Devil in the Detail

Eventually Dean was woken by the sound of the door scraping open, someone approached through the dark, the gag was removed and a straw forced between his lips. “It’s only water, drink” a voice hissed in the dark. The accent crisp and English.

“What no beer? What kind of hospitality is that?” The backhander that was his reward for this remark, stung. He stretched his mouth and this time took the offered straw and drank thirstily.

Lights came on suddenly. The computer and camera were still in place, and some lighting rigs stood to one side. The hooded figure who had offered the drink, was now walking back towards the table. Dean contemplated his options, he looked up at his wrists, they were firmly secured to lengths of chain, which were looped through a hoop on the wall and secured at some distance. His legs were free, but he could see no way to loosen his wrists, without assistance. That left Miss Hoody. Scratch that Mr Hoody, Dean realised as the hood was pushed back to reveal a shaved head and softly stubbled chin.

Dean looked up from under his brow, wary and watchful. Louis walked across the room. “So what’s with the Jawa outfit,” Dean said. “Just cos you’re a bit on the .. diminutive side, don’t mean you have to follow the dress code, or were you going for one of Snow White’s ardent admirers?”

Without responding the Englishman moved closer. “You are mine,” he rasped, “I own you. You will do as I ask or face the consequences.”

Dean pulled his face into fake consideration, “Well there now, we have a problem, see I’m not real good on consequences. Act first, think later. I know it was tempting to go for the attractive brother, but if you wanted a thinker…” He stopped as a balled fist landed in his ribs, pushing the air from his lungs. He struggled to regain his breath, as Louis moved towards the chains letting one arm drop down. Refastening through a lower hook near the floor and stretching Dean’s arm down to his side.

“Now that wasn’t real friendly,” Dean gasped.

“Sit.” Louis commanded as he repeated the exercise with the other chain. The only choice was to comply under the steady pressure on his wrists. “I’m going to remove your shoes, any attempt to resist and I will use this.” Louis revealed a small stun gun in his hand. Dean allowed the small man to remove his shoes.

“What now,” he smirked, “tickle torture?”

“Handel is right. Your smart mouth is tiresome. But I have better uses for it, that will prove far more entertaining. At least for me and my public.” Louis nodded towards the camera. He straddled Dean’s thighs, surprisingly heavy for such a small man, his robe scattering out around him. Louis leant forward and kissed him. Dean pulled his face away, repulsed. Two metal prongs dug into the soft flesh under his right ear. “Do not push me to carry out my threat” Louis sneered. “There are no faith healers here.” Dean raised his eyebrows, but showed no other reaction. Louis leant forward again and pressed onto bruised lips. His tongue licking along the tightly pressed crease of Dean’s mouth. Teeth nipping at the joint of lip and skin. Dean flinched, Louis seized his chin and pushed his head back against the wall, forcing him into another kiss, hard and unrelenting, lips parted.

Louis broke the kiss and stepped back away to the side. He laughed at the look of disgust on Dean’s face. “Don’t worry if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you cum.” Dean snorted. Momentarily phased. “Don’t think I won’t get a response from you, Dean. I’m quite talented you know. This doesn’t have to be an unpleasant process for you. You are not too much of a man to be taken by me.”

“Undo these cuffs and see how confident you are about that,” Dean spluttered.

Louis laughed and bent forward again, wrapping the belt from his robe around Dean’s ankles. “Wouldn’t want you to accidently kick me now would we.”

“Not unless I can reach your ass,” Dean snarled, pulling hard at his wrists.

Louis bent forward again, yanking Dean’s jacket open and tearing his t-shirt apart to expose the well toned chest and stomach. “That was one of my favourites,” Dean snapped, determined to show no fear, although his stomach was a knot of anxiety. This was all heading in a very unwelcome direction.

Louis stroked surprising soft hands down over the muscles and delicately scratched his thumb nail along the crease from hip bone to hip bone. His other hand gently squeezing at Dean’s nipple, before he closed his mouth over it nipping sharply and enjoying the gasp of pain, like a jolt of electricity. He drew back onto his haunches. Dean was shaking with fury.

“You will enjoy this Dean, I’m not going to fling you face down and bugger you stupid. Unless you’d prefer that Dean, broken and beaten, so you can deny just how much you enjoyed it. I promise you will be begging for more.”

“The hell I will,” Dean sneered at Louis. Dean tried to wrench free, hissing in fury at his powerlessness. “You bastard.” Dean pulled his knees up, trying to push Louis away with his feet, trying to throw him off balance, even if he couldn’t use his fists, but it was pointless. Louis was watching with decided amusement, as he drew back and pressed the stun gun into Dean’s ribs. Dean convulsed and yelled in pain.

“I warned you Dean, not to press me.” Louis loosened the chains and dragged Dean away from the wall by his feet, pulling him flat onto his back, arms stretched once more over his head. Louis was right there on top of him. Dean struggled harder, his socks offering no grip on the smooth floor. Disorientated from the surge of current and the drugs still in his system, all he could do was repeat, “You bastard, you fucking bastard.”

Louis kissed him again, gently. He drew a knife from inside his cloak and cut Dean’s jacket away. Ripping the remains of the T-shirt away, cutting through the cuffs and collar. He removed his cloak revealing soft skin covered in intricate designs, that seemed to move as his muscles shifted under them. He threw the cloak to one side, intent on his desire. Leaning forward flesh on flesh, he stroked his soft fingers down from Dean’s wrists, along the soft flesh of his inner arms and easing back, he trailed his fingertips down over muscled torso. Dean turned his head to the side, not wishing to give any further encouragement.

Louis felt a strange surge of affection for him, tough and resourceful, but with an irresistible vulnerability. Little surprise with his past and upbringing. Handel always passed his thorough research on.

Placing a gentle hand on Dean’s face he turned it back and used his thumb to wipe away an half formed tear. Tenderly he stroked the cheek, which twitched away from his hand. Dean stared at him in defiance, pulling his head away. Louis backhanded him so hard he thought his cheek bone had imploded. “You will obey me, Dean. Now kiss me, or I will turn you over and take you unprepared.”

“You hit like a girl.” It was a juvenile remark, but it was all Dean could think of. He was rewarded with an upper cut that cast a cascade of firework stars across his eyes. He moaned involuntarily and tried to refocus. Louis kissed him again and forced his tongue into the edge of his mouth, Dean closed his teeth, intending to bite until he felt cold metal pressed against his cheek. He lay inert, allowing his mouth to be plundered, hoping desperately that this was all that would be forced past his lips.

He squirmed as Louis moved his hot moist mouth to his neck, nipping and biting at his jawbone, neck and earlobe. “Get the fuck off me,” he screamed in desperation. Soft hands were working down towards his waistband, fumbling at the belt of his jeans. As he struggled he felt the cold of the knife under his upper arm, wriggling and protesting he managed to slide over it, reassured by the feel of a weapon under his shoulder blade, even if he could not at the moment use it.

Louis was clearly enjoying the scream and the struggle. He bit hard into Dean’s neck leaving a red raised ring of teeth marks, with a deepening bruise in the centre. His mark. With one hand entwined in Dean’s hair he inched his other hand inside the waistband of his jeans and ran his finger down opening the zipper as he went. His mouth leaving a delicated trail of spittle from the mark on Dean’s neck to first one nipple and then the other.

He shifted suddenly, moving swiftly to rip the jeans down over Dean’s hips to his knees. Here he left them bunched, before reaching for the elastic of Dean’s black shorts. Dean shuddered in the sudden cold, as Louis’s body heat was removed from his chest and his thighs were exposed to the air. Louis’s eyes were wide with passion, the paintings on his body were writhing and Dean realised with horror that this was no optical illusion. The symbols were merging and shifting in shape. The figures of young men were clearly visible limbs and bodies entwined in the mass of symbols.

Dean screamed obscenities and struggled hard, until Louis smothered his mouth with his own and began kissing him hard. Louis’s was clearly becoming more excited by the reaction he was soliciting. He pushed down against Dean, pushing his hard penis into the gap at the top of Dean’s thighs. Ignoring the pain in the back of his head, as the roots of his hair were torn from his scalp, Dean attempted to head butt him. Louis leant back and slapped him hard across the face, laughing. His eyes were completely black, his features contorted, his tongue forking as Dean watched.

He screwed his eyes shut, but had to open them again as he felt the thing that was Louis moving. Pushing his jeans and his shorts down towards his bound ankles, kneeling between his legs, forcing them apart. Those soft hands, one cupping his balls, the other stroking and teasing him. The groan in Louis’s throat no longer held the soft tones of a human voice, but something harsher and more guttural.

Dean grunted in frustration and pulled at the wrist restraints above his head. He wanted to do something, anything to counteract the feeling of powerlessness. In spite of every feeling of disgust and horror, he could feel his body responding to the stimulation. He needed to fight. He wrenched at his trapped wrists, tried to pull his body to the side, tried to get his legs out from underneath Louis, who chuckled manically and bent forward to kiss him again.

For the first time in his life, Dean wished he was impotent as Louis closed firm, soft fingers around him and rolled his thumb across the sensitive head. Dean gasped in surprise, as the pleasure of the contact pulsed through his body. “You freaking bastard.” A surge of adrenalin coursed through him and suddenly everything was brighter than bright, every nerve ending seemed to be sending a message to his brain. “You bastard, what did you give me?” The realisation dawning on him as the fear froze his blood.

Louis turned his back to Dean, still sitting across his knees, removing the belt and pulling Dean’s clothes over his feet, throwing them away to the corner of the room. Dean watched as a face formed in the pattern on Louis’s back, the mouth opening to a scream, before the mouth closed and the eyes fluttered. Dean realised with horror that he recognised the face of the boy from the missing persons file.

Louis was reaching for the robe as Dean struggled to breathe. Louis turned back and stroked his hand down the sensitive skin from his balls and along the length of the cleavage between Dean’s cheeks, oh so softly “No, leave me alone you sick…” He yelled as the cold wet fingers of Louis’s other hand touched his chest. The painted skin swirled hypnotically, the figures writhing and cavorting across the smooth muscled canvas.

His hips bucked involuntarily as Louis forced his legs further apart, still using his weight to pin his shins to the floor. Cold fingers rolled over his buttocks again, reaching for entry. Louis smiled and pushed further. Dean clenched his fists and pulled his body up, against his tensed arms in an effort to move as far away from those probing digits.

He panted and struggled to breathe as Louis forced one finger past the ring of contracting muscle, the stretch and the discomfort, combined with the pleasure of Louis’s finger and thumb gently squeezing and pulling his foreskin. The curve of Louis’s thumb smoothing the underside, soft as satin. Suddenly Dean felt himself rocking into the hand, and his jaw clenched in anger. He raised his knees in a sudden determined effort and Louis was unseated, sent rolling away as Dean’s knee connected with his chin.

Dean dragged himself swiftly backwards, pulling his arms in front of his body, grabbing the knife and brandishing it in front of him, as he forced his protesting leg muscles into a squatting position. He shivered in a sudden cold sweat and shook his head to clear his brain.

“Ha,” he said defiantly, “that’ll teach you to possess a short arse.”

He leant his elbows on his knees, watching warily as Louis rolled over. The black eyes drew back into regular pupils and the tattoos appeared to have stilled. The face became more human. Louis attempted to push himself up onto all fours and appeared weakened.

Dean unhooked the chain attaching his right arm to the wall watching carefully, knife at the ready. He wrapped the length of chain around his own wrist and moved to unclip the other chain. Too late he saw the glint of movement to his left side, the blow to his temple spun him around and the knife dropped to the floor. He fell forward onto his knees, left arm awkwardly twisted behind him. The concrete was cool against his cheek, as his vision blurred and he fell unconscious again.

*********************************************************************

Vicky Handel sat very still in the passenger seat of the Impala, scared and white faced. Sam drove as she directed, drawing up short of the dirt track down to the riverside warehouse. The squad car outside was empty. Reversing up Sam drove back to the previous turn and pulled the Impala up against the river bank. He could just see the warehouse roof through the scrub. “Stay here,” he said glancing at her. “It’ll be OK, Dean will be OK.” He wasn’t entirely sure who he was reassuring.

He grabbed the kit bag from the rear seat. She grabbed his arm, “be careful. He will kill you both. He has no conscience.” Sam smiled at her, and when he left she was wrapping the rosary tighter around her hand.


Sam pushed against the window, feeling the frame crack under the pressure and careful not to break what was left of the glass, he pulled the whole unit clear. Cautiously he stuck his feet first into the room.

The floor was gritty beneath his feet, remnants of old machines scattered about. He paused, head cocked, listening intently, but all her could hear was the muted drum of the river against the wall. Dust sparkled in the air and setting sun shone brightly through the door forming an elongated shaft of brilliant yellow across the dirt floor, which almost reached the back wall. As he rounded the corner squinting into the light, Sam saw the shape of a man lay in a patch of darkened dirt. Swinging the bag from his shoulder, Sam covered the distance quickly, heart racing. As he dropped to his knees and his eyes adjusted to the darkness he realised the man was uniformed.

Although his breathing was shallow, the guy was still alive. Sam acted quickly grabbing a pad of cotton from the first aid kit. He lifted the arm away from the chest seeking the wound, until he realised that the blood was from the cop’s arm. He pushed the pad against the wound and reached into his pocket for his phone. A shadow fell across the doorway and he turned sharply in time to see Vicky drop forward, crying. “Ben, oh no, please not Ben.” Behind the sheriff stood smirking.

“Hello, Sammy, fancy meeting you in here. On your knees hands behind your head.”

*********************************************************************

Dean was once again chained, his wrists were clamped to two columns, his arms stretched out sidewards. His head hung down, shoulders slumped, his knees bent under him. Louis picked up a bucket full of water and doused him. Dean gasped for air and raised his head. His eyes wobbled and then focussed on Louis.

“Don’t you ever get bored,” he croaked. “Go play with someone else, you son of a bitch. You’re not my type.”

Louis grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair and pulled his head back, laughing at the hatred in the deep eyes. God, he thought, he is gorgeous, even like this he is gorgeous. He watched as Dean swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving under the smooth skin. He felt the familiar tingle of arousal, the demon within flooding his system.

He let go of the handful of hair and walked behind Dean, running his hands down the muscled back and then over the smooth buttocks.

“Leave me alone.” Dean shouted.

“This time,” he crooned, “you won’t resist me. This time there will be no attempt to escape. This time I take you.” He slid back round in front of Dean, dropping to his knees in front of him. He seized Dean’s penis in his hand and began stroking it fiercely, smiling with satisfaction as despite Dean’s best efforts resisting the stimulation it stiffened and twitched in his hand.

Dean closed his eyes, only to open them again in with shock as Louis once again began forcing his fingers into his body. This time with no preamble, as the pain caused him to grimace and pull away, Louis closed his mouth over him and swirled his tongue around the rim of his helmet, moaning lightly. Dean gasped as his treacherous body responded. The combination of pleasure and pain was unbelievably good. He bit his lip hard to hold back a groan. He pushed forward deeper into the hot soft recess of Louis’ mouth, noting with some satisfaction that it caused his potential rapist to gag. Almost in spite of himself, he yanked his body backward, impaling himself further onto Louis’ fingers, but in doing so pulling himself free of the hypnotic warmth and vacuum.

He swung on his arms bringing both legs up, kicking hard and knocking Louis back across the room.

“You little bastard. I am trying to do this the pleasant way, but my patience is wearing thin.”

“Don’t stress yourself on my account. We both know I don’t want this. You sick rapist fuck.” Dean raised his eyebrows in challenge, standing squarely on his feet, naked, body marked with bruises and grazes, glistening with sweat, breathing heavily but very definitely in charge of himself. Louis snorted, feeling grudging admiration for the kid’s guts, but knowing he still had the upper hand. Last time one had fought this hard he had just given up and shot him, cutting his losses and waiting for Handel to supply another, but Dean was under his skin. This was no longer a matter of satisfying the demon, this was a challenge. He wanted this one broken and begging, when the time came to consume him. In fact he wanted to use him more than once before he fed.

He edged forward once, warily. Dean shifted, poised for the fight. Staying out of reach Louis checked the chains were still firmly attached to the walls. Dean with only his legs to fight was one thing. Dean with even one arm free was quite another.