holdmesamthatwasbeautiful:

Sam is the king of hell, and his subjects fear him,
naturally. They avoid his clear-eyed stare, and cower as he voices his demands
from his throne; they tremble when he enters the room.

However, there’s one another creature they fear more.

His brother, his lifeguard, his consort, his lover.

Dean, the Knight of Hell, who never leaves the king’s
side.

Black-eyed Dean is the most ruthless, merciless
creature to have ever walked through the gates of hell, and if he detects even
the slightest indication that someone’s loyalty towards Sam wavers even in the
faintest way, he eliminates them.

Whenever Sam speaks to his subjects, Dean’s eyes
narrows as he watches the crowd intently. He watches them all; whose gaze is
the least revering? Who ceases to applaud the king first?

He takes them back to the most gruesome place; the heart of hell – Sam is rumored to
have affectionally named the dungeon “the Concert hall”, because the screams
Dean produces in that place constantly echoes like a never-ending, ghastly
symphony in there.  

Sam’s fingers are loosely curled around Dean’s throat,
pushing him up against the wall of the dungeon. Torches crackles around them,
and Dean’s green eyes looks like gems in the yellow light. Dean smells of exhilaration
and violence, and Sam smiles softly.

“Are you enjoying yourself, brother?”

Dean’s teeth gleams when he smiles, his fingers
gripping Sam’s wrist. “They make such pretty noises,” he gasps, as Sam kisses
his neck, gently grazing his teeth across Dean’s jugular.

“Not as pretty as the noises you can do,” Sam
whispers, his hot breath fanning all over Dean’s neck. “Finish him off,” he
orders, thigh pressing against Dean’s hardening cock. “Need to fuck you, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, pulls out his blade, and beheads
the demon chained to the wall; who’s long ago passed out from the torture.

Dean chest heaves. “He was caught mocking your choice
of consort.”

Sam stares down at the severed head, a small smile
tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A fellow of infinite jest,” he mumbles,
reaching out to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean drops to his knees.