Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 12B
The man that had skulked off earlier had made his back down the aisle and now peered over the shelves with raised eyebrows at Castiel’s words. Dean clamped his jaw shut and smirked tightly at the man. He grabbed the DVD case and slammed it back on the shelf before ushering Castiel to the end of the aisle. “Little louder, Cas. I don’t think Baltimore heard you say I fuck my brother,” he whispered.
He tugged the angel toward the back corner, releasing his arm when they stopped in front of a display for restraints. There were several rows of hard plastic cases, containing different styles and sizes, hanging from metal pegs with pictures of people bound by the various products tacked up over the section of wall. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”
“The unease that has been present since the first killings and drew me to this area is increasing. I have scouted the town and have found several areas where it seems to be the strongest: the high school, a bar on Elm Street called The Pine Pony, the housing community where Scott Bradford resided and most potently earlier at your apartment.” Castiel gazed at the pictures, a few images reminding him slightly of the dungeons of the Dark Ages.
“Wait,” Dean dropped his hand from the package he’d been examining, calculating the sizing, “at the apartment? Did you tell Sam?”
“Yes. Sam conducted a thorough examination of the area, but it did not reveal anything. It is possible that whatever is responsible for the killings is aware that you and Sam are here to hunt it.” Castiel idly picked up one of the packages, turning it over to examine the description on the back.
“Possibly,” Dean murmured, picking up the box he’d been looking at before, “I don’t like the idea that whatever it is was in our house.”
“Understandable,” Castiel answered, eyes darting from the package in his hand to the pictures on the wall. He turned a curious gaze to the man beside him. “Dean, why are you in this place?”
“I just needed to pick up a few items,” Dean hedged, unwilling to fully disclose his motives, “for me and Sam.”
“You wish to bind Sam?” Castiel handed the box containing a Velcro bondage kit to Dean.
“Not particularly, no, but sometimes it isn’t about what you want,” Dean muttered, hanging the box back on the appropriate peg.
“So, Sam has expressed the wish for you to bind him? I would imagine after years of bondage at the hands of the supernatural that Sam would be adverse to the idea.”
“Not outright, no. Can we please discuss something besides my sex life?” Dean set down the package he’d been studying and picked up the one next to it.
“Dr. Phil maintains that talking about sex is a healthy form of expression. Is that why you talk to Sam so much during copulation? I have noticed that he is often unable to contribute to your conversations, mainly answering in monosyllabic noises.” Castiel considered him curiously.
Dean stared at the angel in shock. “Dr. Phil? Dude, seriously. You’ll watch that douche but not Oprah?” Dean turned back to the display before a thought occurred to him, “Wait, just how much have you been watching me and Sammy?” Castiel ducked his head, suddenly interested in an endcap showcasing the newest innovation in vibrator technology, giving Dean all the answer he needed. “You’re a fucking peeping angel! How did we get saddled with the pervert of the Heavenly Host?”
“I do not suffer from any perversions. I was simply curious about human sexual interactions.” Castiel picked up a pink and silver toy, turning the case to examine the dildo from all sides. “I do not understand the purpose of the bunny. I was not aware that rabbits were considered erotic.”
“It stimulates a girl’s,” Dean blushed, “You know what, never mind.” He snatched the dildo away from the virgin tax accountant and set it on the shelf.
He went back to his perusal of the restraints, glancing at the different materials and styles. He shuddered at one that bound you down at the wrists and ankles with another strap pinning your waist to the mattress and almost walked out completely at the one that hogtied your partner. In the past, Dean had been known to use things, basic dildos, blindfolds and that one time silk panties - the more vanilla of the kinky options - but he’d never been into BDSM. Life, especially their life, was hard and often painful. Sex was about pleasure, getting worked up and then getting off. He’d spent too many hours tied to absurdly sturdy furniture with the threat of death hanging over his head to ever consider that in the bedroom.
He glanced up at the pictures. Supine women cuffed and strapped, their feet held high and wide, prone men belted into a kneeling position with a spreader bar secured at their ankles. Each one of them exposed and vulnerable, their bodies debased to nothing more than a fucktoy. Dean tried to imagine Sam in one of their places, substituting his brother for the model, and his stomach turned. There might have been a time, before Sam, that Dean would have considered engaging in the seedier side of sex, some random fuck along the highway, some nameless faceless person who might have wanted more, but not Sam, never with Sam. He loved Sam, was in love with Sam, and there were certain things Dean couldn’t, wouldn’t, do to the person he loved.
He couldn’t understand how Sam could want such a thing. Dean stared at the pictures again, he’d seen some of them before, years ago. Once Sam had fallen into a migraine induced sleep last night, Dean’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, his conversation with Nathan replaying in his head. It wasn’t the first time Nathan had warned Dean about Sam’s sexual proclivities. Back during their previous visit to Pike Creek, Nathan had suggested that Sam was curious, experimenting with the more painful side of pleasure. It took Dean an afternoon on Sam’s confiscated laptop, his punishment for leaving it lying around and allowing Nathan to find it, to see that the coach was right. The browser history was full of hardcore porn websites, people trussed up, whipped, humiliated. Dean wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, so the fact that Sam was looking up these sites didn’t bother him, it was the idea of Sam allowing someone to put him in that position. He deleted the browser history so their father wouldn’t find out and vowed to keep a closer eye on his brother. In the two years after Pike Creek, but before Stanford, Dean never discovered anymore of those sites on Sam’s computer and Sam acted like a normal sullen, wholesome teenager. Finally, he wrote the incident off as teenage sexual discovery and promptly forgot about the whole thing. Until Nathan reminded him last night.
“You gentlemen have any questions?”
Dean spun around to see a young boy - man? - standing beside him, face overly cheerful and voice overly helpful for a store where most people liked to remain happily anonymous. He didn’t appear to be more than nineteen or twenty and twinkier than a Hostess snack cake. His eyes were rimmed heavily in kohl and his clothing accentuated his slight body - the sparkly purple shirt clung to his undefined chest and concave stomach, artfully cut to reveal smooth, pale skin, and his skinny jeans hung below the bony prominences of his hips and snugged the boy’s pencil thin legs. His shaggy hair was styled messily in the tousled look that was all the rage now and that Dean despised, shiny glitter catching the light when the kid turned his head.
Castiel looked up from the newest dildo he’d taken from the shelf and showed it to the boy. Dean caught the words King Kong on label beside a picture of a large gorilla before the kid took it. “Yes, can you explain how something of that magnitude can fit past the tightly muscled sphincter of the human anus?”
Dean groaned, barely suppressing the urge to facepalm.
The boy winked at Dean, “Well, Sugarlips, a lot of patience and a buttload of lube,” the kid laughed at his own joke, “Some men find the King Kong and Moby Dick vibrators uncomfortable and more than a little intimidating, but from the looks of tall, dark and smoking here,” black lined brown eyes dropped to the crotch of Dean’s jeans in an appreciating gaze, “I’d say you’re used to living life large.”
“Hey!” Dean protested, hands moving to block the young twink’s view of his groin.
Castiel smiled proudly at Dean, “Yes, Dean is impressively proportioned, a testament to the Father’s design, but if you truly want to witness the golden ratio, you should see Sam.”
“Oh, really,” the kid smirked, eyebrows raised in interest.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Dean cut a hand through the air, “there will be no witnessing of Sam. Got it?” He glared at the two other men.
“Possessive,” the boy purred, drawing out the word, “you’re really hot when your eyes flash like that. So you guys do a threesome thing with this Sam guy?”
“We are often together,” Castiel replied as Dean answered, gruffly, “There is no threesome. It’s me and Sam. Period.”
“Oh, so Sam is your…” The boy prompted.
“Br-“
“Boyfriend,” Dean interrupted Castiel, shooting a hard look at the loose-lipped angel. Of course with this kid, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he found the idea of incest a turn-on. “Look, I just want to pick up a few things and get out of here.” He focused his attention back to the bondage display.
From the corner of his eye, Dean could see the boy watching him as a slow, knowing smile curled the corners of his lips up. “You new to BDSM?” Den refused to acknowledge him, he was uncomfortable enough with this and didn’t need any Adam Lambert wannabe giving him a hard time. “You know, I work in a sex shop. I could probably help you if you tell me what you’re looking for.”
“My…boyfriend is interested in a little more in the bedroom. I thought I’d come and see what was available.”
“Your boyfriend is interested,” the kid repeated, slowly, “but you’re…not,” he finished carefully.
“Not really, no.”
“Okay. Then start slow with something that you both will be comfortable with. There are some very creative options…”
Twenty minutes later, the boy - Neil Dean’d learned during his tour and introduction of the kinkier sections of the store - went back to the front counter to ring up a customer, leaving Dean with Castiel and clutching a few items he’d decided to purchase.
Castiel eyed the merchandise in Dean’s arms, still unconvinced that Dean was correct in his assumptions of what Sam wanted. Finally he placed a hand on Dean’s arm, “You know your brother best, Dean. I will trust your judgment, idjit.”
“Don’t call me…” Dean turned but Castiel was already gone.
*****
Dean walked into the quiet apartment, careful to not disturb the line of salt just inside the doorway. The light was on over the stove, providing just enough illumination for him to make his way to the bedroom. He pushed open the door, allowing the light to filter into the room, and entered quietly, following the trail of Sam’s discarded clothes. He set his bag of purchases on the nightstand and took in the sight on the bed.
Sam was spread out on his stomach, the sheet draped over his lower half with his right leg uncovered. Sam had slept with one leg out from under the blankets since he was a kid, creating a homeostasis while asleep. If both were bare, Sam was too cold in the night, and if both were covered, he was too hot. Listening to the soft snores that told Dean his brother was deeply under, he quickly disrobed, pulling his knife out of his pocket and leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. He dug through black plastic bag and pulled a cardboard box out of its depths, tearing it open to get to the item inside.
Carefully, he peeled the sheet back from Sam’s body. Sam snuffled in his sleep, but didn’t wake. First, he slid the nylon strap under Sam’s right thigh, midway between hip and knee, and secured down the Velcro ends then repeated the action with the left thigh. Sam shifted on the bed, agitated by the motions, but a soothing hand on his back settled him down.
Dean lightly clasped one of Sam’s wrists, nestled around his pillow, and tugged gently. Sam resisted with an annoyed whimper and Dean petted his arm until Sam relaxed again and allowed his arm to be repositioned. Settling the appendage by Sam’s side, Dean surrounded the wrist with a nylon cuff that was attached to the one surrounding Sam’s thigh by a small length of cord. Soon, his other wrist was secured to the other thigh. He picked up the knife and slid the sharply honed blade under the leg of Sam’s boxer-briefs, slicing up the back of one side then the other. Closing the knife and setting it back on the nightstand, he moved the tattered fabric away to reveal Sam’s perfect ass.
Dean’s movements had been slow and careful, not wanting Sam to awaken until he was done. He straddled Sam’s legs, just below the restraints, staying on his knees to keep his body away from Sam’s for now. He stared down at his bound brother and fingered the straps to a red ball gag, letting them slip over his knuckles and between the pads. He hoped this was enough for Sam because Dean didn’t think he could make himself do more. Taking a deep breath, Dean grasped one of the straps, the other dangling over his fist, and brought the loose end down over Sam’s creamy ass.
Sam jerked awake, a stinging pain erupting in a stripe across his right butt cheek. The only light in the room was coming from the bulb over the stove shining through the open door. He tried to bring his hand up, turn to see what caused him the pain, but discovered that he couldn’t move it…or its mate. His hands were tied to his thighs and no amount of twisting or writhing brought the clasps into reach. His heart thundered in his chest and fear was forcing bile up his throat.
“You can fight all you want, baby boy, but you aren’t getting out of those,” Dean’s whiskeyed voice washed over him and for a moment Sam’s mind blanked. Dean did this to him? Dean tied him down?
“Dean, what are you -?” his questions was cut off by something hard and round being forced between his lips. Cool straps lined his cheeks and he heard the soft snick of a buckle being fastened, his hair pulled into the clasp.
“Going to give you what you want, Sam. Give you what you need.” There was a tinge of sadness in the words and Sam wondered what it is that Dean thought he wanted. Being tied up definitely wasn’t on that list. He rolled and jerked, testing the bonds, but there was no play or give.
The whistle came a second before Dean’s hand landed on his ass, harder than before, with purpose and intent. His scream was muffled behind hard rubber, strangling it, and Sam rocked away from the sting, tried to get away. Dean’s knees were bracketing his legs and he couldn’t move. From this position he couldn’t get any leverage or momentum to fight his brother off. Sam’s mind whirled, creating and discarding theories about why Dean was doing this.
“I can be what you need, Sammy. You just needed to tell me,” Dean crooned in his ear, fingernails scratching welts down Sam’s back. “Gonna fuck you good, Sammy. Scratch that itch you have.”
Sam jolted as the eight lines of fire marked him from shoulders to ass. Sam writhed on the bed, one garbled cry coming quickly on the heels of the one before. His legs pistoned up and down, bending to the side at the knee, in an attempt to get away, to get Dean off. The cuffs surrounding his thighs slid down to catch behind the joint, sweat and motion easing the way, nylon scraping the sensitive skin behind his knee.
A dry finger circled his entrance and Sam froze. Dean wouldn’t. Even in his most possessive, jealousy fueled acts, he’d never taken Sam dry. Panic seized him. He bucked and twisted, wiggled and jerked, his screams nothing more than a gargled noise. The finger pushed past the muscled resistance and fire burned a path along his nerves, consuming Sam’s mind and body. His right leg kicked out, the dislodged thigh cuff yanking hard on his wrist. Sam’s scream followed the sickening pop, white hot pain nearly blackening his vision.
The pop echoed like a firecracker, but it was Sam’s scream that Dean will remember for the rest of his life. Even muffled, the pain was heartwrenchingly clear. “Sammy?”
Sam was still beneath him, his back covered in a sheen of sweat that reeked of fear, his pale cheeks glazed in tears. Dean had closed his eyes once the gag was in place, trying desperately to separate himself. He’d said what was in his heart, let Sam know that he would do what Sam needed, then proceeded to give it to him. He’d turned a deaf ear to Sam’s cries, unable to hear Sam’s joy at Dean hurting him.
“Sammy?” He reached up and released the clasp on the gag, massaging the joint. “Sammy! Talk to me. What was that? Are you hurt?”
Liquid hazel eyes blinked at him and Sam swallowed, “Let me go.”
Dean’s hands trembled, the calmness of Sam’s voice scaring him more than his wrecked appearance. His fingers fumbled over the Velcro, shaking too much to release his brother from the bonds. Reaching out blindly on the nightstand, his hand curled around his knife. He flicked the blade through the length of cord securing Sam’s right wrist to his thigh, his stomach churning at the rapid swelling he could see around the cuff. He moved to the left, but was blindsided when Sam brought his freed elbow up. Pain exploded across his nose, wet warmth running over his upper lip to leak bitter copper into his mouth.
A thud sounded from the floor and Dean looked up in time to see Sam hobbling his way to the en suite bathroom, left wrist still bound to his thigh.
Sam shoved his shoulder into the door, slamming it shut, and leaned back against the cool wood. He slid to the floor and panted, exertion and pain robbing his breaths. He screamed when he forced his tingling fingers to tug the Velcro free from this left wrist, agony shooting from hand to elbow.
A hand thumped against the door, the knob turning. The door opened a crack and Sam pushed his weight back, forcing it shut again. “Sammy? I’m so sorry,” Dean’s voice was thick, tears clogging it and Sam’s heart clenched. “Please come out. Your wrist is hurt. I need to look at it.” There was the unmistakable sound of Dean sliding down to the floor then his voice spoke softly at the level of Sam’s ear. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Sam started to get up, open the door, but one look at the nylon restraints on his thighs and wrist and he reached up to lock the door. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. “Cas,” he croaked out, voice barely audible. “Cas,” he tried again, louder.
A warm hand landed lightly on his shoulder and Sam opened his eyes to find concerned water blue ones looking back at him. “Help me.”
Dean thunked his head back against the door, lifted and did it again. He heard Sam call out for Castiel and the familiar sound of rustled feathers. The door was still locked, but Dean didn’t need it open to know that Cas had taken Sam. Scrubbing a hand down his face to wipe away the drying tear tracks, he forced himself to his feet.
He sat on the bed, jumping up when his hand made contact with Sam’s sliced underwear. He blinked away a new set of tears, stooping to pick up his boxers and jeans from the floor. Thumbing the button in place, he looked at the black satin sheets and yanked them free of the mattress, unable to see them and not think of Sam lying on them with that dead look in his eyes. God, what had he done? He clamped a hand over his mouth, not sure if it was to keep down a sob or bile.
He spun around at the flutter of wings behind him, Castiel standing there like the true embodiment of avenging angel.
“Is he okay?”
Castiel remained stoic, body moving stiffly as he approached the dresser. He opened the drawers and searched through the contents, pulling out clothing.
“Cas, please,” Dean begged, “I never meant to hurt him. Just tell me he’s okay.”
“I placed your brother in a deep slumber to calm his mind. He is sleeping peacefully at the moment. His wrist was broken, but I was able to mend it.” The angel gathered up the collection of clothing and held it to his chest.
“Where did you take him? Can I see him?”
“Sam is safe. He does not wish to see you at the moment.” Castiel moved to the closet and grabbed Sam’s boots.
“Cas, please tell him,” Dean swallowed down the well of emotion threatening to break him, head spinning at how things had gone so wrong, so fast, “tell him I’m sorry and I love him.”
Castiel studied him for a long moment then nodded slowly. Between one blink and the next, the angel was gone and Dean was alone. He stumbled to the living room and sank down on the couch, numb and worn out. What had he done?
He tugged the angel toward the back corner, releasing his arm when they stopped in front of a display for restraints. There were several rows of hard plastic cases, containing different styles and sizes, hanging from metal pegs with pictures of people bound by the various products tacked up over the section of wall. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”
“The unease that has been present since the first killings and drew me to this area is increasing. I have scouted the town and have found several areas where it seems to be the strongest: the high school, a bar on Elm Street called The Pine Pony, the housing community where Scott Bradford resided and most potently earlier at your apartment.” Castiel gazed at the pictures, a few images reminding him slightly of the dungeons of the Dark Ages.
“Wait,” Dean dropped his hand from the package he’d been examining, calculating the sizing, “at the apartment? Did you tell Sam?”
“Yes. Sam conducted a thorough examination of the area, but it did not reveal anything. It is possible that whatever is responsible for the killings is aware that you and Sam are here to hunt it.” Castiel idly picked up one of the packages, turning it over to examine the description on the back.
“Possibly,” Dean murmured, picking up the box he’d been looking at before, “I don’t like the idea that whatever it is was in our house.”
“Understandable,” Castiel answered, eyes darting from the package in his hand to the pictures on the wall. He turned a curious gaze to the man beside him. “Dean, why are you in this place?”
“I just needed to pick up a few items,” Dean hedged, unwilling to fully disclose his motives, “for me and Sam.”
“You wish to bind Sam?” Castiel handed the box containing a Velcro bondage kit to Dean.
“Not particularly, no, but sometimes it isn’t about what you want,” Dean muttered, hanging the box back on the appropriate peg.
“So, Sam has expressed the wish for you to bind him? I would imagine after years of bondage at the hands of the supernatural that Sam would be adverse to the idea.”
“Not outright, no. Can we please discuss something besides my sex life?” Dean set down the package he’d been studying and picked up the one next to it.
“Dr. Phil maintains that talking about sex is a healthy form of expression. Is that why you talk to Sam so much during copulation? I have noticed that he is often unable to contribute to your conversations, mainly answering in monosyllabic noises.” Castiel considered him curiously.
Dean stared at the angel in shock. “Dr. Phil? Dude, seriously. You’ll watch that douche but not Oprah?” Dean turned back to the display before a thought occurred to him, “Wait, just how much have you been watching me and Sammy?” Castiel ducked his head, suddenly interested in an endcap showcasing the newest innovation in vibrator technology, giving Dean all the answer he needed. “You’re a fucking peeping angel! How did we get saddled with the pervert of the Heavenly Host?”
“I do not suffer from any perversions. I was simply curious about human sexual interactions.” Castiel picked up a pink and silver toy, turning the case to examine the dildo from all sides. “I do not understand the purpose of the bunny. I was not aware that rabbits were considered erotic.”
“It stimulates a girl’s,” Dean blushed, “You know what, never mind.” He snatched the dildo away from the virgin tax accountant and set it on the shelf.
He went back to his perusal of the restraints, glancing at the different materials and styles. He shuddered at one that bound you down at the wrists and ankles with another strap pinning your waist to the mattress and almost walked out completely at the one that hogtied your partner. In the past, Dean had been known to use things, basic dildos, blindfolds and that one time silk panties - the more vanilla of the kinky options - but he’d never been into BDSM. Life, especially their life, was hard and often painful. Sex was about pleasure, getting worked up and then getting off. He’d spent too many hours tied to absurdly sturdy furniture with the threat of death hanging over his head to ever consider that in the bedroom.
He glanced up at the pictures. Supine women cuffed and strapped, their feet held high and wide, prone men belted into a kneeling position with a spreader bar secured at their ankles. Each one of them exposed and vulnerable, their bodies debased to nothing more than a fucktoy. Dean tried to imagine Sam in one of their places, substituting his brother for the model, and his stomach turned. There might have been a time, before Sam, that Dean would have considered engaging in the seedier side of sex, some random fuck along the highway, some nameless faceless person who might have wanted more, but not Sam, never with Sam. He loved Sam, was in love with Sam, and there were certain things Dean couldn’t, wouldn’t, do to the person he loved.
He couldn’t understand how Sam could want such a thing. Dean stared at the pictures again, he’d seen some of them before, years ago. Once Sam had fallen into a migraine induced sleep last night, Dean’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, his conversation with Nathan replaying in his head. It wasn’t the first time Nathan had warned Dean about Sam’s sexual proclivities. Back during their previous visit to Pike Creek, Nathan had suggested that Sam was curious, experimenting with the more painful side of pleasure. It took Dean an afternoon on Sam’s confiscated laptop, his punishment for leaving it lying around and allowing Nathan to find it, to see that the coach was right. The browser history was full of hardcore porn websites, people trussed up, whipped, humiliated. Dean wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, so the fact that Sam was looking up these sites didn’t bother him, it was the idea of Sam allowing someone to put him in that position. He deleted the browser history so their father wouldn’t find out and vowed to keep a closer eye on his brother. In the two years after Pike Creek, but before Stanford, Dean never discovered anymore of those sites on Sam’s computer and Sam acted like a normal sullen, wholesome teenager. Finally, he wrote the incident off as teenage sexual discovery and promptly forgot about the whole thing. Until Nathan reminded him last night.
“You gentlemen have any questions?”
Dean spun around to see a young boy - man? - standing beside him, face overly cheerful and voice overly helpful for a store where most people liked to remain happily anonymous. He didn’t appear to be more than nineteen or twenty and twinkier than a Hostess snack cake. His eyes were rimmed heavily in kohl and his clothing accentuated his slight body - the sparkly purple shirt clung to his undefined chest and concave stomach, artfully cut to reveal smooth, pale skin, and his skinny jeans hung below the bony prominences of his hips and snugged the boy’s pencil thin legs. His shaggy hair was styled messily in the tousled look that was all the rage now and that Dean despised, shiny glitter catching the light when the kid turned his head.
Castiel looked up from the newest dildo he’d taken from the shelf and showed it to the boy. Dean caught the words King Kong on label beside a picture of a large gorilla before the kid took it. “Yes, can you explain how something of that magnitude can fit past the tightly muscled sphincter of the human anus?”
Dean groaned, barely suppressing the urge to facepalm.
The boy winked at Dean, “Well, Sugarlips, a lot of patience and a buttload of lube,” the kid laughed at his own joke, “Some men find the King Kong and Moby Dick vibrators uncomfortable and more than a little intimidating, but from the looks of tall, dark and smoking here,” black lined brown eyes dropped to the crotch of Dean’s jeans in an appreciating gaze, “I’d say you’re used to living life large.”
“Hey!” Dean protested, hands moving to block the young twink’s view of his groin.
Castiel smiled proudly at Dean, “Yes, Dean is impressively proportioned, a testament to the Father’s design, but if you truly want to witness the golden ratio, you should see Sam.”
“Oh, really,” the kid smirked, eyebrows raised in interest.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Dean cut a hand through the air, “there will be no witnessing of Sam. Got it?” He glared at the two other men.
“Possessive,” the boy purred, drawing out the word, “you’re really hot when your eyes flash like that. So you guys do a threesome thing with this Sam guy?”
“We are often together,” Castiel replied as Dean answered, gruffly, “There is no threesome. It’s me and Sam. Period.”
“Oh, so Sam is your…” The boy prompted.
“Br-“
“Boyfriend,” Dean interrupted Castiel, shooting a hard look at the loose-lipped angel. Of course with this kid, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he found the idea of incest a turn-on. “Look, I just want to pick up a few things and get out of here.” He focused his attention back to the bondage display.
From the corner of his eye, Dean could see the boy watching him as a slow, knowing smile curled the corners of his lips up. “You new to BDSM?” Den refused to acknowledge him, he was uncomfortable enough with this and didn’t need any Adam Lambert wannabe giving him a hard time. “You know, I work in a sex shop. I could probably help you if you tell me what you’re looking for.”
“My…boyfriend is interested in a little more in the bedroom. I thought I’d come and see what was available.”
“Your boyfriend is interested,” the kid repeated, slowly, “but you’re…not,” he finished carefully.
“Not really, no.”
“Okay. Then start slow with something that you both will be comfortable with. There are some very creative options…”
Twenty minutes later, the boy - Neil Dean’d learned during his tour and introduction of the kinkier sections of the store - went back to the front counter to ring up a customer, leaving Dean with Castiel and clutching a few items he’d decided to purchase.
Castiel eyed the merchandise in Dean’s arms, still unconvinced that Dean was correct in his assumptions of what Sam wanted. Finally he placed a hand on Dean’s arm, “You know your brother best, Dean. I will trust your judgment, idjit.”
“Don’t call me…” Dean turned but Castiel was already gone.
*****
Dean walked into the quiet apartment, careful to not disturb the line of salt just inside the doorway. The light was on over the stove, providing just enough illumination for him to make his way to the bedroom. He pushed open the door, allowing the light to filter into the room, and entered quietly, following the trail of Sam’s discarded clothes. He set his bag of purchases on the nightstand and took in the sight on the bed.
Sam was spread out on his stomach, the sheet draped over his lower half with his right leg uncovered. Sam had slept with one leg out from under the blankets since he was a kid, creating a homeostasis while asleep. If both were bare, Sam was too cold in the night, and if both were covered, he was too hot. Listening to the soft snores that told Dean his brother was deeply under, he quickly disrobed, pulling his knife out of his pocket and leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. He dug through black plastic bag and pulled a cardboard box out of its depths, tearing it open to get to the item inside.
Carefully, he peeled the sheet back from Sam’s body. Sam snuffled in his sleep, but didn’t wake. First, he slid the nylon strap under Sam’s right thigh, midway between hip and knee, and secured down the Velcro ends then repeated the action with the left thigh. Sam shifted on the bed, agitated by the motions, but a soothing hand on his back settled him down.
Dean lightly clasped one of Sam’s wrists, nestled around his pillow, and tugged gently. Sam resisted with an annoyed whimper and Dean petted his arm until Sam relaxed again and allowed his arm to be repositioned. Settling the appendage by Sam’s side, Dean surrounded the wrist with a nylon cuff that was attached to the one surrounding Sam’s thigh by a small length of cord. Soon, his other wrist was secured to the other thigh. He picked up the knife and slid the sharply honed blade under the leg of Sam’s boxer-briefs, slicing up the back of one side then the other. Closing the knife and setting it back on the nightstand, he moved the tattered fabric away to reveal Sam’s perfect ass.
Dean’s movements had been slow and careful, not wanting Sam to awaken until he was done. He straddled Sam’s legs, just below the restraints, staying on his knees to keep his body away from Sam’s for now. He stared down at his bound brother and fingered the straps to a red ball gag, letting them slip over his knuckles and between the pads. He hoped this was enough for Sam because Dean didn’t think he could make himself do more. Taking a deep breath, Dean grasped one of the straps, the other dangling over his fist, and brought the loose end down over Sam’s creamy ass.
Sam jerked awake, a stinging pain erupting in a stripe across his right butt cheek. The only light in the room was coming from the bulb over the stove shining through the open door. He tried to bring his hand up, turn to see what caused him the pain, but discovered that he couldn’t move it…or its mate. His hands were tied to his thighs and no amount of twisting or writhing brought the clasps into reach. His heart thundered in his chest and fear was forcing bile up his throat.
“You can fight all you want, baby boy, but you aren’t getting out of those,” Dean’s whiskeyed voice washed over him and for a moment Sam’s mind blanked. Dean did this to him? Dean tied him down?
“Dean, what are you -?” his questions was cut off by something hard and round being forced between his lips. Cool straps lined his cheeks and he heard the soft snick of a buckle being fastened, his hair pulled into the clasp.
“Going to give you what you want, Sam. Give you what you need.” There was a tinge of sadness in the words and Sam wondered what it is that Dean thought he wanted. Being tied up definitely wasn’t on that list. He rolled and jerked, testing the bonds, but there was no play or give.
The whistle came a second before Dean’s hand landed on his ass, harder than before, with purpose and intent. His scream was muffled behind hard rubber, strangling it, and Sam rocked away from the sting, tried to get away. Dean’s knees were bracketing his legs and he couldn’t move. From this position he couldn’t get any leverage or momentum to fight his brother off. Sam’s mind whirled, creating and discarding theories about why Dean was doing this.
“I can be what you need, Sammy. You just needed to tell me,” Dean crooned in his ear, fingernails scratching welts down Sam’s back. “Gonna fuck you good, Sammy. Scratch that itch you have.”
Sam jolted as the eight lines of fire marked him from shoulders to ass. Sam writhed on the bed, one garbled cry coming quickly on the heels of the one before. His legs pistoned up and down, bending to the side at the knee, in an attempt to get away, to get Dean off. The cuffs surrounding his thighs slid down to catch behind the joint, sweat and motion easing the way, nylon scraping the sensitive skin behind his knee.
A dry finger circled his entrance and Sam froze. Dean wouldn’t. Even in his most possessive, jealousy fueled acts, he’d never taken Sam dry. Panic seized him. He bucked and twisted, wiggled and jerked, his screams nothing more than a gargled noise. The finger pushed past the muscled resistance and fire burned a path along his nerves, consuming Sam’s mind and body. His right leg kicked out, the dislodged thigh cuff yanking hard on his wrist. Sam’s scream followed the sickening pop, white hot pain nearly blackening his vision.
The pop echoed like a firecracker, but it was Sam’s scream that Dean will remember for the rest of his life. Even muffled, the pain was heartwrenchingly clear. “Sammy?”
Sam was still beneath him, his back covered in a sheen of sweat that reeked of fear, his pale cheeks glazed in tears. Dean had closed his eyes once the gag was in place, trying desperately to separate himself. He’d said what was in his heart, let Sam know that he would do what Sam needed, then proceeded to give it to him. He’d turned a deaf ear to Sam’s cries, unable to hear Sam’s joy at Dean hurting him.
“Sammy?” He reached up and released the clasp on the gag, massaging the joint. “Sammy! Talk to me. What was that? Are you hurt?”
Liquid hazel eyes blinked at him and Sam swallowed, “Let me go.”
Dean’s hands trembled, the calmness of Sam’s voice scaring him more than his wrecked appearance. His fingers fumbled over the Velcro, shaking too much to release his brother from the bonds. Reaching out blindly on the nightstand, his hand curled around his knife. He flicked the blade through the length of cord securing Sam’s right wrist to his thigh, his stomach churning at the rapid swelling he could see around the cuff. He moved to the left, but was blindsided when Sam brought his freed elbow up. Pain exploded across his nose, wet warmth running over his upper lip to leak bitter copper into his mouth.
A thud sounded from the floor and Dean looked up in time to see Sam hobbling his way to the en suite bathroom, left wrist still bound to his thigh.
Sam shoved his shoulder into the door, slamming it shut, and leaned back against the cool wood. He slid to the floor and panted, exertion and pain robbing his breaths. He screamed when he forced his tingling fingers to tug the Velcro free from this left wrist, agony shooting from hand to elbow.
A hand thumped against the door, the knob turning. The door opened a crack and Sam pushed his weight back, forcing it shut again. “Sammy? I’m so sorry,” Dean’s voice was thick, tears clogging it and Sam’s heart clenched. “Please come out. Your wrist is hurt. I need to look at it.” There was the unmistakable sound of Dean sliding down to the floor then his voice spoke softly at the level of Sam’s ear. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Sam started to get up, open the door, but one look at the nylon restraints on his thighs and wrist and he reached up to lock the door. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. “Cas,” he croaked out, voice barely audible. “Cas,” he tried again, louder.
A warm hand landed lightly on his shoulder and Sam opened his eyes to find concerned water blue ones looking back at him. “Help me.”
Dean thunked his head back against the door, lifted and did it again. He heard Sam call out for Castiel and the familiar sound of rustled feathers. The door was still locked, but Dean didn’t need it open to know that Cas had taken Sam. Scrubbing a hand down his face to wipe away the drying tear tracks, he forced himself to his feet.
He sat on the bed, jumping up when his hand made contact with Sam’s sliced underwear. He blinked away a new set of tears, stooping to pick up his boxers and jeans from the floor. Thumbing the button in place, he looked at the black satin sheets and yanked them free of the mattress, unable to see them and not think of Sam lying on them with that dead look in his eyes. God, what had he done? He clamped a hand over his mouth, not sure if it was to keep down a sob or bile.
He spun around at the flutter of wings behind him, Castiel standing there like the true embodiment of avenging angel.
“Is he okay?”
Castiel remained stoic, body moving stiffly as he approached the dresser. He opened the drawers and searched through the contents, pulling out clothing.
“Cas, please,” Dean begged, “I never meant to hurt him. Just tell me he’s okay.”
“I placed your brother in a deep slumber to calm his mind. He is sleeping peacefully at the moment. His wrist was broken, but I was able to mend it.” The angel gathered up the collection of clothing and held it to his chest.
“Where did you take him? Can I see him?”
“Sam is safe. He does not wish to see you at the moment.” Castiel moved to the closet and grabbed Sam’s boots.
“Cas, please tell him,” Dean swallowed down the well of emotion threatening to break him, head spinning at how things had gone so wrong, so fast, “tell him I’m sorry and I love him.”
Castiel studied him for a long moment then nodded slowly. Between one blink and the next, the angel was gone and Dean was alone. He stumbled to the living room and sank down on the couch, numb and worn out. What had he done?