warm enough – it had taken a while, first too hot then too cold - and finally stepped in. He closed the shower curtain and lets his head dip under the spray. He turned it up hotter, trying to get the cold feeling of Lucifer’s hands and breath off his skin before reaching around for the soap and started to rub it onto his body.

He needed to get the feeling off Lucifer of his skin, needed to be clean. He could still feel Lucifer's tongue, his spit on his nipples and he gave them extra attention, scrubbing them with his nails until he was tearing up from the pain. He searched for some shampoo, which turned out to be body wash by the smell, and used it anyways. It was a comforting cinnamon smell that relaxed him a little.

He stayed under it until it started to go cold, and even then he stayed under.

He could feel himself going pruny, but he didn’t know if there were towels, or where he clothes were and he was tired of being naked – exposed – around Lucifer so much. He hugged himself a little, memories of the intense pleasure he’d felt during the attack, taking him to the floor of the tub. He cursed as that only aggravated the many welts, and he hoped that the cream had been rubbed in enough.

He was starting to shake with the temperature of the shower, but he still didn’t get out. He didn’t want to get out yet, he didn’t want to face up to the man-angel-devil who could draw so many emotions out of him, emotions he thought only his family could. He hated all of this because he knew he was starting to snap, Lucifer was wearing his resolve down faster then he’d thought possible, but this was it; this was his breaking point because he couldn’t damn well take all of this confusing mess.

“What are you doing.” Came a sigh from somewhere in the bathroom. Dean instantly went on guard again and pressed himself back against the wall, glaring at every direction his head could move, he couldn’t find him but he’d at least get him once. “I don’t understand you.” Lucifer sounded frustrated, well he had no right to be, Dean was the frustrated one.

There was the sound of the tap being turned off and Dean shoved himself further away from it, only to run into a towel. He threw his arms and legs out, trying to kick, to hit; to connect with something. He didn’t, instead the towel wrapped around him and he was man-handled into a chest that was shaking with laughter. He glared up at Lucifer and elbowed him. He should have learned from when he hit Cas, because all it did was cause him pain. He cursed and grabbed it.

“You know you can’t win, and yet you still fight. I admire that quality.” Lucifer commented as he walked out of the washroom, Dean still squirming in his arms. It was true, Dean wouldn’t give in, because giving in meant losning and Dean hated that. He’d lasted forty years in hell under Alistair’s blade, he could last just as long under Lucifer’s whip and rod. What he couldn’t take was all this soft, gentle, caring crap. It was a lie, a stupid lie that Dean was starting to find comfort in.

“I told you Dean, not once have I lied to you, nor will I ever.” He answered and Dean was placed on the bed gently. He used this new freedom to crawl away to the other side; and almost fell off. “I wouldn’t advise moving so much without your sight.” An arm around his waist kept him from connecting with the floor and pulled him back up, releasing him once he was settled. “You wish to have clothes, correct?”

Dean didn’t answer, just glared in the direction of the voice. Of course he wanted clothes, but again he wouldn’t let Lucifer know just how vulnerable he was.

There was another sigh and Dean was reminded of his father. He didn’t like thinking that way so he clenched his jaw and looked away, towards, well he didn’t know what it was towards but he hoped he wasn’t facing Lucifer. He loved his father, and his father had loved them; even if he’d gone about loving them the wrong way. He’d had no childhood, he’d taken care of Sammy and hunter, he didn’t regret it, but he wished he could have been comforted a little more… why was he thinking like that?

“I’m starting to wonder if Sam was the wrong Winchester assigned to me.” Lucifer stated in a tone Dean couldn’t quite place. He didn’t care either way, but then he was being pushed back. He sent to sit up again, mouth open to protest, but he was pushed back again and something soft and silky started to slide up his legs.

“Are you dressing me?” Dean asked in disbelief, because Lucifer – the devil – was indeed dressing him. He could feel the boxers settle around his hips, and once again his mind started to take on a fog, a haze. He didn’t understand why he kept doing things like this. “Stop it, I can dress myself, what the hell!” He tried to pull away, to shove at Lucifer’s chest, but he was only shoved back down as cotton was felt against his legs.

Part Two