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mickeymTitle: For Darkness Is As Light To You
Pairing: Azazael (YED)/John
Rating:NC-17, to be safe
Word Count: ~1300
Spoilers: Uh. Only if you haven't seen 2x01, I suppose.
Warnings: Implied non-con (consider the pairing, okay?)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I'm not making any money off them.
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
merihn posted a short bit the other day that paired the Yellow-Eyed Demon and John…and I was instantly intrigued. The YED is an interesting character, and let's face it: he wanted John. At least as much as the Colt, like he said. I think the Demon would've taken great delight in tormenting John in any way he could think of, and hopefully I've done a decent job at showing that. Hope y'all enjoy it; please let me know what you think :)
by Mickey M.
(c) December 21, 2007
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
-- Psalm 139:12
Hell seems at times to be not so much a place as a state, though John has no doubt that's where he's at. The shadows here are longer, darker, and thicker than anywhere else he's ever been. It's like trying to see through tar, heavy strings sliding over everything, with flickers of red dancing around and through them. The air hangs heavy all around, sulfur burning at his nose, and the screams of the other souls trapped here echo and circle endlessly.
Time has no meaning here; John isn't sure if he's been here for a day or a decade, or maybe even longer. He's lost track of how many times that yellow-eyed bastard has been by to taunt him. Tease him. Torment him.
Lost track of the number of lesser demons who've come by to touch him, fuck him, hurt him, some wearing faces of people; some just the inky black insubstantial cloud he's always associated with demons.
The worst of the torment, of the hurt, isn't the physical pain. John's a soldier (was a soldier. He has trouble remembering to think past tense, because in spite of feeling and hearing and knowing, he also knows he's dead). He was a soldier in a war of human doing, and he was a soldier in a war against the supernatural elements. He's been hurt more times than he could count, and after a while, pain stops having much of an impact.
Physical pain, anyway. It's a lot harder to get around the mental pain; the deviousness the demon shows in trying to bend him, shift him, break him.
He knows he's at least a little broken now, because he finds himself craving something -- physical, mental, it's all the same any more, right? -- to take his mind away from what's happening to his boys, his friends, to those remaining few he cares about.
What really pushes it though, and makes him ache with the need to give in, to bend to whatever the bastard wants of him, are the times the damned thing shows up wearing Mary's face like a halloween mask. Christ, he misses her so much, and he smells her perfume, the sweet combination of baby powder and shampoo, with a little dab of something fresh and tangy thrown in. He's held immobile while the thing touches him, hands gentle as they slide across his chest, his face; Mary's mouth sweet and soft against his. Then he'll open his eyes and see yellow eyes shining back at him out of Mary's face, and those gentle touches slice into him, squeeze around his heart until the blood runs out of him, over him.
It's not real, it can't be real; he has no physical, corporeal form any more to bleed out of. But John feels that pain like nothing else, feels the sharp glide of fingernails -- sharp as razors, streaking bright and hot through him -- into soft tissue as yellow eyes burn into his soul.
Burn his soul.
"Leave her out of this, you bastard," John growls, breathing through the waves of pain.
"You want someone else, then?" Sneaky bastard glides around, circling him, puffs of sulfur-scented air wafting past John with each word. "How about this one, Johnny?"
The form in front of him changes slowly, Mary's features fading, stretching, shifting into--
"No. No, you sonofabitch, no--"
"What's the matter, Johnny? Don't like this one either? You are a picky fella, aren't you?" The bastard leans in and licks John's ear, tendrils of light and heat slithering into John's brain, slipping under his skin. "I'm sure Sammy would love to be this close to his daddy. Or should it be Dean? He's so much more the daddy's boy, isn't he? You want to be fucked by your older boy, or your baby boy, Johnny?"
The worst of it is that John can feel Sam, those huge hands and the heat of his body. He cringes away best he can, but there's nowhere to go; the yellow-eyed bastard has him pinned, dangling like a worm on a hook.
"I have a name, you know," Sam's voice rumbles in his ear, but it's wrong, all wrong, the cadence of the words and the words themselves. John shudders.
"No." John's sure it does, but he doesn't want to know. If he knows it'll make it even more real.
Not gonna get any more real than this, John. There's a brief pause, then Azazael, whispers through his mind, twisting and twining with the heat already spooling through there. My name is Azazael. Say it.
John balks, shaking his head as much as he's able, refusal ringing through every tense line of his body. Saying names gives them power, and this bastard has enough power over him already.
"Say it, John. Let me hear my name roll off your tongue." Its tongue teases at John's ear again, then over his neck, quick swipes that make goose bumps rise up in the wake of quick-searing heat. "Sammy wants to hear his daddy call out, John."
Azazael bites his neck, and the physical superimposed over metaphysical is a mindfuck John could do without.
Hot, hot hands glide over his skin, leaving streaks of ash and blisters behind, and a low chuckle makes John's stomach twist even as his cock twitches, hatred and lust bubbling together within him.
"Azazael," he grits out, skin stinging where he's touched.
"Good boy," echoes in his ears, in his mind, whispers along his flesh. John shudders when phantom fingers follow the path of that echo, the physical sensation of Sam gone from against him. "There are rewards for good boys, John," it croons inside over around him. "Do you want your reward?"
John shouts wordlessly when the demon -- Azazael -- enters him. It hurts, it burns, his body invaded in ways he ought to be used to by now but still fights against.
It's full-body, probably not unlike possession. Except it's a merging of his fucking soul with the filthy thing--
Johnny, you wound me, it murmurs from somewhere, and John pictures the smirk, feels the way things expand and grow within him until he's gasping with the pain, with the pleasure, both of them so finely balanced it's hard to sort one out from the other.
Azazael is everywhere within him, filling him and spilling over until John can't separate himself from the demon.
Fucking is too puny a word for this. The demon has him completely and uses him ruthlessly until his body aches and throbs, release held just out of reach until John sobs "please" in a hoarse, rough voice, and still it's held before him, a bright, cool light he can't quite touch.
"I'm going to invade your world, your reality and your son -- this son, my son, John -- will sit by my side as my General. You'll kneel beside me, resting on the ash and bone of all those you loved and couldn't save, and you'll come for me whenever I command it."
John chokes out, "…no…" and hopes he hasn't misplaced trust in Dean; hopes Dean can stop what he can't. Couldn't.
Azazael thrusts into John, huge and solid now, hands roaming over John's body. He keeps his eyes clenched shut, seeing yellow shine anyway; in his mind Sammy stares back at him with yellowed eyes, bones in place of fingers, reaching out to John.
He screams as he comes, as the vision in his head wraps those bony digits around his wrist and tugs. Sam's eyes glow hot yellow as he yanks John's head down for a kiss, and then Sam morphs into Azazael, non-corporeal again, sliding in and out of John faster and faster until everything spins into darkness around him.
~fin~
Pairing: Azazael (YED)/John
Rating:NC-17, to be safe
Word Count: ~1300
Spoilers: Uh. Only if you haven't seen 2x01, I suppose.
Warnings: Implied non-con (consider the pairing, okay?)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I'm not making any money off them.
Notes:
merihn posted a short bit the other day that paired the Yellow-Eyed Demon and John…and I was instantly intrigued. The YED is an interesting character, and let's face it: he wanted John. At least as much as the Colt, like he said. I think the Demon would've taken great delight in tormenting John in any way he could think of, and hopefully I've done a decent job at showing that. Hope y'all enjoy it; please let me know what you think :)by Mickey M.
(c) December 21, 2007
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
-- Psalm 139:12
Hell seems at times to be not so much a place as a state, though John has no doubt that's where he's at. The shadows here are longer, darker, and thicker than anywhere else he's ever been. It's like trying to see through tar, heavy strings sliding over everything, with flickers of red dancing around and through them. The air hangs heavy all around, sulfur burning at his nose, and the screams of the other souls trapped here echo and circle endlessly.
Time has no meaning here; John isn't sure if he's been here for a day or a decade, or maybe even longer. He's lost track of how many times that yellow-eyed bastard has been by to taunt him. Tease him. Torment him.
Lost track of the number of lesser demons who've come by to touch him, fuck him, hurt him, some wearing faces of people; some just the inky black insubstantial cloud he's always associated with demons.
The worst of the torment, of the hurt, isn't the physical pain. John's a soldier (was a soldier. He has trouble remembering to think past tense, because in spite of feeling and hearing and knowing, he also knows he's dead). He was a soldier in a war of human doing, and he was a soldier in a war against the supernatural elements. He's been hurt more times than he could count, and after a while, pain stops having much of an impact.
Physical pain, anyway. It's a lot harder to get around the mental pain; the deviousness the demon shows in trying to bend him, shift him, break him.
He knows he's at least a little broken now, because he finds himself craving something -- physical, mental, it's all the same any more, right? -- to take his mind away from what's happening to his boys, his friends, to those remaining few he cares about.
What really pushes it though, and makes him ache with the need to give in, to bend to whatever the bastard wants of him, are the times the damned thing shows up wearing Mary's face like a halloween mask. Christ, he misses her so much, and he smells her perfume, the sweet combination of baby powder and shampoo, with a little dab of something fresh and tangy thrown in. He's held immobile while the thing touches him, hands gentle as they slide across his chest, his face; Mary's mouth sweet and soft against his. Then he'll open his eyes and see yellow eyes shining back at him out of Mary's face, and those gentle touches slice into him, squeeze around his heart until the blood runs out of him, over him.
It's not real, it can't be real; he has no physical, corporeal form any more to bleed out of. But John feels that pain like nothing else, feels the sharp glide of fingernails -- sharp as razors, streaking bright and hot through him -- into soft tissue as yellow eyes burn into his soul.
Burn his soul.
"Leave her out of this, you bastard," John growls, breathing through the waves of pain.
"You want someone else, then?" Sneaky bastard glides around, circling him, puffs of sulfur-scented air wafting past John with each word. "How about this one, Johnny?"
The form in front of him changes slowly, Mary's features fading, stretching, shifting into--
"No. No, you sonofabitch, no--"
"What's the matter, Johnny? Don't like this one either? You are a picky fella, aren't you?" The bastard leans in and licks John's ear, tendrils of light and heat slithering into John's brain, slipping under his skin. "I'm sure Sammy would love to be this close to his daddy. Or should it be Dean? He's so much more the daddy's boy, isn't he? You want to be fucked by your older boy, or your baby boy, Johnny?"
The worst of it is that John can feel Sam, those huge hands and the heat of his body. He cringes away best he can, but there's nowhere to go; the yellow-eyed bastard has him pinned, dangling like a worm on a hook.
"I have a name, you know," Sam's voice rumbles in his ear, but it's wrong, all wrong, the cadence of the words and the words themselves. John shudders.
"No." John's sure it does, but he doesn't want to know. If he knows it'll make it even more real.
Not gonna get any more real than this, John. There's a brief pause, then Azazael, whispers through his mind, twisting and twining with the heat already spooling through there. My name is Azazael. Say it.
John balks, shaking his head as much as he's able, refusal ringing through every tense line of his body. Saying names gives them power, and this bastard has enough power over him already.
"Say it, John. Let me hear my name roll off your tongue." Its tongue teases at John's ear again, then over his neck, quick swipes that make goose bumps rise up in the wake of quick-searing heat. "Sammy wants to hear his daddy call out, John."
Azazael bites his neck, and the physical superimposed over metaphysical is a mindfuck John could do without.
Hot, hot hands glide over his skin, leaving streaks of ash and blisters behind, and a low chuckle makes John's stomach twist even as his cock twitches, hatred and lust bubbling together within him.
"Azazael," he grits out, skin stinging where he's touched.
"Good boy," echoes in his ears, in his mind, whispers along his flesh. John shudders when phantom fingers follow the path of that echo, the physical sensation of Sam gone from against him. "There are rewards for good boys, John," it croons inside over around him. "Do you want your reward?"
John shouts wordlessly when the demon -- Azazael -- enters him. It hurts, it burns, his body invaded in ways he ought to be used to by now but still fights against.
It's full-body, probably not unlike possession. Except it's a merging of his fucking soul with the filthy thing--
Johnny, you wound me, it murmurs from somewhere, and John pictures the smirk, feels the way things expand and grow within him until he's gasping with the pain, with the pleasure, both of them so finely balanced it's hard to sort one out from the other.
Azazael is everywhere within him, filling him and spilling over until John can't separate himself from the demon.
Fucking is too puny a word for this. The demon has him completely and uses him ruthlessly until his body aches and throbs, release held just out of reach until John sobs "please" in a hoarse, rough voice, and still it's held before him, a bright, cool light he can't quite touch.
"I'm going to invade your world, your reality and your son -- this son, my son, John -- will sit by my side as my General. You'll kneel beside me, resting on the ash and bone of all those you loved and couldn't save, and you'll come for me whenever I command it."
John chokes out, "…no…" and hopes he hasn't misplaced trust in Dean; hopes Dean can stop what he can't. Couldn't.
Azazael thrusts into John, huge and solid now, hands roaming over John's body. He keeps his eyes clenched shut, seeing yellow shine anyway; in his mind Sammy stares back at him with yellowed eyes, bones in place of fingers, reaching out to John.
He screams as he comes, as the vision in his head wraps those bony digits around his wrist and tugs. Sam's eyes glow hot yellow as he yanks John's head down for a kiss, and then Sam morphs into Azazael, non-corporeal again, sliding in and out of John faster and faster until everything spins into darkness around him.
~fin~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 04:18 am (UTC)those images will be burned into my mind, I think.
gorgeous writing as usual, every feeling translated perfectly.
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Date: 2008-01-03 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 05:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 07:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 01:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 09:35 am (UTC)I'm going to invade your world, your reality and your son -- this son, my son, John -- will sit by my side as my General. You'll kneel beside me, resting on the ash and bone of all those you loved and couldn't save, and you'll come for me whenever I command it
So so much love for that image and that Azazel claims Sam as his own son. Awesome work, darling! :)
no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-30 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 03:56 am (UTC)It would totally be like YED to taunt John--if there's anyone who's like, the king of mindfucking, it would be Azazel, I think. And how better to screw with John's head, than make the one he loves most hurt him--and hurt him about the boys he loves? Yeah.
Thanks for reading :) (Are you still all !!!!? *g*)
no subject
Date: 2008-05-17 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-18 11:17 am (UTC)Holy shit! That was just... fuck. That was amazing. So harsh, and painful and evilly, wrongly hot.
♥