Disclaimer: As much as I loathe to admit it, I own nothing. Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and people much better than I, and I don't even own the song. The following is completely fictional. No profit is being made.

Summary: Songfic. Dean is waylaid by an unexpected late night visitor. Rated M. Warnings for M/M - don't like, don't read. Simple as.

Author's Notes: Hi, this is my first ever fanfic so please be kind. The song featured is 'For Your Entertainment' by American Idol 8 runner up, Adam Lambert - be sure to check him out, he rocks! All mistakes are my own. Reviews are muchly appreciated. Enjoy!

For Your Entertainment

So hot out the box
Can we pick up the pace
Turn it up, heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit, are you with it, baby, don't be afraid
I'm 'a hurt you real good, baby

***

Half asleep after a long evening's work, Dean Winchester sensed the presence behind him just a moment too late. A powerful arm constricted around his chest, trapping him against an unfamiliar body with its vice-like grip; a hand crushed to his lips to cut off his yelp of surprise as he felt his attacker's breath tickling his ear.

'Fight me.'

Dean barely heard the whisper above the pounding of his heart, momentarily frozen by the flood of adrenaline that hit his brain.

Then instinct took over.

Overcome by the desire to be free, Dean threw himself backwards in an effort to overbalance them both, clawing viciously at the hand still pressed firmly to his mouth to keep him silent. Rewarded with a satisfying grunt of pain, the hunter braced himself for impact as they toppled to the cold, hard floor, the air knocked from his attacker's lungs. Seizing the opportunity, Dean swung an elbow, aiming squarely for the man's ribs, connecting with a loud crack; the hand on his mouth finally slipping from its grip.

Working enough air into his lungs, Dean yelled for his brother who was fast asleep in the connecting room.

'Sammy!'

Grappling against the arm that held him firmly in place, Dean writhed, kicked and bucked with all the finesse of an unbroken stallion, his pulse spiking as he realised the effect he was having on the man beneath him.

Something hard prodded him in the backside, Dean suddenly finding it hard to swallow; his mouth gone dry. Renewing his efforts to be free he gave a strangled cry as his attacker found his footing on the floor and, with one powerful kick, rolled them both until Dean was pressed face-first into the cold stone.

He could barely breathe under the man's full weight, his skin covered in a clammy sweat as a hand snaked around his throat; hot breath hitting his cheek.

'He can't hear you scream, Dean.'

***

Let's go, it's my show, baby, do what I say
Don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display
I told ya, I'm 'a hold ya down until you're amazed
Give it to ya 'til you're screaming my name

***

Dean was panting hard by the time his hands were bound securely behind his back, the taste of blood in his mouth from biting his own lip in frustration. The knee in his back held him firmly in place as the ropes were knotted extra carefully – not tight enough to cause loss of circulation or pain, but enough that Dean knew he had no hope of escaping without the aid of something sharp.

After a few moments the pressure eased from his back as his attacker stood, grabbing a fistful of Dean's hair and jerking him roughly to his knees.

The hunter winced in pain but refused to make a sound as he fought to get his legs working enough to bring him fully to his feet. He was only upright for an instant before a rough shove had him falling face-first towards the king size bed and left him choking on a mouthful of sheets.

Forcing his panicked breathing under control, Dean shifted his head to stop his own suffocation and used the moment's respite as the man loosened his tie to mentally search the room for a viable weapon. His hunting knife, he knew, was tucked securely under his pillow – too far away to be of any use whilst his hands remained tied.

There was always the gun sitting temptingly upon the bedside cabinet, but he faced the same dilemma: no hands.

Distracted by the thoughts of his escape, the dip of the mattress under added weight barely registered in the mind of the hunter until a strip of cloth was used to blindfold him; cutting off all sight of the room and any possible chance of identifying his captor.

Mentally kicking himself, Dean fought not to whimper as strong arms rolled him onto his back, effectively pinning his arms beneath him.

'What the hell do you want from me?' he demanded, hoping his voice sounded more angry than scared. His question was met with a soft chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, the bed shifting again as the man moved to straddle Dean's hips.

'I want you, Dean Winchester.'

***

A/N: Sorry it wasn't very long but I'm trying to find my footing here. Will be updated shortly.