"Ah, ah, ah, wait." Abaddon purred in Dean's ear, keeping her hand on the man's shoulder and stopping him from moving forwards. Dean stilled obediently, but his lips were parted, and he was more than ready to launch himself on the man in chains at a moment's notice. His eyes were black, and the knife clutched in his hand was already bloodied. "You're going to savour this, aren't you, Dean?"
"Yes, my queen." The words came so easily from Dean's mouth, and Abaddon smiled, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Dean shivered, and she noticed the way his lips twitched, with pride.
Pride was such an awful sin. She kept her left hand on his shoulder, and her right slid from his right arm down, gliding over the bare skin of his all-scarred bicep, the crook of his elbow, his forearm, to clutch the hand he held his knife in. She lifted it up, and he moved with her readily as she rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. That first time she'd threatened him, she'd thought to scare him, terrify him, but upon finding the records in Hell (despicable scum though he was, Crowley had kept impeccable paper copies), she'd realized precisely what had truly scared him.
Corrupting Dean had been such a perfect pleasure for a hedonist like her. "Are you going to tear him apart, Dean?" Abaddon had never met a demon with a such a finesse with the knife as this boy here, and never met one with such a passion for the work, either.
"Yes, ma'am." Dean whispered, and when she tightened her hand on his shoulder, he gave a soft sound. "Please."
"That's my boy." Her boy, her knight in bloodied armour. She couldn't count the demons she'd destroyed for speaking out against Dean's loyalty - for all his wrath, his pride, his greed, Dean remained oh so loyal. And once that brother of his was out of the way, it was quite easy to turn that quality to her.
"Go." Abaddon delighted in the screams of the torn-up creature on the rack, lips quirking into a little grin. "Twist it, Dean!" She called, and Dean obeyed immediately, drawing out a long, low yowl from the soul on the rack.
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FILL, Team Crowley/Sam, Loyalty
Date: 2013-10-24 09:52 am (UTC)"Yes, my queen." The words came so easily from Dean's mouth, and Abaddon smiled, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Dean shivered, and she noticed the way his lips twitched, with pride.
Pride was such an awful sin. She kept her left hand on his shoulder, and her right slid from his right arm down, gliding over the bare skin of his all-scarred bicep, the crook of his elbow, his forearm, to clutch the hand he held his knife in. She lifted it up, and he moved with her readily as she rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand.
That first time she'd threatened him, she'd thought to scare him, terrify him, but upon finding the records in Hell (despicable scum though he was, Crowley had kept impeccable paper copies), she'd realized precisely what had truly scared him.
Corrupting Dean had been such a perfect pleasure for a hedonist like her. "Are you going to tear him apart, Dean?" Abaddon had never met a demon with a such a finesse with the knife as this boy here, and never met one with such a passion for the work, either.
"Yes, ma'am." Dean whispered, and when she tightened her hand on his shoulder, he gave a soft sound. "Please."
"That's my boy." Her boy, her knight in bloodied armour. She couldn't count the demons she'd destroyed for speaking out against Dean's loyalty - for all his wrath, his pride, his greed, Dean remained oh so loyal. And once that brother of his was out of the way, it was quite easy to turn that quality to her.
"Go." Abaddon delighted in the screams of the torn-up creature on the rack, lips quirking into a little grin. "Twist it, Dean!" She called, and Dean obeyed immediately, drawing out a long, low yowl from the soul on the rack.
Oh, yes. Perfect.