Safe for work.

Same world as ‘Up Top‘. A little before, I believe.

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“Nope.” He couldn’t do this.

Dean turned sharply into the darkness of the alcove. It wasn’t private, but it wasn’t the dance floor or the bar and he needed a moment to breathe.  He propped his back against the bare brick wall, digging his fingers into the grooves between the bricks in an effort to feel something solid. But he hissed when the bite of pain sizzled up his forearms, electrifying every little hair on his arms as the sensation traveled further. He groaned, closing his eyes. His body fell far too alive.

“Mmm.” A velvet purr disturbed the hair above his left ear. “Delicious.”

He jerked from the wall, spinning toward the voice only to find empty air. A desperate whimper pushed from his chest as he searched the nearby crowd in vain. None of them were him. “Fuck.”

“Oh, yes,” assured the voice in the same damn place, right above, no near, no just inside his ear. Inside his head. “We most definitely will.”

“Leave me alone,” Dean hissed, backing up, farther into the alcove. His back hit the other wall, his head bonking a wrought iron sconce.

“No.” Sharp, clipped, authoritative. “You sought me out. I accepted your offer. You’re mine.”

“I didn’t know.” Shuddering, he closed his burning eyes. Swallowed in a dry throat. “I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, words abandoning him when an unholy surge of warmth suffused every inch of his skin, exposed or no.

“You knew.” The disembodied voice was impossibly closer. That wasn’t even possible.

What the hell was he? Really? He couldn’t be… Dean swallowed. No way this guy was human.

“Don’t be frightened, pup.” The voice was soft again, soothing, stimulating. “I promise to care for you. Keep you safe. But you must come. To. Me.”

Dean was choking on need.  A visceral, instinctual part of him wanted to obey, wanted to do exactly what he wanted and receive the unimaginable pleasure he knew was being offered. But at what cost? Could anything this intense be good?

The scuff of boots on the floor alerted him. Vaguely wondering that he heard it over the pumping music, Dean snapped his eyes open. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even close. Some guy, a good looking guy but… just, no. Dean couldn’t take the obvious interest in his eyes.

“Hey there,” said the guy, stopping just inside Dean’s personal space.

Dean shook his head, pushing back into the wall. The guy couldn’t touch him. That would be bad.

“Aww.” Taller than Dean by at least a half foot, the guy cast him in shadow as he inched even closer. He lay a hand on the bricks inches above Dean’s left shoulder. “Don’t be like that. Let’s get to know each other.”

He kept shaking his head, unable to speak with the roil of ugly anger that replaced the velvet seduction in his head. His mouth opened and the guy took it as an invitation rather than the beginning of a warning. Helpless, Dean watched him lower his head, anticipating a kiss.

“NO!”

Dean cried out but it was a faint echo of the cry of pain that struck the guy. The very air exploded between them, shoving the guy away from Dean, cracking him into the opposite wall. Dean clung to the bricks as he watched the guy’s body crumble to the ground. Was he dead? No. He couldn’t be dead. That’s not… The guy groaned, but he didn’t look good and he didn’t move except to breathe heavily.

“Mine.” Phantom breathing, as though he was now trying to contain the terrible anger. “Don’t make me hurt anyone else, pup. Come to me. Now.”

Swallowing a whimper, Dean pushed shakily from the wall. He glanced at the guy, glad to see him moving now. He couldn’t let that happen to anyone else. And it would. He’d seen the anger now, from the inside and it was horrible. If Dean tested him, he’d kill someone and it’d be Dean’s fault. “Sorry,” he murmured, knowing the guy didn’t hear him but needing to say it now. But was he apologizing to this guy or to someone else? To himself? This was his fault. He’d gone looking for trouble.

And he’d found it.

Gathering the shards of his courage, Dean left the darkened alcove and followed the pull on his heart to his master.

©2018 Jet Mykles