Finding My Light
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,226
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,226
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Finding My Light
(For future chapters know that Sam's going to rape Dean and dominate Dean. Feel the Dean pain... Also, as a warning, know that there is allot of swearing in this fict, and I'm not sure if anything 'supernatural' will occur)
“You got a name, kid?” Sam asks, gripping the leather beneath his hands. He glances through the rearview mirror, admires sun-kissed skin and lean muscle.
“Yeah,” Dean sneers, “How ’bout you, motherfucker?"
Sam slides his tongue over grimy teeth, wondering if the teenager behind him has read any newspapers about mutilated children or watched any news programs featuring weeping parents. He obviously doesn’t recognize him, the way those emerald orbs haven’t flashed in fear is proof enough.
“Name’s Sam Taylor, but people call me Thorn.”
Dean feels his lips tug into a smile so he bites the underside of his tongue. “Dean Winchester.”
The stolen police car swerves, slamming Dean against the right side of the door. “I’d say nice to meet you, but I’d be liein’.” Dean says, “So, uh, Thorn? That some unpleasant nickname, or you some kind of fag?”
Sam doesn’t offer any conviction to his passengers assumption, just glances into the rearview mirror with a smirk. He can tell Dean’s scared, the way his eyes dot around, almost as if searching for something, tell him of that much.
In the back of Sam’s mind he’s denying Dean’s hypothesis, the punk in him claiming his heterosexuality. The part that overpowers his morals has the desire to witness Dean visibly squirming in his seat.
“What you in here for, Dean?” He asks, more from habit than curiosity.
“Could ask you the same question.”
Sam has seen Dean’s display of arrogance in the majority of new inmates. They attempt to pull off cocky with discourteous remarks. The pedophile is reminded of the first girl he got away with rapping, a beautiful blonde that shared Dean’s tanned skin and false audacity.
“Last time I checked, I was the one with a gun and the car.”
“Didn’t see no gun.”
“Aren't you observant?” Sam mutters, waving his pistol to the backseat.
Dean replies after a pause, “Robbed a convenient store.”
Sam quirks an eyebrow, “That right?” He taunts, “Good boy, you did a good job.”
“Look whose talkin’, asshole. Got busted sellin' crack to a cop?” Dean attempts a chuckle, but his throat is so raw he sneers. “I’d give you standing ovation, but my hands-” He yanks the cuffs behind his back, “And my feet-” He punctures with a kick to the air, “-Are a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
“You’re a good liar, bet with you’re pretty face and arrogance, you get away with those fibs real well. But when you told me about robbing a convenient store you paused first, like you were collecting your thoughts. Then you sat still, like you were afraid any movement would give you’re lie away.”
The older teen meets Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror, “Next you showed me that your feet were cuffed, they don’t do that to stupid boy's who rob a convenient store.” He croons mockingly, “Now, should I believe you’re name’s actually Dean Winchester?”
Dean shifts in his seat. He lowers his eyes; the rush of power sends a spark to Sam's groin. “Damn.” Dean mutters, “Holy shit, you’re fucked up.”
Sam laughs, “Damn right, now, what you really in for kid?”
“I-I…” Dean meets Sam's eyes, all traces of terror evaporates into fury. “None of you’re fuckin’ business.”
“You got a name, kid?” Sam asks, gripping the leather beneath his hands. He glances through the rearview mirror, admires sun-kissed skin and lean muscle.
“Yeah,” Dean sneers, “How ’bout you, motherfucker?"
Sam slides his tongue over grimy teeth, wondering if the teenager behind him has read any newspapers about mutilated children or watched any news programs featuring weeping parents. He obviously doesn’t recognize him, the way those emerald orbs haven’t flashed in fear is proof enough.
“Name’s Sam Taylor, but people call me Thorn.”
Dean feels his lips tug into a smile so he bites the underside of his tongue. “Dean Winchester.”
The stolen police car swerves, slamming Dean against the right side of the door. “I’d say nice to meet you, but I’d be liein’.” Dean says, “So, uh, Thorn? That some unpleasant nickname, or you some kind of fag?”
Sam doesn’t offer any conviction to his passengers assumption, just glances into the rearview mirror with a smirk. He can tell Dean’s scared, the way his eyes dot around, almost as if searching for something, tell him of that much.
In the back of Sam’s mind he’s denying Dean’s hypothesis, the punk in him claiming his heterosexuality. The part that overpowers his morals has the desire to witness Dean visibly squirming in his seat.
“What you in here for, Dean?” He asks, more from habit than curiosity.
“Could ask you the same question.”
Sam has seen Dean’s display of arrogance in the majority of new inmates. They attempt to pull off cocky with discourteous remarks. The pedophile is reminded of the first girl he got away with rapping, a beautiful blonde that shared Dean’s tanned skin and false audacity.
“Last time I checked, I was the one with a gun and the car.”
“Didn’t see no gun.”
“Aren't you observant?” Sam mutters, waving his pistol to the backseat.
Dean replies after a pause, “Robbed a convenient store.”
Sam quirks an eyebrow, “That right?” He taunts, “Good boy, you did a good job.”
“Look whose talkin’, asshole. Got busted sellin' crack to a cop?” Dean attempts a chuckle, but his throat is so raw he sneers. “I’d give you standing ovation, but my hands-” He yanks the cuffs behind his back, “And my feet-” He punctures with a kick to the air, “-Are a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
“You’re a good liar, bet with you’re pretty face and arrogance, you get away with those fibs real well. But when you told me about robbing a convenient store you paused first, like you were collecting your thoughts. Then you sat still, like you were afraid any movement would give you’re lie away.”
The older teen meets Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror, “Next you showed me that your feet were cuffed, they don’t do that to stupid boy's who rob a convenient store.” He croons mockingly, “Now, should I believe you’re name’s actually Dean Winchester?”
Dean shifts in his seat. He lowers his eyes; the rush of power sends a spark to Sam's groin. “Damn.” Dean mutters, “Holy shit, you’re fucked up.”
Sam laughs, “Damn right, now, what you really in for kid?”
“I-I…” Dean meets Sam's eyes, all traces of terror evaporates into fury. “None of you’re fuckin’ business.”