3d slider slice box

Dean woke up with a start, at first completely and utterly disoriented. He was lying on his bed, fully clothed, and a brief glance at the alarm clock told him it was six a.m. "What the hell?" he rasped. He had no recollection of going to sleep the night before and was more or less certain that he wouldn't have without squaring things out with Sam. Concerned, he sat up only to be hit by the worst dizzy spell he'd ever had in his life. Certain that he would get sick like hell if he didn't lie back down, he dropped back again and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the room had stopped spinning and he again tried to sit up, this time a little slower.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he was more than just a little disoriented. Mostly he felt like he had been drugged out of his mind the night before, but since he hadn't even managed to get anything to eat since breakfast, that could hardly be the explanation.

It took him a good long while to get his act together enough to get off the bed and into the bathroom so he could splash some water on his face. He gripped the edges of the sink, closed his eyes and just stood there for a moment. Then he opened his eyes and glanced back into the room. Sam's bed was untouched.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, pushed away from the sink and staggered back into the room. His head was swimming.

"Perhaps you should reconsider your attitude."

Frigg's voice brought him to a stop and he struggled with his balance for a second. "What the hell are you doing to Sam?" he growled and blinked rapidly a few times to clear his vision.

"I'm not doing anything to Sam," she claimed. She was partially dressed in the fact that she was wearing Sam's shirt.

He couldn't help the feeling of slight hysteria that was trying to settle on him. He fought it back, but only barely. "Like hell. He's not listening to me any more and that's not good news under any circumstances."

Frigg folded her arms over her chest, a smile stretching her lips slightly. "Perhaps if you respected him as an individual rather than treating him like a little child with no sense, he would not be so angry with you right now."

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He staggered over to his bed and dropped down on it. "What the hell are you doing to me?" he growled and looked up at her. The seesawing of the room was making him nauseous.

"Keeping you off balance," she countered. "I want you to leave Sam alone, let him do what he wants to do, and this doesn't go any further."

"Like hell," Dean growled and briefly closed his eyes. The swaying notion settled a little when he closed his eyes, but he couldn't very well fight her if he couldn't see her. "You stay the hell away from my brother, you bitch," he added vehemently and tried to draw himself up on his feet, but failed miserably.

Frigg smiled. "You do not have the power or the fortitude to fight me. All I have to do is want it and you will die a horrible death. Or you could just ... disappear."

"You're not Frigg," he pressed out, one hand clawed into the edge of the bed to keep himself from keeling over and hitting the carpet face first. "You're not a goddess."

Her smile turned a little sour. "That depends on who you ask," she said.

"SAM!" he yelled. If Sam saw him like this, he would know something was up. "SAM!"

"He can't hear you. He won't wake up until I let him," Frigg said.

Dean tried to focus his increasingly unsteady gaze on her while he fought a losing battle against the nausea. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's something you'll never know," she said. "If you let this go, if you ... forget about this, I'll let you live. But nothing comes between me and Sam now. Do you understand?"

Incapable of doing anything more than glare at her right now, Dean did just that. "What the hell do you want from Sam?" he demanded.

"His life force," she said with a smirk on her lips. "And he has so much of that. Psychics are always so much stronger in their life force than anyone else." She stepped forward, laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to get on eye-level with him. "The only way to impart that life force of his is through sex. Lots of it. All the time," she nearly whispered.

He tried to lash out at her, tried to shrug out of her grip and land a punch in her pretty face, but he could barely move and his stomach was doing somersaults at this point. The bile was rising in his throat and he had to make a very conscious effort to remain upright.

"Ah well. I didn't really think it was plausible to keep you around," she said, released his shoulder and stepped back. "Get up," she added.

He wanted to tell her to go to hell, but he couldn't speak. His jaw was locked. And his body responded to her command without his participation.

"I will tell Sam that you've taken off, that you think he's better off with me, that we had a long talk about it and that I'm more capable of protecting him and that it leaves you free to pursue your own goals," she said and nodded toward the door while she grabbed his duffle. "Everything packed?" she asked and smirked. "Let's go, then. We'll take your car. Otherwise it won't be believable, will it?"


He'd been through some doozies when it came to headaches over the past two years, but this one was no joke. He could barely pry his lids apart when consciousness finally caught up to him and he generally wished he hadn't woken up at all. A part of his subconscious mind kicked him harshly, insisting that something was wrong, that he hadn't had anything to drink the night before, and that there was no reason for him feeling this way.

He groaned and burrowed his face into the pillow, then shifted a little and turned his head the other way. Frigg was asleep next to him and the previous night's eye opening experience came back to him. It would explain why he felt tired, but not why he had a humongous headache. He pushed up on his elbows and squinted at the alarmclock on the night stand. Seven thirty. He pursed his lips, closed his lids again and let his head drop for a moment. He needed to get up and get a hold of some painkillers to get rid of that headache. It mostly felt like one of those whoppers he could get if he drank too much alcohol and didn't resupply with water at the same time. Dehydration, in other words.

"Crap," he rasped and sent a glance toward the floor where his clothes lay scattered. He grabbed his boxers, then sat up and took a time-out before he could even think of how to get them on. That thought made him smirk halfheartedly before he did manage that rather simple task.

Dressed only in his boxers, he got to his feet and pushed the fingers of one hand through his hair while trying to comprehend what the hell had happened to make him feel that shitty.

It was at that moment that he realized his duffle wasn't in the next room, it was in this one. He frowned lightly and glanced at the connecting door. The argument he'd had with his brother the night before came back to him and he grimaced. "Shit," he whispered, patted over to the door and turned the nob. Nothing happened. He pulled lightly at the door, but it didn't budge.


Frigg's voice made him abandon the door for a moment. He turned back to face her. "He's locked the door," he said.

The look in her eyes made him a little uneasy. She looked almost sad. "Sam ... Dean left," she said.

He blinked. "Left?" he countered. The word made little sense to him right now. "What do you mean, left? Where'd he go?"

"I don't know," Frigg countered. "I was up an hour ago and ... well ... he was packing the car."

"Packing the car?" A sensation of dread washed over him and cleared his mind a little. He was able to distract himself away from the headache. "What are you talking about?"

"I think you're going to have to accept that he's gone, Sam," she said and smiled vaguely. "But it's okay. You've still got me."

The headache receded completely while the anger began to grow. This was wrong. Very wrong. Dean wouldn't leave without telling him, no matter what his reasons were for leaving. "Where's Dean?" Sam glared at her, somehow believing that his anger might make an impression on her. "Where's my brother?"

Frigg eyed him in return. "I already told you, Sam. He left. He said he didn't want to get you into more trouble and ..."

"Bullshit!" he snapped. He was angry because he was scared. It dawned on him that her ministrations were draining him. He felt weak, feeble, tired and he was beginning to suspect that the headache was her doing in some way. But if there was one thing he knew for sure, then it was that Dean wouldn't leave him, no matter what. Dean didn't leave. He stuck around and bullied him until he saw things Dean's way. "My brother wouldn't leave me like this. Not without an explanation."

This earned him a sigh. She stepped up to him. "Calm down, Sam. I know it's hard for you to believe that your brother would do this, but he did. And that's all there is to it. If you don't believe me, call him," she said. Her tone had an undercurrent of hurt in it and he realized that she was playing him. She was stringing him along and he had fallen for it before. But not any more.

"Don't tell me to calm down. I can't calm down," he snapped and tried to sidestep her to get to his phone. He needed to call Dean, needed to get through to his brother and hear this from him. But Frigg planted both hands on his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"I can calm you down," she said, her tone suddenly sensual. It almost vibrated. He could feel it translating from her hands into his chest.

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands back, then pulled back a step. "Get off me," he growled and again tried to sidestep her, but she once again stopped him by stepping in his way.

"I don't think so," she said. Her expression had turned a little stony and she didn't even bat an eyelash when she gave him a shove that sent him reeling backward until he stumbled into the bed and sat down hard on it. "You're mine. You might as well reap what you can from it."

He stared at her. "You're nuts," he said and tried to get up, but she moved with lighting speed, covering the distance between them in a flash, and shoved him back down. "Stop that. I need to call Dean."

"Later," she said, her tone as stony as her expression. She grabbed his chin with one hand and pulled him back to his feet, her grip vice-like. "Right now, you're going to give me what I need."

He grabbed her wrist with both hands, intent on getting her to back off. He sure as hell was in no mood for any close encounters with her. "No," he snapped, but realized instantly that he couldn't even shift her hand a fraction of an inch. "Let go of me," he warned.

"Or what? You'll hit me?" she asked and smirked. It was just about the coldest expression he'd ever seen. She shoved him again, this time landing him on the bed on his back. He flexed his jaw and tried to sit up, but she pushed him back again, dropping down on one knee on the bed. "Stay," she told him, her tone cold.

"You can't make me." He knew he was in over his head, knew that she wasn't what he had wanted to believe. Somehow she had influenced him, playing innocent, playing unenlightened. And the worst was that she could read his mind. It would make it downright impossible for him to plan a way out of this.

"Oh, but I think I can make you," she cooed and smiled coldly.

"Where's Dean? What did you do to him?" The fear that she might have killed his brother rippled through him. He thought he would know if something bad had happened to Dean, but he had no real sense of it right now.

"Don't worry about him now, sweety," she said and planted one hand on his chest when he again tried to sit up. "That little whore started this path, you know. I realize that you tried to talk her out of it, but like a devout little follower, she wouldn't listen to you, would she? It's so easy to instill complete obedience in weak minds. Like your father did in your brother. Dean never really was an individual, was he? He was more like a puppet on a string, doing exactly what daddy wanted him to do. But hey. Whatever floats your boat, right?"

"Shut up," he snarled. "You don't know anything about my brother."

"I know everything. It's all there, in your head," she disagreed and tapped a finger against his brow. "But, enough talking. I need what you've got to maintain this shape. Human bodies are so damned frail. It's hard for them to contain the essence of a goddess."

Instead of trying to sit up again, he pulled himself backward in an attempt to get away from her, although he was fairly confident in the assumption that she had telekinetic powers as well. As if to prove the point, she stopped his backward motion with the wave of one hand. An invisible weight suddenly slammed into him, knocking him back down on the mattress and making escape impossible.

"Don't try to get away from me, boy. You can't," she said, still smiling.

"Why are you doing this?" he rasped, barely able to speak with the pressure she put on him.

She eyed him. "Enough talk," she repeated and released the pressure.

He sucked in a lung full of air. "Where is Dean?"

Her eyes darkened and she leaned in over him, her expression anything but pleased. "I said enough talk," she snarled and placed a hand flat on his chest.

It felt like she was touching a live wire to his chest and it sent him into a cramp-like state where every damned muscle in his body contracted, arching him off the bed, his fingers clawing ineffectively at the covers under him. It hurt like hell, but he couldn't scream. His jaw was locked too tightly.

When she finally stopped the assault, he nearly collapsed. Gasping for breath, every fiber tingling with the aftereffect, he allowed himself a moment to regain his composure while a plan began to take shape. If he fought her, she was going to kill him or incapacitate him. There was no doubt in his mind about that. So he needed to go about this differently. He was gonna have to put up with whatever she had in mind next and do so without opposing her. And as soon as he could see his chance, he had to get the hell out.

She made a move with one hand and he was pulled completely up on the bed by unseen forces. He lashed out for the head of the bed, wove his fingers into the white-painted metal grid and pulled himself upward a little.

"That's better," she said. "Now, let's get busy, shall we?" she added with a smirk and traced the tip of her right index finger over his chest toward the waistband of his boxers.

He swallowed, barely preventing a grimace. This was definitely the last thing he wanted to do. He needed to get out of here and find his brother as fast as possible, but as long as she was hellbent on this, there was no way out of it.

And hellbent she was. It made him think she had to be a demon, something he could exorcize. He closed his eyes when she pulled his boxers down, his grip on the grating behind him tightening enough to draw blood. He tried to distract himself, tried to ignore what was going on, but she was amazingly gentle at first and quickly got a rise out of him. In part he felt betrayed by his own body, but he needed to focus on what had to happen afterward. He couldn't consciously focus on it, though.

She closed her lips around him and he jerked at the feel of her tongue against his already straining erection. He wanted nothing more than to get the hell out, get the hell away from her. She applied too much suction at first and he nearly went through the roof with a long-winded gasp that bordered on a whimper. 'Keep that up and I'll be done in about two minutes,' he thought aggressively and fought back the urge to kick her. His position was too vulnerable right now. She could hurt him severely just by tightening her jaw. She would hurt him. He had no doubt that she could inflict injuries that would have him crawling to get anywhere and he couldn't allow that. He had to subdue his disgust and go with the flow right now. He had never been good at switching off his thoughts and had often wondered if anyone really could do that. He couldn't even idle. Even when he sat and stared into space, his mind was running a mile a minute.

She circled her thumb and index finger around the base of his dick and swallowed him whole. The tip of it actually brushed against the back of her throat and he moaned despite himself. He hated her guts right now, feared her more than anything, but man this felt like nothing he'd ever tried before. She went down on him like a pro, ran her tongue up the back of his straining erection when she pulled back up again, while racking her teeth lightly over the front, reminding him how precariously close he was to having a severely painful encounter with her if he didn't play ball.

Within minutes he was lathered in sweat, his face pressed into his right upper arm while he was trying to both hate her and go with the flow. His body hummed in tact with every move she made and he had the feeling this was more than just sex, more than just very, very good sex. She was sucking on his life force more than anything and if he allowed it to continue, if he let her do this to him again, he knew she would suck him dry, figuratively speaking. In a sense she was a succubus, but there was more to her than that.

He moaned, his grip on the grating behind him painfully hard, his breath coming in labored gasps. He wasn't about to tell her to slow down or to hold back for a minute. This wasn't something he wanted dragged out for long. Just long enough for it to do whatever it did to her so he could use her subsequent need for sleep to get the hell out of Dodge and hopefully find his brother on the way.

Somehow, she dragged it out, though. The threshold between painfully good and just painful was passed somewhere along the line and he wanted to come, wanted to get the release, but he couldn't. He wasn't trying to hold back, but something forced him to, something was holding him back and her ministrations became more violent, more angry after a bit. He went from moaning with guilty pleasure to gasping at the painful pull she put on him. He was sore already and sweating like a damned pig and he reached the point where he started considering to beg her to stop, to beg her to please get it over with, when she suddenly raised her head and released his throbbing cock.

He shifted, tried to will himself to come, but nothing happened. The pressure was high, but there was no release in sight. She pulled his shirt, which she had been wearing, up over her head and threw it aside, then slid her hands up over his stomach to his chest and leaned in close. "This doesn't have to hurt, you know. It can be quite pleasant for you," she said, her voice husky with unbridled desire.

He refrained from answering that. All he could think of was release. He needed it so desperately and she wouldn't let him have it.

She smirked, grabbed his straining cock harshly and guided him home, pushed down on him slowly and he almost whimpered in response. She rode him hard, kept dragging it out, and he was gasping for breath, writhing beneath her with every thrust because it hurt. It had gone from being sore to being damned painful and tears mingled with the sweat rolling down his face, but even though he was free to move as he wanted to, he did nothing to stop her. All he did was beg for it to be over, silently, in his mind.

And then she suddenly stopped moving and that was actually worse right now. He squinted at her, released the grating with one hand to wipe away sweat from his eyes, while he tried to determine what the hell she was waiting for. "Touch me," she said.

It was a simple request, really, but he didn't want to. He wanted this to be over with so he could get the hell away from her. And then it suddenly hit him that she so far hadn't responded to any of his rebellious thoughts. And most of them had been out in the open already. He narrowed his eyes a little, considered her request, her demand, and sneered. He couldn't help it.

Her eyes darkened. "I want you actively involved. Right now," she snarled, no longer so pretty when her face was twisted with anger like that.

The thought of having to continue this torture willfully made him nearly gag. God, he was so sore he was sure he was bleeding and the thought of having to continue the chafing of his own accord was sickening. "I can't," he rasped. "Please."

Her features evened and a vicious smile curled her lips. "Of course you can, lover," she cooed. "You won't come until you do."

Again he wished desperately that he had memorized the exorcism rites. 'Suck it up', he reprimanded himself. The sooner he got on with things, the sooner she would fall asleep. She had fallen asleep last night and had slept soundly until this morning from what he knew. On the other hand, so had he. But he was going to make damned sure that didn't happen now and the soreness was going to aide him in that. The more sore he was, the more likely it was that he wouldn't fall asleep once this torture session was over.

"Okay," he whispered and nodded once. He peeled his fingers off the grating and slipped both hands onto her sweat-slick thighs. The look in her eyes changed. He turned his attention to his hands instead of watching her face and slid them upward, tightening his grip on her flesh. She didn't seem to mind and he put a little more pressure into it, still without any response from her other than a low moan. She obviously liked it rough. Then again, this wasn't her body. She probably didn't care if it got hurt. Unless she wasn't a demon? Maybe she couldn't body-hop like demons could? That would make life easier when it came to getting rid of her and he was working on a plan. Whether it would work was a different matter, but he couldn't focus on that now.

He grabbed her around the waist and flipped her over on her back without ever pulling out of her. She wrapped her legs around him and slipped her hands up on his face. He braced himself with one hand on the mattress, slipped the other under the small of her back and levered her upward a bit. If he couldn't avoid the pain this was causing him, he was going to give some back. He moved slowly but harshly at first, driving into her with enough force that it would have been very uncomfortable for a normal woman. But she moaned and arched her back, met him halfway, and it increased the power of his thrusts.

Despite the fatigue that tugged at his senses and the burning pain from his dick, he sped it up, rammed into her like there was no damned tomorrow, his teeth grinding together with every move, his eyes half closed to shield himself from her probing eyes. And the need to blow his load grew with every damned move. He grunted with the effort of keeping his pain under wraps. It wasn't hard to fake the arousal and it struck him hard that this situation in a way turned him on. That was so many ways of messed up that he nearly chuckled manically. But at the same time it was no laughing matter.

Teetering on an edge she wouldn't let him fall from, he chomped down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood while every muscle in his body vibrated and strained and he felt like he was going to blow something if she didn't give in soon. When he felt the first ripple of her impending climax, he almost yelped. The clench of her abdominal muscles was so tight, he almost couldn't move for a second. It made him think of a horror comic he had once read, after he had discovered that girls weren't icky and a while before he had actually had real sex for the first time. He had been morbidly fascinated by the implications of drawn violent sex. Reading it had given him a hard on the size of the damned Eiffel Tower and back then he had praised his lucky stars that neither dad nor Dean had been aware of the embarrassment.

He had picked the comic up in a store somewhere, fascinated by the crude yet obvious monster depicted on the front page. A succubus, a female demon that violated men in their sleep for the means of getting their semen. But this succubus had been more extreme, the imagination of the author had obviously run away with him when he had done the drawings. This succubus had teeth in her vagina and she had sliced the guy's dick right off while having sex with him. The closer she got to climaxing, the more those teeth had poked out, first scraping against the guy's dick, then ripping it open, until finally, when he blew his load, his dick was cut clean off.

He remembered being terrified and he remembered his jittery fear the first time they had gone up against a succubus. Hell, they'd only ever gone up against one and he had been scared shitless without having the balls to tell neither dad nor Dean why this specific hunt had him up in arms. He'd only been fifteen at the time and the comic had been fresh in his memory. He had burned the damned thing after they got back to the motel apartment they had stayed at back then. He had salted and burned it and hadn't slept the night after and dad had been furious with him for being a wimp without knowing what had caused it.

Frigg reminded him of that creature right now and that old chill that had overcome him at the thought of the succubus rippled through him again, irrational as it was. But he kept going, shut his eyes tight and rammed into her again and again until she climaxed and allowed him the same.

The release was bitter-sweet. It was liberating, but also exceedingly painful and he couldn't keep the whimper at bay. Actually, it was more like an all-out groan of agony. He clawed his fingers into the mattress, while his arms jittered dangerously. The fatigue swept him in the wake of the release and nearly brought him down, but he couldn't let it. He needed to stay awake desperately.

With his eyes closed, he pulled out of her, barely preventing another groan of agony, and pushed up on his hands and knees to get off the bed.

Before he could get any further, though, her hand slipped behind his neck and held him back. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice sleepy.

"Bathroom," he rasped and met her eyes while clearing his mind of all thoughts for a moment.

She squinted at him for a second, then released him and closed her eyes.

He pulled back off the bed, grabbed his boxers and made his way over to the bathroom. Inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it, letting the cool wood sooth his burning skin for a moment. Almost afraid to, he glanced down himself and grimaced and the redness of his dick. He would have to be careful to avoid any kind of arousal for a while.

The urge to wash her smell off him was overwhelming and he stumbled into the shower stall. The shower was the quickest he'd ever had and all while he was standing under the spray, his hands braced against the tiles, he feared she was going to come looking for him. But she didn't and when he finally reemerged, she was still sleeping.

Intent on getting out, well aware that it was his only chance, he picked up his jeans and shimmied into them, carefully avoiding contact with his crotch for now. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, then stuck his bare feet into his sneakers, all the while keeping an eye on the sleeping monstrosity disguised as a girl.

The fear of her waking up was what kept him going right now and he sucked all the energy out of it that he could. He backed up to the chair where his duffle was, grabbed his phone lying on top of it and stuffed it into one pocket, then grabbed the duffle and his jacket and backed up to the door. And still she hadn't woken up.

Too aware of potential failure to feel any triumph at the situation, his heart fluttered in his chest. With his luck at the moment, he wasn't likely to get further than the parking lot before she caught up to him, but he had to take the risk. As carefully as he could, he opened the door, stepped outside and closed it again just as silently. With his heart in his throat, he turned and hurried down the steps from the outside balcony running the length of the building and stopped briefly to take a look around. He needed a car. His eyes settled on one just next to the stairs, but he dropped the idea instantly. Too close to the motel. He needed to find something out of the way.


Page 8