The thing about Winchesters is… well… they’re Winchesters. No matter how their relationship changes and what else they are to each other (brothers, friends, hunting partners, whatever) they’re Winchesters first and foremost, forever and ever, amen. No one knows a Winchester better than a Winchester. It’s as though they have guidebooks about each other created over a lifetime of shared rooms, drinks, hunts, and pranks. Written in the ink of arguments over first shower privileges, whiskey dulled stitches, thrown punches, and bad movies. Pages made from stretching out across the Impala’s backseat, all sharp edges and gangly limbs, shoving each other and vying for space. Move over, Jerk and Where am I supposed to go, Dork? hissed back and forth in furious whispers while trying not to wake Dad in the front seat. It’s loving each other more than the last bowl of Lucky Charms, more than Christmas, more than vengeance, more than “normal” or “safe”, more than life, and more than death.
It’s knowing each other so well that, with Cassie’s memory still aching and cannibalistic rednecks only days behind them, Sam wasn’t surprised by Dean tumbling into his bed; reeking of whisky, smoke and chalk dust, biting apologies into Sam’s mouth even as he rutted against Sam’s hip, desperate for pressure and release. Just like Dean hadn’t been surprised two months later that, once their Dad was safely in his own room with the Colt under his watchful eye, Sam had fallen on him like a man starved. He would always remember being pinned face first against the door; white paint flaking, sticky and itchy against his skin, Sam’s guttural words rumbling in his ear (Not his, mine. Won’t lose you too, Goddamnit. Fucking demon can’t have you, won’t let him), teeth burying into the juncture of his neck and shoulder when Sam shuddered and spent as deep inside as he could go.
It’s Sam’s need to control, and Dean’s need to let go, and another bag showing up in the Impala’s trunk, slowly but surely being filled with supplies and tools of a different kind. This thing between them, whatever shape it takes, is soul deep and as natural to them as breathing.
The point is, nobody knows them like they know each other, and sometimes Sam thinks that he might know Dean better than Dean knows himself. So when Sam comes out of the shower to find Dean on the floor at the foot of the hotel bed (knees hip width apart, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward; the position Sam taught him) he’s more than a little surprised, and that cannot bode well. Sam only hesitates long enough to take in Dean’s position before he continues his relaxed stride past Dean to his bed. True to their rules, Dean doesn’t move or make a sound, not even when Sam throws his towel in the direction of the bathroom and stands naked as he digs something to wear out of his duffel bag.
Sam’s mind is racing in circles, not really paying attention to what he picks as he starts getting dressed. While this something they both enjoy, it isn’t something they do all the time, either. It hasn’t been long since their last session, Dean’s even been relaxed the last few days. None of their recent hunts were difficult, hell, the worst injury either of them has had in the last two weeks were sore muscles from digging up graves. So what could have sparked this spur of the moment decision? Sam knew it was spur of the moment; it had to be, because the dinner Dean had left to get was still sitting on their small table and Dean hadn’t taken the time to strip. Dean probably didn’t decide to do this until Sam was coming out of the bathroom, and that means something happened while Sam was in the shower. Sam finishes pulling on his socks and walks over to stand in front of Dean, their diner take out forgotten.
Dean is still holding his form. There’s a barely visible shift in his perception and Sam can tell that all of Dean’s attention is on him even though Dean’s eyes never leave their spot on the door. He’s taken his boots off, but otherwise is still dressed the way he was when Sam started his shower; faded blue jeans that are fraying around the cuffs, long sleeve khaki green button up over a heather gray shirt, he’s even still wearing his watch. With the boots gone, Sam can see that his socks are dingy with age and worn so thin that there’s a hole over the ball of his right foot. There’s something strangely vulnerable about that one circle of skin when everything else is covered. Sam runs a hand through Dean’s hair, forever surprised by how soft and fine it feels between his fingers. Dean just barely arches into the touch, but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Dean, look at me.”
Immediately his eyes jump to Sam’s and he tilts his head up slightly. He’s trying to look at ease, but Sam can see the tightness around his eyes and the slight downturn of his lips. Sam searches his face trying to figure out what sparked this but, for all that he can read his brother, he’s coming up empty.
Cupping Dean’s cheek in his hand, Sam asks instead, “What do you need?”
Dean hesitates for just a second before he rasps out, his voice scratchy with nerves, “You.”
Sam brushes his thumb under Dean’s eye. “And you always have me. But I need to know what you need from me.”
Talking about the things he wants is something Dean has never been comfortable with, and asking for the things he needs is even harder. They’ve been working on communication like this for a while, but Dean still has a hard time with it sometimes so Sam just waits, patient and still. He can see Dean working through it, turning his face into Sam’s palm and closing his eyes before he mumbles out, “You. I need-” he cuts off and bites his lips before continuing, “I need to feel this. I just need you.” He looks directly at Sam then, eyebrows furrowed as though he’s not exactly sure that’s what he should have said.
Sam nods, bringing his other hand up to cradle Dean’s face. “Ok. I’ll be happy to give you whatever you need.” As Dean relaxes Sam adds, “I want to know what brought this on though.”
All the tension snaps back into Dean’s form and his gaze drops down, away from Sam. “I just do.”
Sam’s head tilts to the side as he takes in the sudden change in Dean’s posture and drops his hands away from Dean’s face. “What was the number one rule I set when we started this, Dean?” He waits for a moment through Dean’s fidgeting silence and furrows his brows before continuing, “I said that if we could not be absolutely honest with each other, then we weren’t doing this.” Dean flinches hard and Sam lifts Dean’s chin until Dean is meeting his eyes again. “Now, I’m going to ask one more time, and if you lie to me again I will pull the plug on this right now. So, what brought this on, Dean? You normally dance around this for days before we have a session. What’s wrong?”
Dean’s gaze drifts downward again and Sam jerks Dean’s chin up further, forcing him to keep eye contact. They stare at each other and Sam’s about to let go and declare this done when Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath and starts talking. “You got a phone call while you were in the shower. The number wasn’t saved so I thought it might be someone that needed help and answered it. It was Becky.”
“Becky? Like, Zach and Becky from Stanford, Becky?”
“Yeah. She, uh, got a new phone and she wanted you to have the new number.” Dean’s smile stretches brittle, “She also wanted you to know that she found that apartment you told her about. It is apparently very nice and she wants you to come see it yourself. I just-” Dean looks away again and this time Sam lets him. “I know you are going to leave one day, Sam, I just forget that sometimes. I didn’t expect it to be so soon and it surprised me is all. I thought I’d have a little warning or something, ya know? Never mind, this was stupid, I’m fine.”
Dean falls out of posture, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Sam’s hand pushing on his shoulder stops his attempts to stand and Dean watches Sam’s face for a moment before slowly getting back into position.
A heavy sigh of relief bursts from Sam as he gets down on his knees, level with Dean and once again cradles Dean’s face in his hands. “First of all, the apartment’s not for me. She and Zach moved, they wanted to be away from St. Louis and all the bad memories there, so they packed up and headed back to California. They’ve been staying with friends and while we were talking I told her about an apartment complex Jessica and I had been looking at before… well, before.” Dean’s looking at him now, searching his face for the lie. “Dude, I’m not gonna just up and leave you with no warning, ok? I’m not going anywhere. I mean, yeah, I want normal and safe, but that’s not going to happen until Yellow Eyes is dead, and if I do go? I plan on taking you with me.”
“I’m not giving up hunting, Sam.”
“I know. I never thought you would. And it’s not like I could go back to college and finish my degree now anyway, not with half the country thinking we’re serial killers. Part of me still wants us to have our own home though. Some place permanent to come back to between hunts. I’d like us to have that one day, once things settle down some. But I promise I wouldn’t just take off and leave you behind.” Sam presses his lips to Dean’s forehead before he stands. Dean is still watching his every move and looking heartbreakingly hopeful. Sam makes a decision then. “Do you still want to do this, or is it too much for tonight?”
Dean swallows around the thickness in his throat before he answers, “Yeah. Yes, I still want it.”
“Ok then.” Sam offers Dean a hand and helps him to his feet. “Strip.” He waits until Dean has started taking off his shirts before he continues, “First, you are going to be disciplined, starting with no talking unless I tell you to, beginning immediately.” Dean’s hands slow on his buttons but he doesn’t stop, even though he looks at Sam questioningly. “I don’t care that you answered my phone, but you didn’t talk to me about what was wrong and when I asked you, you blatantly lied to me about it. That’s not acceptable, Dean. Honesty is my number one rule for a reason, and if I can’t trust you to be honest with me about this stuff, then I can’t trust you. The only reason anything is still happening tonight is because you did finally tell me once I gave you an ultimatum. I shouldn’t have to do that though.” Pink tinges Dean’s cheeks as he steps out of his boxers, and Sam’s pretty sure that has nothing to do with his nudity. “Fold your clothes neatly and put them on the floor at foot of your bed.”
As Dean does what he was told, Sam picks his belt up off his own bed before going to pull one of the wooden chairs out. He sets his belt next to him on the table and sits down to watch Dean stacking his clothes. “Good. Now come here.” Dean takes the few steps to stand in front of Sam, his eyes jumping back and forth between the way Sam’s sitting and the belt lying on the table. It doesn’t take much to figure out where Sam’s going with this and it’s clear Dean doesn’t like it. Discipline isn’t something they’ve had to do a lot of and this is the first serious infraction Sam can remember Dean having. Pain doesn’t bother Dean over much, and Sam knows that. So the pain of the spanking won’t be the discipline so much as the rest of it will be. “Yeah, this is going to be exactly what it looks like. You’re going over my knees and I’m going to beat your ass. And for every single one you will count it, tell me why you are in trouble, and you will thank me for it. Those are the only things you are allowed to say. We’re going to keep doing this until your ass is too red to take anymore or you get it through your thick skull that you are not allowed to lie to me, Dean. Do you understand?”
Dean nods stiffly and at Sam’s raised eyebrow he answers, “Yes, Sam.”
“Good.” Sam braces his legs and motions Dean forward with his right hand, “Then get down here.” Dean shuffles those last couple of steps and squats down while leaning over to lower himself onto Sam’s lap. Sam wraps his left arm over Dean’s back and keeps a hand on his waist to steady him as lays his weight across Sam’s legs. “Put your hands on the floor to steady yourself.” It’s awkward and uncomfortable, even once Dean is stabilized with his legs stretched out behind him and his palms on the floor. His face is already dark red with embarrassment. Sam keeps his left hand holding Dean’s hip and settles his right hand over the curve of Dean’s ass. “We’re going to start like this and once you’re warmed up I’m going to switch to the belt. Remember what I said, Dean, because I will keep going until I think your listening.”
Sam doesn’t wait for an answer before bringing his cupped hand down hard on Dean’s ass. There’s a startled huff of air as Dean jolts with surprise, but he settles immediately and grits out, “One.”
Sam is rubbing his palm over the spot, letting the heat from the contact seep into their skin, “And why are you in trouble?”
“Because I lied. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam hums thoughtfully and lays another blow on top of the first, just above the tops of his thighs, where Dean will feel it each time he sits.
The shock is more expected this time and Dean only twitches before he answers, “Two. I’m in trouble because I lied to you. Thank you, Sam.”
“Oh, you are definitely going to have to do better than that. Why are you in trouble?”
Two blows fall in quick succession, startling a grunt out of Dean. “Three, four.” He thinks for a second before he continues, “I’m in trouble because I broke your rule. Thank you, Sam.”
“Well, you’re starting to think it through, at least. Keep going.” Two more blows and Sam tightens his grip with his left hand, trying to help Dean stay steady when he tenses up.
That spot on his ass is starting to ache, and the heat of Sam’s hand between swats is not helping. Dean forces himself to relax before he answers. “Five. Six. I’m in trouble because I lied to you, which is against your rules. Thank you, Sam.” The next three lands without warning and Dean has to bite back the words that want to escape as the ache deepens and spreads hotly across his skin. “Seven, eight, nine. I lied and broke your rules. Thank you, Sam.” Another blow lands and Dean grits his teeth against it, but the second blow lands on his left ass cheek, which startles Dean enough he twists to look back.
Sam has to grab Dean’s thighs as well as his hips to keep him steady across Sam’s lap and resettle him into position. Once Dean is no longer in danger of sliding off, Sam lets loose a flurry of hits to Dean’s left side. He thinks it might have been seven, but he wasn’t actually counting. “Those were not for counting, those were for squirming. Do not make me drop you, Dean.”
The suddenness and the ferocity his punishment was so unexpected that Dean couldn’t stop his surprised cry. He was just glad it had been a wordless sound, as he gripped the chair legs until his knuckles turned white. Both sides of his ass are hot and aching now and Sam’s hand rubbing over the sore spots is not at all soothing. He only just notices Sam’s hand leaving his skin before it falls twice more, once on each ass cheek. “Nine, ten” he gasps out, the heat like an itch that won’t stop. “Lying is against your rules. Thank you, Sam.”
“Actually, that was ten and eleven, but you’re getting there. Good boy.” Sam gives what could only be described as an affectionate pat to Dean’s bottom. Sam waits, fingers trailing lightly over Dean’s reddened skin until he starts to relax again, letting go of the chair legs and letting his head fall forward. Once the tension leaves his brother, Sam reaches over to the table and picks up his belt. Dean’s head comes up when he feels the movement, but otherwise he stays still while Sam wraps the belt around his hand and leaves only a short loop to swing. He immediately brings the belt down with a resounding crack across the curve of Dean’s ass.
Dean doesn’t even try to stop this time, groaning at the fire heat that spreads through him. “Twelve. I’m in trouble because lying is against your rules. Thank you, Sam.” The belt resting across his ass is even less soothing than Sam’s hand had been, the cold weight of it just obvious enough not to ignore and irritating enough that an actual itch starts underneath his skin.
Sam hums, the thumb of his left hand making tiny circles on Dean’s hip. “Think about it this way, then. Why is lying against the rules, Dean?” He gives that a moment to sink in before tightening his grip on Dean and putting four stripes across his ass, each blow overlapping the other, working up from the already tender place above his thighs to just below his tailbone.
“Fuck!” explodes out of Dean's mouth before he can stop it, and he tries to curl in on himself; hips pushing down against Sam’s broad thigh in an attempt to move away from the pain, his feet leaving the floor as his knees pulled upward, his spine curled as much as Sam’s hold would let him, tucking his head down, his amulet pressing into his throat, and grasping Sam’s leg. After he catches his breath Dean gasps out, voice thick and forced, “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. Because you can’t trust me if I lie. Thank you, Sam.”
“That’s right. If you’re lying to me, then I can’t take care of you the way you need it because I can’t trust you to let me know what you need or if something is too much. So, I’ll ask again, WHY are you in trouble, Dean?”
One slap lands dead center of his ass but Dean is prepared for it. “Seventeen. Because I didn’t tell you what I really needed, I lied to you, and that isn’t safe. Thank you, Sam.”
“There we go.” Sam keeps his right hand resting on Dean’s lower back, the belt snaking over the edge of his hip and brushing the side of Sam’s leg, and he turns Dean’s face toward him with his left hand. “No more counting or explanations, but I want you to think about that while we finish this, ok? And you can make sounds if you need to.” He waits for Dean’s nod before letting go of Dean and turning back to the task. He rearranges Dean on his lap one last time, making sure he is balanced before Sam brings the belt back down hard enough the crack echoed across the room.
Dean’s muffled, “shit,” barely registers to Sam as he keeps striking the belt, back and forth across Dean’s ass, making sure to cover every inch. He keeps his swings hard and steady, not giving Dean enough time to prepare for the next one, but keeping them far enough apart that he can feel the separation between blows. He remembers their father using the phrase “tan your hide” and, although he never did it, Sam thinks that it’s pretty accurate. He marks everywhere, swinging until Dean’s entire ass is a deep red, his skin looks almost shiny it’s so sore, and there are darker spots forming at the bottom where the punishment began. Dean is starting to shake and Sam wouldn’t call that crying, but his breathing is coming in ragged gasps that sound suspiciously wet. Dean moans loud and long minutes later when Sam finally puts the belt back on the table and rubs his bare hand across the abused skin before digging his fingers in tight. The white spots that appear are slow to fade, but Sam isn’t really satisfied until he lightly drags his nails across Dean’s ass and his brother jolts like Sam had struck him again.
“Thank you, Sammy.” The look on Dean’s face says that he hadn’t really decided to say anything.
Sam just murmurs, “Good boy,” while he goes back to soothing over the tender areas, his hand tingling and nearly numb by now, but he can still feel the fever heat flush coming off his brother’s flesh.
Once he’s had his fill of touching, Sam steadies Dean as they both stand. “I’d like to not need to do this again, ok?” Dean is hunched and awkwardly embarrassed, but he nods quickly. “Good.”
Sam reels Dean in then, kissing him softly once, twice, before letting the kiss grow. A moan rumbles through them as it grows more heated, and Sam’s not entirely sure which one of them made the sound. He lets himself enjoy the taste and the feel of his brother while one hand buries itself in Dean’s hair and the other grips proprietary at his ass. Dean grunts in pain when Sam’s finger tips dig in and Sam uses that moment to pull Dean back gently by his hair. He nips playfully at Dean’s lower lip and chin before finally pulling away. They’re both breathing heavily, pupils blown, and faces flushed. Sam can easily see that Dean’s cock is starting to get interested in the proceedings, and that’s good, but that’s not what Sam wants just yet. “Now, let’s see about this cold dinner, huh?” It takes Dean a moment to switch mental gears before he turns to the table with Sam.
The food Sam pulls out of the brown paper bag couldn’t have been more obvious if Dean had tried; a chopped salad with grilled chicken for Sam, and a loaded cheeseburger and fries for Dean. Though, by now, the food is stone cold, the fries are soggy, and their drinks are more water than soda. Sam grins at the predictability of it. He cuts the chicken into bite-sized pieces and mixes it in the salad before turning to Dean. “Ok. We are not done tonight and I want you to eat, but I don’t want you to feel sick. I would much rather you eat this salad, but if you absolutely refuse, I’m not going to make you. No punishment, either way.”
Dean’s lip is already curled and it’s clear what he thinks about eating a salad for dinner, but he surprises Sam by not rejecting it immediately. After a bit he offers Sam a tentative, “Half and half?” Sam smiles widely, and then confuses Dean by turning to cut the burger into bite size pieces too.
Using the salad lid as a temporary plate, Sam piles a good serving of salad and half the burger pieces onto it and places it in front of the chair that’s still at the table. But before Dean can move forward, Sam pulls it back and sits in the chair himself. Dean is left blinking at Sam, wondering if he’s supposed to bring the other chair back to the table. But Sam hadn’t told him to, so Dean hesitates, confused while Sam scoots back slightly further and waits. It takes Sam spreading his hands and motioning Dean over before he understands what Sam wants. Sam’s hands are gentle as he maneuvers Dean around, until he’s sitting in Sam’s lap, leaning back against his brother’s chest, his brother’s arms under his own and around his waist. Sam hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder and runs his hand down to Dean’s thighs, spreading them just short of uncomfortably wide. Sam brings his hands back up, tickling along Dean’s thighs, ghosting past his dick and up his abs to his chest. The rasp of Sam’s jeans against Dean’s ass must be uncomfortable, but Dean is paying too much attention to Sam’s hands to mind. His right hand rests over Dean’s heart while his left turns Dean’s to face him so that he can press a kiss to Dean’s lips.
With a smile, Sam turns back to the table, picking up the fork and spearing a small bite of salad. Dean’s eyes are wide and confused when Sam brings the fork to his lips, but he does as Sam wants and takes the bite. Sam’s left hand resumes its aimless wandering over Dean’s body while he chews, mostly drifting back and forth across his chest and stomach, fingers tickling through what little body hair Dean has, or occasionally rolling a nipple between his fingers. When he swallows, another forkful of salad is waiting. It’s a little awkward, Dean is a little too large for Sam to be able to move freely or reach everything comfortably, but the way Dean keeps leaning back into Sam’s chest and relaxing under the track of Sam’s free hand makes it worth it. Sam doesn’t say anything, just continues to feed Dean one bite at a time. Occasionally he puts the fork down and picks up one of the small burger pieces, feeding those to Dean by hand. All the food is room temperature and kind of gross, but neither of them much care. When Sam holds the straw to Dean’s lips for him to get a drink, cold drops of condensation fall across Dean’s skin, dripping onto his cock and making him jolt so hard the soda almost spills. Sam laughs and sets the cup back on the table, apologizing for not thinking that through. He rubs his hand down Dean’s chest, following the water trails and warming chilled skin. Dean moans when Sam wraps a hand around his dick and starts stroking him slowly. He’s starting to rock into the movement when Sam lets go and shushes his disappointed whine. “Not yet. We aren’t finished.”
Dean’s a little more sullen when the next fork of salad appears in front of his mouth, but he still eats it dutifully and Sam wraps a paper towel around the offending cup while Dean is busy chewing. Dean finishes his meal that way, Sam feeding him with one hand and occasionally teasing him with the other, not allowed to do anything but sit passively in Sam’s lap and let Sam take care of him.
It’s clear that Dean didn’t realize how much he was enjoying the attention by how unhappy he looks when he realizes they’re done. Sam holds the cup for him one last time, letting him drink most of the soda before putting it away. Amazingly, other than the occasional drop of water, they managed not to spill any of the food, which, frankly, Sam is surprised by.
“You’re so good for me.” Sam pulls Dean into a kiss. He realizes, flicking his tongue against his brother’s lips, getting Dean to open for him, that they have probably kissed more in the last hour than they normally do in a week. Which is ridiculous. He loves kissing Dean and could spend hours chasing the taste of his lips, even tainted with the taste of dinner. He pulls back to rest his forehead against Dean’s, “We’re going to start kissing more often. I fucking love your mouth, and not touching each other accept for when we’re having sex is fucking stupid and I’m putting an end to it, ok?”
“Fuck yes.” Dean’s voice is breathy and rough, almost unrecognizable in its deepness.
“Good.” Sam takes a shuddering breath to help him pull back even more. “Now, go brush your teeth. I still have to eat my half.” Dean jerks back to look at Sam, completely surprised by the turn Sam has taken. He slowly stands and begins to walk toward the bathroom, checking back to make sure Sam is serious and Sam waves him on while scooting closer to the table and assembling the remainder of the salad. “Remember, you don’t have permission to touch your dick, either.” The glare Dean sends him over his shoulder is something Sam should probably get onto him for, but Dean looks so offended that he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he eyes the extra onions on Dean’s burger and decides he’ll settle for half the salad. His own drink is in slightly better shape since Dean had bought him tea instead of soda, so there’s that, at least.
He’s only on his third bite when Dean returns and stands patiently next to the chair. Sam takes his time and gets a drink before he leans back far enough that Dean can see him opening his jeans as he says, “On your knees, under the table.” The breath punches out of Dean and he drops to the floor. Sam scoots to the edge of his chair to give Dean more room and can’t deny the surge of want that shoots through him when he watches Dean crawl under the table and between his spread legs. Dean’s already licking his lips, pupils blown, when he reaches up to lift Sam out of his boxers. The look of utter shock when Sam smacks his hands away would be comical if Sam wasn’t so busy trying not to get hard.
“I didn’t tell you to do anything else, did I? All I said was for you to get on your knees under the table.” Sam waits for Dean’s mumbled apology before continuing. “Now, I still need to eat, but if I tried to do that and get blown at the same time, I’d probably choke as much as you do.” Sam cups Dean’s jaw in his hand, thumb brushing across his lower lip and encouraging him to open. “I still want inside that pretty mouth of yours, though.” Sam lifts himself out of the slit in his boxers with his other hand and pulls Dean down, slowly feeding his semi-hard dick between those full lips despite the look of confusion on Dean’s face. “Don’t try to get me hard, just keep me warm and wet. I just want to feel you around me, ok?” Dean blinked slowly and just barely nodded. “Good boy. You can lay your head down if you want to, and don’t get my jeans soaked with drool either.”
Dean shuffles, getting into a better position. He tentatively brings his arms up and, with Sam’s nod, loops them around Sam’s waist. He lays his head down, half on his arm and half on Sam’s lap, nose brushing the cloth of Sam’s boxers, and shifts his weight on his knees. Sam feels Dean swallow, obviously trying to keep from drooling, and then Dean settles in, Sam’s cock cradled on his tongue. Sam traces the outline of his cock across Dean’s cheek and sweeps back over the hinge of Dean’s jaw. Dean’s eyes are closed and some of the tension starts to bleed from his frame when Sam whispers, “That’s it. That’s exactly what I want. Good boy.”
Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and goes back to eating his dinner. Over the minutes, his cock gets softer and Dean breathes easier as it gets easier to hold. Sam takes his time, enjoying every bite of salad, then dissecting the other half of the burger and eating it anyway. At some point his hand stopped its motion and simply rested in Dean’s hair. Dean couldn’t stop the small twitches when he swallowed, the occasional graze of teeth, or shifting to ease the growing pain in his knees, but he didn’t push Sam or fight him, so Sam is pretty pleased with this position. While the thrill of being inside Dean never dies away, it also becomes sort of comfortable, and Sam thinks they’re both more relaxed by the time he finishes his meal roughly 20 minutes later.
Sam is tempted to keep sitting there, watching Dean be so silent and calm, but he has other plans for the evening and he knows that Dean’s knees must be aching by now since Sam doesn’t normally leave him on the floor for very long. So, he resumes petting through Dean’s hair as he calls Dean’s name. His brother’s eyes flutter, and it takes a moment for Dean to focus on him. Sam feels a sharp thrill of happiness because he knows his brother wasn’t asleep, but he had been comfortable enough to zone out. Sam grips the back of Dean’s neck lightly and gently coaxes him upward until Sam’s length slips from between Dean’s lips, spit slick and a little sticky.
“Come on, man, it’s time for us to stand up.” Dean is wincing a little as he moves his jaw, sore after so long of not moving. Sam takes Dean’s hands and pushes further away for the table, giving Dean room to get unsteadily to his feet. Dean almost drops down into Sam’s lap until his knees get feeling back in them. Sam just keeps hold of him until he’s ready to stand on his own.
Once Dean is able to step away from the table, Sam stands as well, tucking himself back into his pants and relishing the light pops down his spine. Dean is looking more awake by the moment so Sam stands in front of him and waits for Dean’s attention. “Now, I have to run some errands. It’s going to take me a while to pick up the supplies I need, so while I’m gone I want you to take a nice hot bath. Overload it with bubbles, play some music, whatever, I don’t care, but I want you to relax. I want you to clean yourself for me, and I want you to shave, especially your crotch and legs. Ok?”
“Good. I’m probably going to be gone about an hour and a half, I think that some of the stuff I need to pick up is about half an hour away. If you’re not completely done yet when I get back, that’s fine, but you better have at least started by then, ok? Now go start the water.” He pecks Dean on the lips and gives him light shove toward the bathroom. He waits until the door closes and the water starts running before he pulls on his boots and picks up his belt from the floor. He calls out another, “Back soon” as he walks out of the motel room and locks the door behind him. Most of what he needs is in the Impala’s trunk; their special bag already stocked with lube, plugs, and various toys. Dean didn’t know it yet, but Sam had been putting together something special for a few months. He’d found the last piece online the other day and he’d been considering buying it. The store that sold it was 40 miles down the interstate so instead of ordering it, Sam had been planning to drive down to pick it up. He wanted to see it in person anyway, make sure it was going to be as beautiful as the pictures made it look. If not, he’d still put together enough pieces to use tonight.
* * *
When Sam returned to the hotel room, just shy of an hour and a half later, Dean was still in the bathroom. He could hear the occasional splash of water, but everything else was silent. He called out to let Dean know he was back so his brother wouldn’t be startled by the sounds of Sam setting his purchases on the foot of the bed. He was even more pleased by what he bought than he had expected to be. Just as Sam was setting out the bottle of their favorite lube, Dean emerged from the bathroom, skin still damp and hair wet. The reddish gold of his pubic hair is gone and his soft cock looks almost delicate without curls around it. “You’re timing is perfect. Stand between the beds, feet hip width apart and hands clasped behind your back. Face the door. You know the drill.”
Sam watches Dean get into position admiring the shift and play of his muscles. His brother’s skin is sun kissed, despite wearing so many layers all the time. Without the scruff of beard Dean likes to sport, the freckles he never outgrew are unusually visible. The smattering across the bridge of his nose and along the line of his cheeks only serves to make him seem younger, closer to Sam’s age than his own. Sam lets his hands wander again over Dean’s body, tracing the dusting of freckles that cross Dean’s shoulders and trail down his arms. He’s always amazed by how soft his brother is. He could dead lift Sam if he needed to, his hands are rough and work callused, and Sam’s pretty sure that Dean can outrun anything. Belying all that brashness and strength, Dean’s skin is smooth, his hair is surprisingly soft, and there’s just enough roundness to his stomach to hide the shape of his abs. His brother is a contradiction of softness and strength.
“I see you every day and I still forget sometimes how fucking gorgeous you are.” A blush darkens Dean’s cheeks and Sam swears he can see Dean fighting the upturn to his lips. “Yeah, yeah, shut up. You know you’re pretty.” Dean isn’t even remotely successful at stopping his grin this time, but Sam doesn’t call him on it. Instead, he walks around Dean, checking his ass. By now most of the redness has faded but there are still a couple of red spots. Sam pokes at them and Dean jumps, but it’s not the full body twitches from earlier. They’re still sore but not actively painful. Good, Dean should be better by tomorrow. “Don’t lie to me again, ok Dean?”
“Good boy.” The words are only just above a whisper, Sam’s lips dragging lightly across Dean’s shoulders. He feels Dean’s shiver and watches as the sensation makes Dean’s neck prickle. The kiss Sam presses against his brother’s skin is more grin than anything.
“I’ve been putting something together for you. If you’re not comfortable with it, then you don’t have to, but I think you’ll like it,” Sam says as he steps away and reaches into the pile sitting on the bed. The leather is stiffer than it looks but is still pliable, and the sheepskin lining is almost cotton soft and warms quickly under his fingers. There’s a fluttering sensation under Sam’s ribs as he stands in front of Dean to show him.
When he sees the collar in Sam’s hand Dean’s eyes go wide. Sam doesn’t think he’s even aware of the way his lips part in a soft gasp or the blush that begins to tinge his cheeks. That fluttery feeling dissipates when Dean brightens and his eyes jump from place to place, taking in the shape, the cuts, and the intricate design. “What do you think?”
“It’s-” Dean’s voice is a cracked whisper and he still hasn’t taken his eyes of the collar. “Fuck, Sam. You had this made for me?”
Dean’s hand starts to raise before he remembers himself. “Can I?” At Sam’s nod he reaches out to run his fingers over the collar. His touch is almost reverent as he lightly traces the intricate design cut into the leather and the soft edges of its flared shape. “It’s perfect.”
Sam smiles so widely he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop. “Good. I was hoping you’d like this. I want to put it on you now, ok?” Dean’s nodding before he’s even dropped his hand away, and Sam takes that as the invitation it is. He lifts the leather chord of Dean’s necklace and he can see the way his brother freezes. It’s clear that Dean hadn’t realized the amulet would be in the way of the collar. “I’ll keep it safe.” Dean dips his head then, a facsimile of a nod, and Sam quickly takes the necklace off Dean and slips it over his own head.
Dean answers Sam’s question with a more pronounced nod this time, relaxing to see the brass casting of a nameless god resting against Sam’s shirt. Once the tension has eased from Dean’s body, Sam moves forward again and wraps the collar around Dean’s throat. He buckles it by feel rather than move and miss the way an almost inaudible gasp slips past Dean’s lips before he bites it back, teeth indenting the swell of his lower lip. Sam trails his fingers across Dean’s jaw as he steps back.
Sam’s breath catches seeing the effect head on. The Havana brown leather is almost startlingly dark against Dean’s skin, making the soft brass hardware seem even more polished. The collar sits at the hollow of Dean’s throat and the shaped edges curve and slope downward so that the collar comes to a soft point with a brass attachment ring that sits heavily on Dean’s clavical. Celtic knot designs cut into the leather take up most of the center and stretch along either side, only stopping when the bands narrow down to inch wide straps that buckle in back. The lining is visible through the etched design, giving glimpses of golden brown between the dark swirls and angles. The top edge of the collar cuts across Dean’s adams apple and Sam watches it shift as Dean swallows against the press of it. He’s not sure if it’s the darkness of the leather or the gold of the lining that brings out the freckles on Dean’s skin and deepens the hue of his eyes. “It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be.” The blush that had been fading returns and Sam can’t help but grin at Dean’s reaction.
“I have other things I want to put with it, that’s why it took so long to get everything together.” Sam’s smile is soft, almost fond, as he reaches back into the pile on the bed. The double banded cock ring he picks up is the same warm brass color as the collar hardware. Dean jolts a little when Sam slides the ring on his mostly soft dick, the metal shockingly cold against his skin. Sam murmurs an apology even as he reaches for something else from the bed. Dean frowns slightly at the ring, obviously confused by the two small loops on either side. His confusion doesn’t last long since Sam shows him a square of fine gauge brass chainmail which he quickly pulls over Dean’s balls and clips to the either side of the cock ring, pulling the material tight and pressing them close to Dean’s body.
Sam’s smile is bordering on feral as he massages Dean’s balls, rolling them in his fingers enough that Dean can feel the press of metal chains through the protective cotton lining. Dean’s cock is quickly filling under the attention, the hot, soft skin brushing the inside of Sam’s wrist. Once Dean is fully hard, Sam drops his hand away and goes back the pile of toys on the bed, pretending not to hear Dean’s disappointed huff. Sam shuffles the stuff on the bed around trying to decide what piece to add next. He can’t decide whether or not to use the chains yet, so he chooses the nipple clamps instead. The soft gold color doesn’t match the other brass hardware exactly, but Dean favors this particular pair for some reason Sam has never quite put his finger on. Fastening the metal clips never elicits much of a response, but Sam knows that Dean enjoys the constant weight of them. The telltale hitch before Dean’s breath becomes a little more ragged uncurls heat in Sam’s chest. This is almost perfect.
“Turn around for me. Face the other bed.”
Sam barely lets Dean comply before sinking to his knees and spreading Dean’s ass cheeks. Dean does give a full body jolt when he feels Sam’s breath. “Did you do as I said and clean yourself?”
“Yes, Sam” Dean’s voice has gone deep, cracking at the edges again.
“Such a good boy.” Sam digs his thumbs into Dean’s cheeks and laves across Dean’s opening, wetting the tense muscle. He can feel the fine tremors in Dean’s body and hear the bitten off sounds Dean’s trying not to make. He pulls back long enough to rasp out, “You can talk now, by the way. I want to hear you for this.”
He hears Dean’s drawn out, “fucking hell” as he circles Dean’s opening, tip of his tongue pressing lightly, teasingly, before moving away to lick across him in broad, flat strokes. Sam is beginning to realize he’s a little bit orally fixated, because there’s nothing he wants more right now than to keep tasting his brother, teasing the whines from Dean’s throat, and see just how far, how close, he can come to getting Dean off just with his mouth. From the way Dean is beginning to grind backwards, practically riding Sam’s face as Sam presses softly at the tight furl of Dean’s hole, Sam thinks they both might enjoy this way more than either one of them had admitted to. Dean actually fucking mewls when Sam forces the tip of his tongue inside. The sound is so perfectly needy and Sam’s answering moan sends shivers through them both.
Dean is outright riding Sam’s mouth now and Sam can’t even begin to care about the spit slick smearing his cheeks or dripping down his chin; he’s too busy trying to make his brother come apart at the seams. Dean’s hands endlessly ghost across the weights on his nipples, along the skin warm leather at his throat, fist briefly in the sheets. He skims his thights and he tries his best to follow Sam’s “no touching” rule even as Sam’s grip shifts to his hips to guide his movements. Sam can barely hear Dean’s steady begging, only catching the occasional “fuck”, “Sammy” and “Please” as he tongue fucks his brother, enjoying the shockingly hot slick of pressure and the way Dean’s movements are jerky and desperate.
The press of his own cock, uncomfortable in his jeans, eventually reminds Sam of his endgame, and he moans nearly as much in disappointment as Dean does when he finally does pull away. Dean’s skin is sweat slick and his chest is heaving when Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s lower back. For just a moment they both wait, tense and wanting, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing and Dean’s muted whines.
“So fuckin good” Sam slurs against his brother’s skin, both of them slippery with sweat and spit.
“Jesus Christ, Sam.”
Sam just pats lightly on Dean’s hip before he finally stands and runs a shaky and across his face. The black silicone butt plug he pulls from his pile of toys seems almost anti-climactic after that, but he wants Dean open and he knows his brother will enjoy the weight of it. At least, until Sam pushes his buttons, that is. Sam quickly lubes the plug and presses it to Dean’s skin. Dean jolts slightly at the cool touch, then settles, the lube quickly warming as Sam circles his opening with the tip of the plug. Sam waits until Dean is relaxed again before slowly pushing the silicone toy inside. It’s one of their medium sized plugs, just long enough to tap at Dean’s prostate and only wide enough to be noticeable, so the toy slides in easily enough. Sam can’t resist using it to fuck slowly in and out of his brother for a moment before pressing it in to the base. Dean’s sigh is almost relieved sounding, and Sam rewards him by dropping another kiss onto his shoulder.
“I want to try something a little different tonight.”
Any other time, Sam would have been offended by the indignant scoff Dean makes. Instead, he levels a mild glare at Dean’s back before returning to his bag. It also occurs to him, briefly, that maybe he lets a little too much stuff slide. Anything else just wouldn’t be them, though.
Dean’s eyes widen when Sam turns him around and shows him the small bundle of black rope. “And what, exactly, is the plan for that?”
“I want to restrain your hands. The rope isn’t abrasive, so it won’t hurt, and of course I’ll stop the second you safe word.”
Dean reaches out to run his fingers across the rope, testing the texture. Sam can see him wet his lips as he feels the smooth glide of the braid, the nylon fiber much softer than it looks. It only takes a moment for Dean to agree, “Yeah, ok,” as he drops his hand.
Dean starts at that, eyes jumping to Sam’s and Sam can’t help but frown a little at how genuinely surprised Dean seems. He mulls that over in his mind as he unwinds the length of rope and cuts it in half with the scissors from his bag. “Lift your arms at your sides.”
Sam loops one part of the rope and wraps it around Dean’s waist, pulling the tail through the loop at his side and wrapping around again. After the third wrap, Sam pulls the length of the rope through the belt he’s made and quickly ties Dean’s right wrist to his waist. It doesn’t take him long to use the other half to do the same thing for Dean’s left side. When Sam’s done Dean pulls at his ties, because he can’t not. The rope twists a little, but doesn’t pull tighter or allow him much movement. They both take a moment to look at the shiny black fabric encasing Dean’s wrists.
“You couldn’t find matching rope, too?” Dean doesn’t quite reach the flippant tone Sam knows he’s aiming for.
“Are you sure you’re ok with this? I can take them off right now.” Sam reaches for the scissors again, ready to cut through the rope quickly if need be.
Both of them are startled by the vehemence of Dean’s response and the aborted movement he made to stop Sam. The embarrassed flush that had faded from Dean’s skin makes a quick come back, darkening his cheeks and spreading down his chest.
“It’s not bad, it’s just… different. New.”
Sam waits for a moment, giving Dean a chance to say more. All Dean does, though, is lower his eyes and fidget a little, pulling at the rope like he can’t help it; easy, half-hearted tugs, like he wants to feel the restraint more than he wants to be free.
“Ok.” Sam sets the scissors on the nightstand between the beds. “Don’t bitch about the color then. I could have bought Barbie Pink.”
Dean’s laugh is a short, shocked sound, but he seems more relaxed for it. Sam walks back to his brother slowly, like he’s an animal to be spooked. The constant twisting and pulling at his restraints never stops, but otherwise Dean doesn’t move away.
“Hey.” Dean looks up at Sam as Sam runs his hands down the bend of Dean’s arms. The shifting and tugging still, and Sam steps further into Dean’s space; hands sliding across the layers of rope to grip Dean’s hips and pull him flush with Sam’s chest. Dean’s lips are already swollen and pink when Sam dips his head down to kiss his brother again. Kissing is a familiar and practiced thing, even if they don’t do it nearly often enough for Sam’s happiness, and it settles something in them both. Dean starts pulling at the ropes again, but instead of the short, outward pulls of earlier, his movements are more upward and slow like he keeps forgetting he can’t lift his hands to touch. It doesn’t take long for him to break the kiss, growling in irritation.
Sam backs Dean up to the bed with a grin, his hand on Dean’s hips stopping him from dropping onto the mattress. He sees the thought cross Dean’s face just as he settles his palm in the center of Dean’s chest and pushes him over.
“Dick.” The scowl on Dean’s face ruined by the way he keeps trying to fight down the curve of his grin.
Sam laughs as he lifts Dean’s legs, turning him sideways and laying his feet on the bed. He doesn’t give Dean time to adjust, instead reaching under his knees and shoulders and lifting him to put him closer to the center of the bed. The startled sound Dean makes is closer to a whine than a complaint, and Sam doesn’t miss the way Dean is suddenly fascinated by his chest and arms; pupils wide and eyes roving from side to side.
“I, um-” Dean pauses to clear his the thick sound out of his throat, “I didn’t know you could do that.”
Sam hums noncommittally while he knee walks across the bed and straddles Dean’s hips. Dean’s cock had softened a little while they worked with the rope, but Sam can see it thickening again and a smear of wet streaking the pale, soft skin of Dean’s stomach as he shifts.
“Oh, I’m going to do a lot more than that, Dean.”
His brother’s breathing starts to go ragged again as Sam leans over him, left hand sinking into the mattress next to Dean’s head. So lightly he can barely feel it, Sam glides his fingertips across the planes of Dean’s stomach, tracing the invisible lines of his abs, before sliding up the length of his chest, ghosting across his sternum to the base of the collar at his clavicle and continuing along the sharp angle of his collar bone. Dean’s head is already tilted up, exposing more of his throat and Sam takes the offer, fingers tracing the outer edges of the dark leather. Up close, the contrast between the collar and his skin is even more stunning; the leather stiff compared to the softness of Dean’s throat, the rich darkness drawing out the blush in Dean’s skin, the earthy smell of leather mingling with the thick, almost musky scent that’s all Dean. Once he’s ran the scalloped edges, Sam begins to trace the lines of the knot design. He knew the leather had been laser cut, but he is still surprised by how precise the edges are. The pattern is itself a contrast of curve knots and sharp angles. The lining feels suede soft between the stiffness of the lines, and the golden color only adding to the impression of warmth.
Sam lays his hand lightly across the collar, mildly startled to see his hand spans his brother’s throat, and he feels the leather press briefly into his skin as Dean swallows against the weight. Sam quickly checks to find that Dean’s eyes are heavily lidded and his mouth is parted slightly. Knowing what he does about his brother’s relationship with pain, Sam is mostly sure that the sensation of being choked isn’t what’s turning Dean on, but the idea that Sam has so much power in this moment. The idea slams every button Sam has and his fingers twitch. It’s barely enough to be felt, but the effect is instantaneous. Dean gasps, arching and leaning his head back even further, pushing up into Sam’s hand. Sam pulls back enough to keep from actually choking Dean, but keeps his hand on his brother, a deep groan pulling itself from his own throat.
“Fuck, that gets you hot doesn’t it? Oh, this is definitely going to be a thing in our future. I’m going to take you to the edge and show you exactly how far I fucking own you.” Dean is moaning even before Sam takes his hand away and puts it next to Dean’s head so that he can lean down and capture Dean’s lips. Dean kisses him back eagerly, tongue pushing past Sam’s lips as soon as they meet. Sam can feel the way Dean is trying to get closer, leaning up to meet Sam, arms jerking against his bonds, even as he bites down on Sam’s lower lip and pulls. Sam is the one flushed and breathing heavily when he pulls back and kneels above his brother. He barely hears Dean’s vicious swearing as he becomes painfully aware that he’s still wearing way too many clothes. He’s uncomfortably hot and sweat is itching down the line of his back and at the bend of his knees. Dean’s cursing gets more audible as Sam levers himself off the bed.
“Just give me a second, dude.” Sam quickly opens the buttons on his over shirt and strips down to his tee. The relief when he opens his belt and peels his jeans down his legs is only half due the cool air wrapping around his skin. Dean’s eyes zero in on the way Sam’s boxer briefs tent obscenely and the dark spot where Sam has soaked the grey material.
“Fuck, Sam. Did you get off and I missed it?”
That shocks a short laugh out of Sam as he toes out of his shoes and kicks off his jeans. “No, dude,” Sam says while he turns back to the pile on the other bed and digs through it. “I keep telling you how fucking hot you are.” He palms the slim remote he was looking for and sidles back to Dean. “How much you turn me on. I pretty much always want to fuck you.” Sam keeps Dean’s gaze as he crawls up the bed to kneel between his brother’s thighs, and dropping the remote between his knees. “There’s never really a time when I don’t want to feel you clenching around my dick. Unless it’s when I want to feel your thick cock filling me up.” Dean’s shocked face is almost scarlet red and a swell of precome dribbles onto his stomach. Sam bends over and quickly laps the clear fluid off Dean’s skin. The sound Dean makes is part moan, part gasp, and Sam loves it. “Of course, I also want to taste every inch of your skin and count every freckle with my lips and tongue.”
Sam can feel the amulet hanging from his neck drag across Dean’s dick and along his ribs as his leans further over. He licks around the clamp on Dean’s nipple before giving the weight a gentle tug with his lips. Tracing from freckle to freckle with his tongue and dropping kisses as he goes, he moves across Dean’s chest. Sam pauses to remove the clamp and laves over the sensitive skin, enjoying the stuttering gasp Dean makes as he flicks the abused nipple with his tongue. Sam pulls the other clamp off and rubs his thumb across Dean’s pec. Dean’s moaning is periodically interrupted with cursing as Sam makes his way over Dean’s ribs, down the soft skin of his stomach, and across the jut of his hips. Running his hands down the length of Dean’s thighs he spreads Dean’s legs wider. Dean had listened to Sam and shaved, so his skin is startlingly smooth. Sam licks a line down the crease of Dean’s hips and rasps his stubble over the soft skin of Dean’s inner thigh. There’s a fine trembling in Dean’s frame when Sam sits back up, squeezing himself through the cotton of his underwear to get some relief.
“Oh fucking shit. Sammy-” Dean doesn’t finish because Sam chooses that moment to reach down, pushing a button on the remote and Dean breaks off into a scream when the plug pushing against his prostate comes to life. Dean bucks so hard he almost knocks Sam off balance, feet and elbows digging into the mattress as his body tenses, clamping around the plug and bowing his back. Sam turns it off quickly, leaving Dean gasping and shaking, a constant whine escaping his throat, the fine sheen of sweat visible across his skin. Sam adjusts the setting on the remote, lowering the vibrations to a soft buzz and turns it back on. The sound Dean makes is dangerously close to a sob and he starts shifting his hips like he’s trying to ride the thickness filling him, a murmured litany of “fuck, fuck, fuck” occasionally interrupting his moans. Sam soothes his hands along Dean’s arms, making quiet shushing noises and opening Dean’s clenched fists, before continuing his path down along the line of Dean’s thighs. Dean’s eyes have been squeezed shut since Sam turned the plug on, a deep line furrowed between his brows.
“Easy, Dean. Just relax into it, let yourself ride the feeling and enjoy it for what it is.” Sam lifts Dean’s right thigh and crawls around his brother to lie, propped up, along his brother’s side, remote sitting inconspicuously in the space between them. He places a steadying hand on Dean’s chest, feeling the rapid fire pound of Dean’s heart against his palm, and begins to run his other hand through the soft thickness of Dean’s hair. He stays there, soothing Dean with his hands and his words until Dean settles; relaxed except for the occasional unconscious twitch of his hips, and a quiet moaning, instead of full body tension and desperate grinding. Eventually, the line between his brows softened and Dean opened his eyes to slits. “There you are.” Sam whispered before pressing light kisses along the line of Dean’s jaw and shutting the plug off again.
Sam shifts plans around in his mind, not quite sure now where he wants to take this. There’s a camera in his bag, digital of course, that is just waiting to capture his brother like this. Sam wants to be able to show Dean how amazing he is, how fan-fucking-tastic they are together. Because Dean never quite believes Sam, just brushes it off as the heat of the moment or a memory better than it is. He can’t quite bring himself to believe how deep this goes for both of them and Sam… Fuck, Sam can’t stand how little Dean thinks of himself. How jokingly Dean brushes it all off. Sam is almost desperate to prove it to him. The collar was a big part of that plan and Sam hopes, dreams, and, fuck the irony of it, damn-well PRAYS Dean will begin to understand. But even with that, Sam wanted to be able to show Dean, empirically, how fucking beautiful and soft he can be for Sam. How much Sam loves that and cherishes it. Now, though…
Sam knows that tonight has already been too much. Dean is too open and too needy for photographs to feel like anything but a betrayal. Sam’s not sure that Dean will ever be ready to see himself like this; eyes slits, lips bitten dark, sweat soaked and trembling. Desperate and oh so sweetly vulnerable. Sam wants to give him the world, and he knows that all he really has to give Dean is tonight.
Mind made, Sam runs a steady hand down Dean’s chest. “So perfect and so good for me. Do you want to get off now, Dean? Do you think you’ve earned it?”
Sam can barely make out the “Please, Sammy,” through the needy groan Dean makes. “Want it so bad, please. Need it.”
“Of course, Dean.” Sam’s hand is barely sticky with sweat and precome when he lightly closes it around Dean’s length. The pressure is too light to get them anywhere, but Dean sighs in relief, head turning towards him, as though he wants to curl into Sam. “I’ll take care of you.” Sam tightens his hand, letting the rough drag of skin take the edge off Dean’s desperation.
“Sammy.” Dean’s plea is quiet and almost muffled by the way he curls further, pressing his forehead to Sam’s arm, his breath hot and gusting across Sam’s already sweaty skin. His hair tickles Sam’s chin, and Sam can suddenly smell his brother; smell his shampoo, the salty tang of sweat, the earthy scent of leather, and the musky thickness of sex. Sam’s hand is starting to get slippery with precome, Dean’s length slicking with fluid as Sam jacks him harder, quicker.
“You get so wet for me, want to get off so bad, don’t you? Whenever you’re ready, Dean.” Sam hadn’t meant for his voice to be so quiet, so intimate, but he was too focused on watching Dean’s dick slip through his fingers. The way Dean bucks up, fucking into the clench of his fist, feet digging into the mattress as he gives sharp short thrusts, movements getting more erratic the more desperate he feels. A surprised grunt escapes Sam as Dean’s teeth bury in the flesh of his arm and the first hot streaks of come stripe Dean’s stomach and chest, and he groans his own arousal when it begins to drip down his fingers. Sam slows the movement of his hand, relaxing his grip as Dean settles, releasing his brother’s flesh when Dean’s body goes limp; deep and gulping breaths notwithstanding.
Carefully, Sam gets to his knees and starts untying his brother’s hands. He loosens the ropes still wound around Dean’s waist the best he can with his brother laying down, running his fingers under the twisted cording across Dean’s hips. He’s very careful not to touch Dean’s still semi-hard cock, wanting to wait for Dean to come down from his orgasm high. Instead, he whispers a litany of praise as he lightly massages the indented skin of Dean’s wrists, until Dean starts to stir again. “Is that better?”
Dean moans contentedly, fingers curling around Sam’s and tugging, trying to pull Sam back down onto the bed with him. Laughing, Sam pulls back, “Come on, let’s get you upward so I can take these ropes off.” Dean huffs, but sits up, coming to his knees when Sam keeps pulling, and drops his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Jesus, did I make you preverbal?” Sam asks as he lets go of Dean’s hands and starts unwinding the rope.
Dean just rests his hands on Sam’s waist, “Mmm.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Sam’s smiling as he pitches the ropes off the edge of the bed and sooths over the indentions on Dean’s hips.
Sam laughs again and wraps his arms around Dean. He can feel the fabric of his shirt turn tacky, smearing with Dean’s spunk, and both of them sweating with combined body heat. The plastic plug remote is a cold counterpoint where it landed next to his calf. The thick length of Dean’s cock is brushing against his own, and even muted by the weight of his boxers, Sam has to fight the urge to use Dean’s pliant body to get himself off. Instead he shifts his weight slightly, putting more space between them despite Dean’s grumbles of protest and gimlet glare.
“I was comfortable.”
“You’ll be more comfortable in a minute.”
Sam pushes at Dean’s thighs, prompting him to spread himself wider, and quickly unclips the chainmail sling from the cock ring. Stretching dangerously sideways, Sam can just reach the lube from where he carelessly tossed it on the other bed. There’s a moment when he thinks he might face plant anyway, but Dean puts a steadying hand on his hip until he straightens.
“Shut up” he tells Dean’s judging expression which only becomes less impressed.
Dean hisses in discomfort when Sam starts to dribble lube down the length of his cock. “Fuck, that’s cold.”
“That’s half the point.” Sam snarks as he slips the cock ring off to the sound of Dean’s relieved groan. He doesn’t really pay attention to where the ring ends up, too busy smoothing his fingers over Dean’s skin. “How do you feel? No pain or numbness, right?” Sam is aware enough to know that he’s always been unnecessarily tactile when it comes to Dean, Dean’s health and safety not real until he could touch him with his own two hands. He’s never felt too bad about it, considering that Dean is the same way.
“Gonna be really good if you keep that up.”
“You’re half as funny as you think you are.” Sam keeps stroking Dean anyway, light and teasing. Dean’s hips are moving again, slow rolls into Sam’s hand as Sam tightens his grip. Dean’s movements stutter when Sam swipes his thumb across Dean’s slit, a quiet moan slipping out of his throat. “I hadn’t planned on stopping anyway. You’re still way too coherent and I’m still hard. Painfully so, Dean.”
“Fuck, Sam.” Dean reaches for Sam’s cock, still stuck uncomfortably behind the now sodden fabric. Sam’s whole body spasms at the sudden pressure and he cuts off his own groan by crashing his lips against his brother’s. Dean sways slightly at the impact and their teeth clack together, splitting Sam’s lip between them. The copper and salt taste of blood slicks across Sam’s tongue, and Sam’s pretty sure he should find that more off-putting than he does. He does pull back, not wanting to bleed on Dean, and finally brings himself to stop the grip Dean has on his cock. They both mutter curses as Sam slips off the bed to rip his shirt overhead and start peeling his boxers down his legs. He lets out a small grunt when his cock slaps back against his stomach. Dean reaches for him again, but Sam pushes his hand away and starts rooting through the blankets for the lube.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks when Sam opens the cap and starts slicking his fingers.
Sam answers him by kneeling on the bed facing Dean. The sound Dean makes when Sam reaches back shocks through him, making him even more impatient. There’s a dull ache that’s completely worth it when Sam forces two slicked fingers past his rim and starts opening himself. Sam can’t help but move, lifting up and down as though he could ride his own hand from this angle. The burn spreads, and the shallow jabs he can manage aren’t anything near enough, but Dean’s whole body has begun to flush and Sam isn’t really sure which one of them is moaning louder.
Dean makes a confused sound when he finally manages to tear his eyes from watching the flexing of Sam’s arm and the way his cock bobs with his movements. He looks up just in time to catch the bottle of lube Sam tosses him with his free hand.
“Touch yourself, Dean. God, I want to see it, see you. Show me how ready for me you are, how bad you want it.” Sam adds another finger as Dean takes himself in hand and starts slowly stroking himself. “That’s it, fuck Dean, you’re so fucking good.” It only takes a couple moments before Dean is fucking up into his own fist as much as Sam is trying to ride his own hand both of them moaning and cursing at how good it feels and how it’s just left of perfect. Sam decides that enough is enough, and crosses the few inches to his brother. Dean’s closed eyes fly open when Sam pulls his hand away. He wastes no time in pushing Dean back far enough that Sam can straddle his lap.
Sam thinks Dean might be preverbal again, because there are no words in the sound he makes as Sam lowers himself onto Dean’s thick length. The first knuckle of three fingers definitely doesn’t have the thickness or length of Dean’s cock and Sam is tight around him and he has to force himself down an inch or two at a time until he’s seated on Dean’s thighs. It’s not until he’s buried his face against the smooth warmth of Dean’s collar that he realizes Dean has a tight grip on his thighs, fingertips digging bruise deep. They both wait, grunting and gasping, as they adjust to the sensation; Sam trying not to get off on the pinpricks of pain along his nerves and the combined smell of Dean and sex, Dean trying not to get off on the perfect hot, tight feel of Sam clenched around him.
They aren’t really sure who moves first, somebody shifts; the clenching pull of Sam’s rim around Dean’s cock, the shocky drag of Dean’s cock against Sam’s prostate, it’s enough to spur them both into movement. Dean thrusts up as best he can still on his knees with Sam’s weight in his lap and Sam starts riding Dean in short jerks, grinding down and circling his hips. Their movements finally start to sync up, Sam meeting Dean’s thrusts instead of riding them, the amulet crashes against Sam’s chest with every bounce and the slap of skin against skin is nearly as loud as their moans. Sam pushes Dean back so that he’s leaning on his hands, chest arched and all he can do is circle his hips. The space lets Sam ride him harder, raising almost completely off and slamming back down in a way he knows almost has to hurt Dean’s knees. Lifting off, Sam pushes Dean again until he falls back against the bed and stretches his legs out. Sam follows him, sliding back down the length of his cock before Dean has the time to do much more than grumble. The angle is sharper now, deeper, and they both sigh at the pressure of it. Something cold is bumping Sam’s calf and it takes him a couple moments before he realizes what it is.
Slowing, Sam circles his hips, keeping Dean as deep within himself as he can, and grabs the remote before it’s lost to the sheets again. Hooking a finger through the loop of Dean’s collar, Sam pulls him up into a kiss. “Tell me if it’s too much, ok?”
At Dean’s puzzled look, Sam pushes the button to turn the vibrator back on. Dean bucks underneath him, and Sam matches his movements. Dean’s hand find their way back to Sam’s hips to hold him still as he fucks up into the tight heat around him and grinds back, trying to push the vibrator more firmly against his prostate. Sam slowly turns up the dial, increasing the speed and a garbled yell escapes from Dean’s throat. There are definitely bruises on his hips now, and maybe one thrust in ten is even brushing Sam’s prostate, but he doesn’t care, too busy watching Dean come apart again underneath him. Dean loses himself to the feel of it all and it only takes a few moments before he grinds back against the bed and drags Sam down with him, his body spasming as his orgasm breaks through him. Sam can feel the wetness of it filling his insides and the way Dean’s nails break skin on his hips. He waits until Dean starts writhing, hypersensitive, before he turns the vibrator off a final time.
Dean’s gasping breaths sound relieved, though the sound he makes when Sam slides off his soft cock is almost pained. Gently, Sam spreads Dean’s legs and works the plug out of his brother’s body, eliciting another semi-pained sound that he hushes with soothing hands along Dean’s skin. This time, he doesn’t give Dean time to recover, his own need too delayed and spurred by the sensation of Dean’s come sliding down Sam’s thighs. Sam pulls Dean up, maneuvering his brother to his knees and with his back to Sam’s chest and Dean’s head drops back onto his shoulder. He only gives himself a cursory swipe with lube, too afraid of getting off, before easing himself into his brother’s opening. Dean makes a small, almost hurt noise, but he presses back against Sam. Dean’s body was still slick with lube, and relaxed enough that Sam slid right in, bottoming out in one smooth push.
Sam had been hard for the better part of two hours and the tight, hot clench of his brother’s body was such a relief that Sam was embarrassed to find his eyes watering. Dean merely moaned, eyes closed and still relaxed as Sam pressed a kiss to his shoulder. The perfection of it was overwhelming. As Sam thrust into him, Dean spread his knees, letting Sam take more of his weight with his grip on Dean’s waist. Sam’s other hand trailed up his chest, fingers hooking in the hoop of his collar and resting there. Sam could see Dean’s cock, bouncing soft against his thigh. Sam could only tighten his hold and take his pleasure from his brother’s pliant body.
“You have no idea what it does to me when you’re like this. When you let go and trust me. I could talk myself hoarse about how beautiful you are, how much I love you, how fucking perfect you are, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Fuck, Dean, look at you. You let me wreck you and keep taking more. God, I love you. So. Fucking. Much.” Sam could see the blush spreading across Dean’s skin at the praise, and his mouth drop open in a silent exclamation, but his eyes stayed closed and he stubbornly kept his head back against Sam’s shoulder. Growling, Sam pulls Dean into a kiss, flicking his tongue along Dean’s lower lip and fucking into his mouth. The sound of his hips slamming against his brother’s ass almost drowns out the quiet moan Dean makes, and Sam can feel his balls drawing up. Sam presses a soft, closed kiss to Dean’s lips, and Dean finally opens his eyes. His orgasm crashes through him, narrowing his awareness to Dean’s contented look, the white noise in his head, and the pulsing of his dick. He wasn’t even aware his was biting his own lips until the taste of blood slicks along his tongue again. As the twitching drive in his hips finally slows to a stop, he also suddenly becomes aware that, at some point, he wrapped his arms around Dean’s chest and has yet to let go. The amulet is digging points into his chest and probably Dean’s back.
They’re both covered in sweat, spunk, bruises and spit. The muscles in Sam’s thighs are aching and he knows Dean’s can’t feel any better. Dean’s eyes are closed again, and he’s dropped his head back onto Sam’s shoulder, looking for all the world like he’s ready to sleep that way and that, more than anything, spurs Sam into moving. Dean doesn’t even grumble this time when Sam pulls out and drags them both off the bed. He sways on his feet as Sam grabs his already filthy tee-shirt to give both of them a half-hearted wipe down. He cocks an eyebrow at Sam pitching the shirt toward the bathroom and calling it good, but he doesn’t argue.
Knowing he’ll regret it later, Sam dumps all their toys and supplies off the clean bed onto the floor and ushers Dean under the covers. The overhead light is too far away to bother with, so Sam just turns off the lamp between the beds and crawls in, spooning behind Dean and twining their legs together.
“You don’ normally talk that much.” Dean slurred, voice already thick with sleep, blinking owlishly.
“Yeah, well, sometimes I think the only time you actually listen to me is when I’m fucking your brains out. Thought I should make use of it.”
“Kinky.” Dean managed around a yawn, “An’ a lil’ f’cked up, Sam.”
“I learned from the best, now shut up and go to sleep.”
Sam snorted, Dean’s owlish blinking had already slowed and his eyes were closed. “I already did. Seriously, shut up or I’m going to see what it takes to get two more orgasms out of you.”
Dean gave an interested hum, then sighed. “Don’ think I c’d stay ‘wake f’r that.”
“Like that would stop me. Good night, Dean.”
Dean hummed again, but was finally silent, breathing starting to even out as he slipped to sleep.
“I mean every word of it, too.” Sam murmured in Dean’s ear. He could swear as he pressed his lips to Dean’s temple, Dean’s lips twitched at the corners, not quite making a smile.