#dalastair

[schrodingers-dove]

carpenter's plane

alastair knows that to truly carve a soul into a brand new animal, you have to be willing to carve with more than just pain. because there's carving,

but there's also shaping.

lovingly. with soft kind hands and praising whispers pressed to the shell of a mutilated ear.

so good. so good for him.

a gentle hand sweeping over blooded flesh, shaping him like smoothed curving wood under a carpenter's plane. and the praise wasn't untrue -- he let the honesty creep into his voice -- but there was a purpose to it.

under his hands, a new being was taking shape.

Also on AO3

[schrodingers-dove]

pack(ed)

ao3 link rating: explicit warnings: non-con

usually, alastair's a hands-on kind of demon. but sometimes he likes to watch.

(dean gets gang raped by a pack of hellhounds and also alastair)

[schrodingers-dove]

pulse

possible warnings for implied torture and (imo) extremely mild body horror due to inflation and light asphyxiation from a magic cock?

dean wakes up, cold sweat and nightmares. but not every nightmare is a nightmare. sometimes it's a dream. sometimes it's flesh rended from bone, demonic claws sinking into him.

sometimes it's a hand across his throat, soft and pressing down gently, asphyxiation irrelevant in death as he surrenders himself. his body supple under alastair's hands as he pulls him into position. putting pressure on his throat until his back arches and alastair fills him to his limit, stretching him wide and then wider still. kissing away tears and whispering encouragements into his ear.

he can feel the pulse of alastair's cock pressing the weak and un-protesting muscle of his hole, filling his insides almost to the back of his throat.

dean knows that if he strains against alastair's hand to look he'll see the swell of his own stomach, distended and pulsing almost imperceptibly as alastair expands into him.

he's impossibly, uncomfortably, full and with another hot shuddering pulse, he can taste alastair's essence -- sulfur and wet ash -- in his mouth. and leans up, breathing and un-breathing, to watch as alastair's many faces contort in pleasure and his stomach pulses.

he's awake and it's not a nightmare, but a dream.

also on AO3

[schrodingers-dove]

a little death

over the long centuries of perfecting his technique, alastair learned that torture is far more than just physical pain.it is so, so much more.

it's carving into them, creating as much as destroying. making them beg and scream, crying out for release from pain, from unwanted pleasure.

and dean. the righteous man.

on the rack and willing to endure so much rather than inflict the same on others.

he would take him down, caresses and the gentlest of touches all across his supine body.

coaxing him to completion before ramming home into that battered body.

a torturous little death.

also on AO3

[multishippingrocks]

Title/Link: When the Righteous Man Falls

Author Summary: Dean's lost track of how long it's been. There's no such thing as days in hell. It's all one long intricately twisted web and he's on the last thread of silk before it breaks. He can feel it stretching inside him and around him, getting ready to snap.

Rating: Explicit

Opinion: Oh my god, this fic is dark and twisted but it's magnificent.  Dean/Alistair meets unrequited Wincest, and it's just a whole mess of angst and pain.

[followdelight]

Sleepy kisses you say? Sleepy kisses and chamomile tea yes. Uh oh shit a pairing... AlastairDean (because they need more fluff damnit)

Oh my dear I think you flatter me in thinking I can pull this off.  Here goes nothing… We’re gonna go with demon!Dean/Alastair S10 Hell AU… sound good?

Alastair watched Dean sleeping with a smile.  He’d certainly worn the poor man out last night.  Dean still wasn’t quite used to his new powers as a demon, and a few hours torturing people on the rack, and an exuberant roll in the hay after, had left Dean tuckered out.

Alastair set the cup of tea he had in hand on the night stand and sidled up behind Dean’s sleeping form, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Mmm," Dean moaned, black eyes opening, blinking back to green.

"Well, good morning, sweet prince," Alastair crooned.  Dean preened under the pet name.

"Good morning yourself."

"I made some tea, if you like."

"No chance by tea you mean steak?  I’m famished." Dean said, a teasing smile on his lips.

"Afraid not," Alastair said regretfully.

"I guess I’ll have to make do," Dean kissed Alastair almost chastely before his eyes blackened mischievously.  

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