Fic: Bloody Bandaids (1/? Supernatural, Sam/Dean)
I'm probably not supposed to be posting this, but since when has that stopped me? The final chapter will (hopefully) be posted March 16th, as this is being written for the Rounds of Kink 5.
Title: Bloody Bandaids
Author: thefrogg
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Beta: fluffnutter,
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Sam figures out what Dean needs, and insists on being the one to give it to him.
Warnings: h/c, knifeplay, BDSM, D/s, Dom!Sam
Spoilers: The Benders
In the end, it was the holy water that betrayed Dean.
Not the frantic post-close call fucking, savage and brutal. Sam could blame that on adrenaline, the need to reassure themselves and each other they were still alive. Always back at the motel, all urgent hands and sharp teeth, grappling in the sheets for dominance. Often in the backseat of the Impala, a tangled mass of limbs, all straining towards relief, or wedged into the passenger seat in the front, no room to do anything but burn each other with the friction. A few memorable times, one or the other of them bent over the hood, hobbled by jeans and boxer-briefs peeled halfway down his thighs, just waiting, waiting to be fucked stupid. But the worst, the times that left them as injured in celebration as in the hunt, they never made it out of the woods, or the house, or wherever the case had taken them. Those times, they rutted in the dirt, on the floor, a couch if they were lucky, the scent of salt and burn and blood and dust heavy in their lungs, skin slick with blood and slime as much as sweat and sex.
Sam didn't want to think about those times, because it was always Dean that ended up bruised just shy of broken.
It certainly wasn't the way Dean would close his eyes, jaw clenched, and lean in to the stitches, press harder against the alcohol-soaked washcloth to increase the burn. That was all Dean, all unspoken answer to their usual mocking insult, "Don't be such a pussy."
The simple fact that Dean got aroused at the same time, now that? That was just because half the time they managed to do the patching before they succumbed to their lust for each other, and the rest of the time, the cataloging of injuries only brought on a second adrenaline rush.
The holy water, though, Sam couldn't blame on anything else.
Because why would Dean drink holy water instead of drowning himself in whiskey? Poker burns were nasty. Painful, even on the Winchester scale of injuries.
Sam forced himself not to respond, and just to keep tending to Dean's injuries, thankful this had become rote. He was asking the wrong question here, and had known it even as it popped into his brain.
Not Why would Dean drink holy water, but why would Dean keep two all-but-identical flasks for holy water and whiskey?
Sam wasn't sure who he wanted to hit: himself, or his brother.
Because there was only one answer to that question.
Actually, he'd be better off hitting himself. Dean would probably enjoy it too much.
~~~
Sam's niggling suspicion turned into a deeply rooted anger as he watched Dean the next morning. Once his older brother had stretched out, taken a hot shower, he was boneless, all hazy green eyes and easy smiles.
Like he'd just spent the night being fucked through the mattress, and not tortured by a bunch of inbred X-Files rejects.
Sam let it slide during breakfast, watched as Dean flirted an extra cinnamon roll from the waitress. The fear and anger churned in his gut, killing his own appetite and making him irritable and snappish.
Dean noticed, tried getting him to open up with a casual, "Hey, what's up with you?" out on the road, gaze flicking back and forth between I-35 and Sam's sullen pout.
"Just drive," Sam shot back, earning a worried look.
"You gonna just sit there and sulk all day? Cause whatever crawled up inside your ass and died is getting real old."
"Just. Drive." Sam shut his eyes, trying to sleep despite the simmering rage, trying to at the very least block out his brother's concern.
Dean gave him a few minutes' respite, then turned down the radio to almost nothing. "Did something happen that you're not telling me? Cause I know you weren't pissed at me before--"
"Not while you're driving. So get to wherever the hell we're going. Please." And Sam shut his eyes, scrunched himself closer to the door.
"You are going to talk to me then, right?"
"Whatever."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Bitch."
"Jerk."
The resigned affection was reassuring. Somehow.
~~~
They'd checked into another seedy motel, salted the door and window and set the wards before Dean scraped up the balls to confront Sam again. "So. You're the one who always wants to talk this stuff out, Sammy. Here I am, don't let it go to waste."
"You were drinking holy water."
Dean blinked.
"Holy. Water," Sam repeated.
"And?"
Sam huffed, anger sparking his eyes as he turned. "Holy water, Dean, not whiskey, not beer, you didn't even take the damn pain pills. How long were you going to hide this from me? Forever? Until you got yourself killed?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Sammy? What do you think I'm hiding from you?" Dean's eyes were wide, guileless, sheened with unshed tears.
"You like pain. I should have seen it sooner, should have--I don't know, done something."
"Wha--" It came out breathy, more of a squeak Dean would forever deny than a real protest. "What the hell are you talking about?!"
"This!" And Sam took the few steps between them, raising one hand to poke Dean's shoulder, fingers finding the brand beneath the layered shirts and bandages unerringly.
Dean pulled away with a hiss, curling sideways to protect the injury. "Damnit, Sam, that hurts!"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know. It should. And you were enjoying the hell out of it last night."
Dean blinked.
"Holy water."
"So what? So I was thirsty." Dean shrugged, hissing again as it pulled at the wound.
"So how many times have you gotten hurt because you wanted it, Dean? How many times have you thrown yourself recklessly at something?" Sam only paused for a quick breath. "Letting yourself get hurt, on purpose, because you *like* it is going to get you killed!"
"Man, listen to yourself! We get hurt on the hunt all the time, it's part of the job." Dean shook his head.
"No, not like this. I'm not going to let you get yourself, or me, or somebody else hurt or killed because you're too injured to do anything about it."
"So, what, you're going to beat me up every once in a while? How's that going to solve anything?"
Sam whipped out a knife and turned the blade so it gleamed. "I have a knife. And I know how to use it." Flipping the blade in his hand, he watched as Dean's pupils dilated, nostrils flaring in interest, and paused to let his words sink in. "You can have all the pain you want, as long as it's not out there where it can get somebody killed, okay?"
Dean stood there staring, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides for a long moment before he turned and paced the room. "I don't know why were even talking about this--"
"We're talking about this because it's something you need, and it's too dangerous for you to get it out there, Dean."
"Can we like, not talk about this? Let it go? Listen, we'll just-"
"No, Dean, you listen." Sam flung his arm sideways, the knife flying to embed itself in the side of the mattress. "You were out there hunting, without me, without Dad, and you know damn well that you can't trust something like this to strangers, I don't know how you survived this long."
"Yeah, well, I did."
Sam snorted. "You wanna know why I left college? Why I agreed to come with you and find Dad?"
"Oh, let me see. Jessica died, just like Mom did. Dad--"
Sam grabbed Dean by front of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. "Because you asked me to. Because you needed me to." He shook his brother, lifting him off his feet momentarily. "Now you need me to do this for you, and you won't take it seriously enough to even ask me."
Dean shut his eyes, unable to hide his body's reaction.
"You like that, don't you?" Sam ground his hips into Dean's, using his full bodyweight to pin his brother against the wall.
"And what are you going to do about it?" Dean ground out between clenched teeth.
"I'm going to tell you what the rules are. And then I'm going to let you go, and we're going to go to sleep. And you can give me your answer before we go on the next hunt. You got that?" And Sam shook Dean again, knocking his head against the wall.
"You little cocktease, you."
Sam ignored the insult. "Just giving you a little something to think about."
Dean just glared.
"Now. Safe and caution words rule. You pick them before we do anything, and I mean anything. If you want me to tie you up, I'll tie you up. I won't blindfold you unless you ask me to, specifically. I can and will use the knife on you--nothing that requires stitches. Nothing that'll scar. Salt, alcohol and lemon juice. Afterwards, you let me patch everything up, but I don't think you'll be in any condition to protest. Anything else, you negotiate." Sam stared into Dean's dazed eyes, waiting for the shock to dissipate. "Oh, and just in case I didn't make it clear? Safewords rule. Got that?"
A choked laugh escaped Dean. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, I didn't know you had it in you."
"Yeah, well, let's just say you aren't the first person I've ever done this for."
There was a lingering bitterness behind that statement Dean didn't want to dig into. "Understood," Dean managed, eyes rolling back, unable to stop himself. "John and Impala. Don't want you thinking I'm not trying to warn you if something like demon comes flying out of my mouth."
Sam's lips twitched at the sudden capitulation, but he nodded and let go, Dean sliding halfway to the floor before he managed to catch himself. "Get some sleep."
"What, you're just going to leave me like this?" Dean muttered, popping the button on his jeans to give his dick some breathing space.
"Suck it up, Dean. I told you, I wanted you to have some incentive to think about this." Sam paused by the bed to strip down to his undershirt and boxer-briefs.
"What, did the fact that I gave you my safewords not answer your question?"
"Yeah, Dean, it did. Which is why I said to get some sleep," Sam reminded him, sliding beneath the covers. "We have a long drive tomorrow."
"Why, where are we going? You said you hadn't found--"
"California."
"Okay." Dean blinked, then shook himself like a dog shedding water. "What're we hunting there?"
Sam lifted his head from his pillow to raise a sardonic eyebrow at him. "My toybox."
Title: Bloody Bandaids
Author: thefrogg
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Beta: fluffnutter,
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Sam figures out what Dean needs, and insists on being the one to give it to him.
Warnings: h/c, knifeplay, BDSM, D/s, Dom!Sam
Spoilers: The Benders
In the end, it was the holy water that betrayed Dean.
Not the frantic post-close call fucking, savage and brutal. Sam could blame that on adrenaline, the need to reassure themselves and each other they were still alive. Always back at the motel, all urgent hands and sharp teeth, grappling in the sheets for dominance. Often in the backseat of the Impala, a tangled mass of limbs, all straining towards relief, or wedged into the passenger seat in the front, no room to do anything but burn each other with the friction. A few memorable times, one or the other of them bent over the hood, hobbled by jeans and boxer-briefs peeled halfway down his thighs, just waiting, waiting to be fucked stupid. But the worst, the times that left them as injured in celebration as in the hunt, they never made it out of the woods, or the house, or wherever the case had taken them. Those times, they rutted in the dirt, on the floor, a couch if they were lucky, the scent of salt and burn and blood and dust heavy in their lungs, skin slick with blood and slime as much as sweat and sex.
Sam didn't want to think about those times, because it was always Dean that ended up bruised just shy of broken.
It certainly wasn't the way Dean would close his eyes, jaw clenched, and lean in to the stitches, press harder against the alcohol-soaked washcloth to increase the burn. That was all Dean, all unspoken answer to their usual mocking insult, "Don't be such a pussy."
The simple fact that Dean got aroused at the same time, now that? That was just because half the time they managed to do the patching before they succumbed to their lust for each other, and the rest of the time, the cataloging of injuries only brought on a second adrenaline rush.
The holy water, though, Sam couldn't blame on anything else.
Because why would Dean drink holy water instead of drowning himself in whiskey? Poker burns were nasty. Painful, even on the Winchester scale of injuries.
Sam forced himself not to respond, and just to keep tending to Dean's injuries, thankful this had become rote. He was asking the wrong question here, and had known it even as it popped into his brain.
Not Why would Dean drink holy water, but why would Dean keep two all-but-identical flasks for holy water and whiskey?
Sam wasn't sure who he wanted to hit: himself, or his brother.
Because there was only one answer to that question.
Actually, he'd be better off hitting himself. Dean would probably enjoy it too much.
~~~
Sam's niggling suspicion turned into a deeply rooted anger as he watched Dean the next morning. Once his older brother had stretched out, taken a hot shower, he was boneless, all hazy green eyes and easy smiles.
Like he'd just spent the night being fucked through the mattress, and not tortured by a bunch of inbred X-Files rejects.
Sam let it slide during breakfast, watched as Dean flirted an extra cinnamon roll from the waitress. The fear and anger churned in his gut, killing his own appetite and making him irritable and snappish.
Dean noticed, tried getting him to open up with a casual, "Hey, what's up with you?" out on the road, gaze flicking back and forth between I-35 and Sam's sullen pout.
"Just drive," Sam shot back, earning a worried look.
"You gonna just sit there and sulk all day? Cause whatever crawled up inside your ass and died is getting real old."
"Just. Drive." Sam shut his eyes, trying to sleep despite the simmering rage, trying to at the very least block out his brother's concern.
Dean gave him a few minutes' respite, then turned down the radio to almost nothing. "Did something happen that you're not telling me? Cause I know you weren't pissed at me before--"
"Not while you're driving. So get to wherever the hell we're going. Please." And Sam shut his eyes, scrunched himself closer to the door.
"You are going to talk to me then, right?"
"Whatever."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Bitch."
"Jerk."
The resigned affection was reassuring. Somehow.
~~~
They'd checked into another seedy motel, salted the door and window and set the wards before Dean scraped up the balls to confront Sam again. "So. You're the one who always wants to talk this stuff out, Sammy. Here I am, don't let it go to waste."
"You were drinking holy water."
Dean blinked.
"Holy. Water," Sam repeated.
"And?"
Sam huffed, anger sparking his eyes as he turned. "Holy water, Dean, not whiskey, not beer, you didn't even take the damn pain pills. How long were you going to hide this from me? Forever? Until you got yourself killed?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Sammy? What do you think I'm hiding from you?" Dean's eyes were wide, guileless, sheened with unshed tears.
"You like pain. I should have seen it sooner, should have--I don't know, done something."
"Wha--" It came out breathy, more of a squeak Dean would forever deny than a real protest. "What the hell are you talking about?!"
"This!" And Sam took the few steps between them, raising one hand to poke Dean's shoulder, fingers finding the brand beneath the layered shirts and bandages unerringly.
Dean pulled away with a hiss, curling sideways to protect the injury. "Damnit, Sam, that hurts!"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know. It should. And you were enjoying the hell out of it last night."
Dean blinked.
"Holy water."
"So what? So I was thirsty." Dean shrugged, hissing again as it pulled at the wound.
"So how many times have you gotten hurt because you wanted it, Dean? How many times have you thrown yourself recklessly at something?" Sam only paused for a quick breath. "Letting yourself get hurt, on purpose, because you *like* it is going to get you killed!"
"Man, listen to yourself! We get hurt on the hunt all the time, it's part of the job." Dean shook his head.
"No, not like this. I'm not going to let you get yourself, or me, or somebody else hurt or killed because you're too injured to do anything about it."
"So, what, you're going to beat me up every once in a while? How's that going to solve anything?"
Sam whipped out a knife and turned the blade so it gleamed. "I have a knife. And I know how to use it." Flipping the blade in his hand, he watched as Dean's pupils dilated, nostrils flaring in interest, and paused to let his words sink in. "You can have all the pain you want, as long as it's not out there where it can get somebody killed, okay?"
Dean stood there staring, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides for a long moment before he turned and paced the room. "I don't know why were even talking about this--"
"We're talking about this because it's something you need, and it's too dangerous for you to get it out there, Dean."
"Can we like, not talk about this? Let it go? Listen, we'll just-"
"No, Dean, you listen." Sam flung his arm sideways, the knife flying to embed itself in the side of the mattress. "You were out there hunting, without me, without Dad, and you know damn well that you can't trust something like this to strangers, I don't know how you survived this long."
"Yeah, well, I did."
Sam snorted. "You wanna know why I left college? Why I agreed to come with you and find Dad?"
"Oh, let me see. Jessica died, just like Mom did. Dad--"
Sam grabbed Dean by front of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. "Because you asked me to. Because you needed me to." He shook his brother, lifting him off his feet momentarily. "Now you need me to do this for you, and you won't take it seriously enough to even ask me."
Dean shut his eyes, unable to hide his body's reaction.
"You like that, don't you?" Sam ground his hips into Dean's, using his full bodyweight to pin his brother against the wall.
"And what are you going to do about it?" Dean ground out between clenched teeth.
"I'm going to tell you what the rules are. And then I'm going to let you go, and we're going to go to sleep. And you can give me your answer before we go on the next hunt. You got that?" And Sam shook Dean again, knocking his head against the wall.
"You little cocktease, you."
Sam ignored the insult. "Just giving you a little something to think about."
Dean just glared.
"Now. Safe and caution words rule. You pick them before we do anything, and I mean anything. If you want me to tie you up, I'll tie you up. I won't blindfold you unless you ask me to, specifically. I can and will use the knife on you--nothing that requires stitches. Nothing that'll scar. Salt, alcohol and lemon juice. Afterwards, you let me patch everything up, but I don't think you'll be in any condition to protest. Anything else, you negotiate." Sam stared into Dean's dazed eyes, waiting for the shock to dissipate. "Oh, and just in case I didn't make it clear? Safewords rule. Got that?"
A choked laugh escaped Dean. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, I didn't know you had it in you."
"Yeah, well, let's just say you aren't the first person I've ever done this for."
There was a lingering bitterness behind that statement Dean didn't want to dig into. "Understood," Dean managed, eyes rolling back, unable to stop himself. "John and Impala. Don't want you thinking I'm not trying to warn you if something like demon comes flying out of my mouth."
Sam's lips twitched at the sudden capitulation, but he nodded and let go, Dean sliding halfway to the floor before he managed to catch himself. "Get some sleep."
"What, you're just going to leave me like this?" Dean muttered, popping the button on his jeans to give his dick some breathing space.
"Suck it up, Dean. I told you, I wanted you to have some incentive to think about this." Sam paused by the bed to strip down to his undershirt and boxer-briefs.
"What, did the fact that I gave you my safewords not answer your question?"
"Yeah, Dean, it did. Which is why I said to get some sleep," Sam reminded him, sliding beneath the covers. "We have a long drive tomorrow."
"Why, where are we going? You said you hadn't found--"
"California."
"Okay." Dean blinked, then shook himself like a dog shedding water. "What're we hunting there?"
Sam lifted his head from his pillow to raise a sardonic eyebrow at him. "My toybox."