Fic: What You Need (Sam/Dean)

[bewaretheides15]

Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s relationship, first time, angst
Notes: Written for Valerie because I failed majorly on the last plot bunny she gave me
Summary - "there were surprisingly few search results for 'how to force your pain in the ass, closet masochist big brother to admit he wants to sub for you'. Go figure."
Deep down, Sam knew they were perfect for each other. Maybe it was some mystical star-crossed soulmate thing, or maybe it was just necessity - the two of them building themselves to meet each other’s needs because there was none else around to do it. Whatever, the 'why' didn't really matter. What mattered was that Sam had figured out a long time ago what they were supposed to be, what they needed from each other, and it was about damn time Dean did too. Because it was one thing to go out, get plastered and laid, it was a whole other thing for Dean to let himself get hurt by strangers because he wouldn't admit to Sam what he wanted.

It had always been there under the surface; even as a teenager, Dean's sexual tastes had lived on the hard-edge of vanilla and Sam knew it all because Dean told him - told him every filthy fucking thing his big brother ever did, because back then there had never been a secret between them, except for the one that really mattered. Now... now that one secret - that one dark, vicious desire - had bred like a virus into all of things that they didn't tell one another. Sam had made it worse by leaving, he knew that and he took it, but he was back now and Dean was still spiraling.

He wasn't sure how much hell had to do with it, but he couldn't deny that Dean had really started to crash since he'd been pulled out. Forty years of torture and torturing would be enough to change anyone, and whether his brother would admit it or not, Dean had always needed that pain, that control - those had been the only real constants either of them had ever known.

What Sam was sure of was that Dean wanted this, wanted Sam, and that he hated himself for it every second of every day. The pain he let those anonymous strangers inflict on him was as much a punishment for what Dean clearly thought was his own sickness as it was a need to get off. Sam could handle that, all of that, because he could always be strong enough for Dean even if his brother had never noticed it. But he couldn't stand the thought of Dean getting hurt, getting out of control with those other people because then he had no protection - no one would ever know how to take care of him, protect him, like Sam could and it was about time for both of them to step up.

Now he just actually had to do it. Gulp.

***

Dean drops the bags inside the door, doing a piss-poor job covering a wince that Sam pretends not to see. He's got enough stubborn for a herd of mules and he can do this shit just as long as his brother can.

They'd spent the last two hundred miles in roaring silence after Dean had refused to take off his jacket despite the sweat rolling down his temples. Sam knew why, knew there were bruises up the length of his brother's forearms from where he'd let that guy from the bar last night manhandle him in the alley. Sam knew because Sam had followed, watched, as his big brother - a guy with more training and fighting skill than most small armies - just LET himself get pinned to a wall with his arms trapped behind him and got finger fucked raw. Sam had made a conspicuous noise - and maybe loomed just a little - from where his brother couldn't see and Dean's partner had run off before he'd gotten to claim the prize.

Ok, so Sam could be a possessive, controlling bastard when he put his mind to it; that wasn't the issue. The issue was that Dean was hiding shit from him - again - and was putting himself at risk to boot.

Sam flopped down on the bed closest to the door - the one that had always been tacitly understood as Dean's - and glared, just daring his brother to say something.

It just might be a sign of the apocalypse - like they need another one - that Dean doesn't say a damn thing. Just walks over to the other bed, lays back for all of four seconds, then he's up like there's electricity running through his veins and he can't hold still. He looks around the room idly and Sam can see him running through the checklist - salt lines, protective sigils, knife under the pillow - before Dean finally comes up with,

"Gonna grab a shower." Dean's moving for the bathroom on autopilot, not even paying attention to his little brother until his voice rings out.

"No," Sam says, quiet but firm. He's not looking at Dean, just flipping through the fuzzy cable channels without really seeing them. Dean can't seem to decide if Sam actually spoke or not because it takes him a minute to fire back.

"What the fuck do you mean 'no'?" He steps one broad thigh in front of the television screen, arms crossed, challenge sparking behind jade eyes.

"No," Sam says simply, cocking his head to see the screen between Dean's legs, "Don't argue with me Dean."

"Fuck you, Sammy." Dean rolls his eyes, throwing in a middle finger for effect and stomps off toward the bathroom again.

"Maybe, if you're good."

Dean literally freezes - mid-step, one leg raised, fucking freezes. The only testament that time hasn't stopped altogether is the cop show blaring out into the afternoon air and the strange little choked off sound Dean makes in the back of his throat. Or maybe that was his brain shifting back into gear since he's at least moving again, though mainly it's just his mouth, opening and closing like a dying fish.

Sam keeps right on flipping channels, a tight thrill of triumph zinging down his spine, but it feels like the TV is going to sputter right out in respect for the tension hanging between them. The air vibrates like a plucked string and every inhale of it seems to make Sam's lungs shrink.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," Dean mumbles weakly, moving a half-step too slow into the shadow of blue tile and shutting the door.

The thrill that coursed through Sam backs right up on itself, flooding his system with itchy prickles. It would help if he had a damn clue what he was doing. Sure, he tried to research it, but there were surprisingly few search results for 'how to force your pain in the ass, closet masochist big brother to admit he wants to sub for you'. Go figure.

Short of magically becoming a brilliant, natural dom - how come he never gets the powers he actually wants? - Sam settles for wiping his palms dry on his jeans and going with his gut.

He's up and across the room before he gives himself a chance to think about it, slamming through the bathroom door. The particleboard bounces against the wall at almost the same moment Dean rips the shower curtain halfway back - right hand holding a section up to preserve his non-existent modesty and the picture it makes is so damn funny Sam almost breaks down laughing right then. But he doesn't. No, he just grips hard on Dean's water-slick arm - still covered in another man's bruises, last fucking time for that, Sam can guarantee - and jerks his brother off balance.

Dean's still stunned, footing unsure on the slick ceramic and he's crashing into Sam's waiting arms before he has a chance to get out more than an incoherent shout. Sam's not stopping, dragging his still-dripping brother out of the bathroom and half-flinging him onto a bed.

Dean looks murderous; hard to pull off when you're soaked, naked, and splayed out against your will on cheap motel sheets. Especially hard to pull off when your slowly inflating dick clearly isn't that upset about it.

"What the fuck has gotten into y-"

The tirade is cut off by Sam's fingers clamping hard around the hinge of Dean's jaw, forcing his head back until Dean's got to look across the rolling planes of his cheekbones just to see Sam. It's an honest to God miracle that Dean doesn't get his hands up and clock Sam one - Sam was more than expecting it - but he holds perfectly still as Sam slinks the length of his body up against Dean's to get right up in his brother's face.

"I said 'no'," Sam repeats, no louder than before, but even he can't deny the heat in it. His stomach is twisting itself up into the kind of knots Gordias would be proud of, but he's going for it anyway because he's way too far in to back out now and call it a joke. It's make or break time and he's not sure what either one of them will do if it turns out to be break.

"I know you want this," he says, lips brushing the damp stubble of Dean's chin. Whatever was holding Dean back snaps then and he's fighting like Sam's got a gun to his head. Actually, Sam's seen how Dean fights with a gun to his head, and this is even more furious.

Dean's flipped them so he's on top, Sam's shoulders hanging off the bed beneath him and if Dean could have gotten his legs untwisted from Sam's in time it might have been a whole different story. Instead Sam uses his calves to lock down Dean's lower body and flips himself back on top. Sam's going to have a serious set of scratch marks across his throat from where Dean's short nails caught on thin skin when his brother tried to fucking choke him and oh, that's just it.

It's not the first time Sam's ever punched Dean, hell, it's probably not even the hundredth, but it's a good one; enough to leave his knuckles aching like the middle one might be broken and Dean's eyes rolling wildly. His brother recovers fast - learning to take a hit is just part of the trade - but it's long enough for Sam to really firm up his position, get Dean pinned good with his wrists held above his head by one of Sam's arms.

Sam immediately regrets not getting the handcuffs out of his bag earlier, but then again, that would have required thinking, and he's not at all certain he could have gone through with this if he'd considered that this was how it might end up.

The shower's still pittering in the background and a distant part of Sam spares a moment to feel guilty for wasting all that water, but about that time Dean's getting his shit back together and it takes all of Sam's attention to combat his brother's attempts to buck him off.

"Stop it." Sam commands, and for one trembling second he thinks Dean's actually going to obey. His brother's body goes still, rigid for a fraction of a second before it seems to occur to Dean that isn't what he meant to do and he's back to fighting again.

"Get off me! Fuck you!" he snarls, baring his teeth viciously at Sam.

"Not tonight." Sam snaps back, adding a little more weight to his hands.

"Stop saying that shit," Dean's voice grinds but it's ragged at the edges and Sam can hear the hurt, the need under it, "Get off me. Damnit Sam."

"No," and now it's Sam's turn to snarl, getting so close to Dean's face that they're breathing the same air and he can pick out the flecks of amber in the thinning irises of his brother's eyes. "I'll say what I want, do what I want. That's how this works, got it?" He shifts his hips a little back, giving up some leverage but getting the position just right to find Dean's dick stone-stiff and grind down on it. He feel like fucking cheering.

"I don't expect you to listen to me out in the real world, or do anything I say" - he's not expecting the impossible - "but in here, like this, you're mine. You'll do what I want, what I tell you to, because you need it, know you need it, and so do I." Dean's doing that frozen thing again, except his pupils are shooting steadily wider at combination of Sam's words and the careful thrust of his denim-swathed cock. "No more strangers in the back of bars, no more letting them hurt you. You've got me, I'll give you what you need, just ask and it's yours. You understand, Dean?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking-"

"I'm serious, Dean. I am so dead serious. What you're doing with those-" he tries hard to keep the grit of resentment out his voice as his fingers find the still fresh bruises on Dean's arms, "those strangers. You're going to get yourself killed one day, Dean, and I'm not going to stand around and watch, not again." Sam has to swallow thickly before he can get the rest out; it's dirty pool and he knows it - he'll get around to hating himself for it once this is all over - but it's also the only leverage he's got, "I'll walk." Dean's body shoots so tense Sam's sure his toes are curled. "We do this, the way we both need it, or I walk away."

It hangs in the heated air between them until Sam can't take it anymore, knows he's going to burn up or just implode right on the spot.

"You're full of shit," Dean says finally, but there's no resolve behind it. His eyes are flicking jack-rabbit fast between Sam's looking for the lie.

"Try me," Sam's stomach hits the floor and keeps right on going. It's a bluff, it's always been a bluff, even the times he's really walked away because Sam's always known one way or another they were going to end up right back here again. Dean's more than everything to Sam, he's the only thing, but in all this time Dean's never seemed to have figure that out.

And for one that turns out to be a good thing, because Dean buys it. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Dean nods his head. His "Okay." is nothing more than a breath but it makes Sam feel like he's going to shake to pieces from the inside out with relief. He leans in closer, so close that their lips brush and Dean shivers like his spine turned to ice.

"A-are you - are you gonna?" It's like the words are made of broken glass, dragged up through his brother's throat unwillingly. Sam can feel the hammer of his brother's heartbeat through his own chest, can see the need painting green eyes black - Dean's halfway to fucked out already and they're not even started yet and it hits Sam like a kick to the chest how bad his big brother really needs this.

"Do you want me to?" he asks like it's a real question, like the impatient throb of Dean's cock against him isn't enough of an answer. "Gotta say it Dean, that's my first rule. If you want it, you gotta ask for it. Now tell me what you want."

"W- Fuck, Sam..." Dean breaks off on a hard breath that's more than half sob. He grates his shoulder, making another weak attempt at breaking Sam's hold. Sam just pressed down a little more, knows he's already won, just needs Dean to admit it to himself. "I want you to."

The last syllable gets lost in the press of Sam's lips, hot fierce, possessive. He's waited years for this and it feels so fucking good to have Dean's mouth warm and pliant underneath him it goes right to Sam's head and gets the world spinning like a top.

He slowly releases his grip on Dean's wrists, bracing in case his brother tries to fight this out again - almost inevitably will at some point - but for now Dean lays still and just lets Sam have his way with his mouth.

Dean doesn't open right away when Sam slicks his tongue across the seam of his brother's lips, but a rough thrust of his hips and a quick nip has them parting on a gasp and Sam finally gets to explore the warm wetness of Dean's mouth.

You don't live in the kind of intimacy they always have without knowing way too much about the other person, so it's not exactly a surprise to figure out how responsive Dean is to a casual flick of Sam's tongue as he licks along the line of his brother's teeth, but that doesn't make it any less intoxicating. Doesn't do anything to slow the midnight black thrill that slides down his veins when Dean's whimpers for the feather-light circle of Sam's thumb on his hip.

Sam feels the shift as Dean moves his arms and he's slapping them back down to the sheets before Dean's got a chance to lay a hand on him.

"No," Sam grinds out, but the warning is all fire, pressed into Dean's still-open mouth. "You wanna touch me, you gotta earn it. Now get yourself a handful of those sheets," he has to bite back a moan when Dean just DOES it, "and don't you fucking dare move them until I tell you."

He can't resist dipping his tongue past Dean's lips again, pulling back to watch Dean chase the slick friction with his own, any more than he can resist sliding his hands down the length of his brother's tensed arms, muscles shaking from the death grip they've got on the fabric.

"You make me fucking crazy, you know that?" he asks around the scrape of stubble as he bites softly at Dean's chin, "Always have. All those nights you'd come back and tell me about the things you do with those girls, those guys... God, Dean, I wanted it to be me so bad." He takes his time kissing his way down Dean's throat, paying loving attention to every available inch. There's a wet spot growing on the front of his jeans as Dean's precome soaks through the fabric and it feels so good it makes Sam's eyes want to roll back in his head.

"I know how you like it," he continues, basking in the way Dean's breath hitches with every scrape of his teeth over sensitive flesh, "want it rough, want to be used. Like to be held down and just forced to take it like you're nothing but a hole to be fucked, like that's all you're fucking good for." Dean gives a full body shudder, letting out this pitiful noise caught somewhere between a moan and a plea. Sam shifts to press his lips right against his brother's ear, softly licking and kissing at the shell as he turns the motion of his hips slow and dirty.

"It's not gonna be like that with me," he whispers, Dean's body trembling all over again, goosebumps rising up over every inch of his skin, "Oh, I'm going to use you, fuck your holes long and rough and hard until you've got nothing left to give - and I expect you to make damn sure it's good for me. But you're still going to be the thing I love most in the world after, still going to be the only thing that matters to me, and you're going to remember it every second of every time I fuck you. I'm doing it because I love you, because I love you so much I can't get enough of you. Understand?"

Dean makes a shattered sound and Sam doesn't have to lift his head to know his brother's crying; thirty years of torture in hell to break his brother and Sam did it in ten seconds with a whisper.

"Say it," he commands gently, soothing his palm over Dean's chest, "Say 'Sam loves me'."

The best Dean can manage is a stunted 'gnh' as he thrashes his head back like he's trying to escape. He doesn't try to move his hands though - always the good little soldier - and his dick's still hard as steel, twitching fitfully under the slow rock of Sam's hips. It's not much more of a stretch to make up the distance Dean won throwing his head back, so Sam does it, kisses away the wet tracks of tears as his brother does his best impression of hyperventilating.

"Say it," he lets his voice drop deep, no louder, but heavier, the kind of tone their Dad would have used - because this wasn't fucked up enough all on its own. Sam feels Dean's muscles spasm, knows what’s going to happen two seconds before it does, then Dean finally, gaspingly forces out,

"Sam lo-oves me," voice breaking down on the end because every muscle Dean's got is clamped tight, spreading molten heat between their bodies as Dean coughs out his orgasm. Sam strokes over his brother's face and shoulders, breathing out his love over and over again until it's soaked into Dean's skin.

When Dean's breathing steadies, heartbeat still machine-gun fast, laying loose and boneless on the bed beneath him, Sam reaches out and strokes a finger over Dean's hand, still limply gripping the sheets.

"Touch me," he murmurs and just like that Dean's heavy hands are everywhere. His mouth too, Dean's lips soft and red from where he must have been biting them while Sam was talking. He's kissing Sam indiscriminately - cheeks and neck and chin and eyelids; anything he can reach, slurring Sam's name with every soft press of lips and tongue. The scratch marks he'd made earlier sting like a bitch under the attention and damnit all if that didn't feel pretty fucking mindblowing too.

Dean holds on like he's going to devour Sam, slowly winds down his desperation until at last they're just laying on the bed, Sam's shirt rucked up under his arms so their naked stomachs are glued together by the mess of Dean's come. Sam's dick is seriously pissed off; like 'I'm never speaking to you again' pissed off, because Dean all needy and broken like that had everything below Sam's waist signing the 'fuck him now' petition and there's just no way that's going to happen now. Soon, and then a fucking lot, but not now. Sam can't help but sigh.

He carefully disentangles himself from his brother and trudges back into the bathroom to shut off the still-running shower. They could both use a good clean up - and God, the idea of getting Dean all wet and soap and... mmm - but there's not a chance in hell of there being a single drop of hot water left and Sam's not up for a cold shower, even if maybe he needs one.

Dean watches like a hawk as Sam comes back over to the bed - shedding his shirt along the way because Dean's come may be sexy and all but once it's drying on your shirt, some of the appeal is lost - and lays himself back down, not quite in the circle of his brother's arms.

They should talk about this, talk a lot about this because Sam doesn't exactly know all of the protocols but there are definitely supposed to be safewords and rules and stuff and just thinking about having this discussion with Dean makes him want to run back into the bathroom and hide. The control of a few minutes ago was simple - years of Dean just giving him everything; he should have known it would be fucking easy to just whatever he wanted like this - but it's gone now and he's back to being Dean's little brother and he just knows he's screwing this up big time.

"Kinda overdressed, Sammy," Dean says finally, cracks webbing his voice. He picks idly at the belt loop of Sam's jeans, never quite meeting his eyes. "Left you hanging back there," he adds with a nod toward Sam's obvious erection -won't fucking go down even though he feels like he's going to die of embarrassment any second.

"It's ok," Sam mumbles, pressing the heel of his palm into the blood-heavy flesh through denim. Even that feels good enough to make him moan.

Somewhere in the smoldering hit of pleasure Dean got right up in Sam's face, green eyes shining with a dozen different things Sam can't put a name to, or maybe just doesn't want to.

"You said I could have whatever I wanted," Dean whispers. Sam nods slowly, air thinning out around him until there's nothing left to breathe. "I want to suck you off."

Sam's dick fucking leaps inside his jeans, smearing precome around the already soaked cloth. This is a turning point somehow; he hasn't got a clue what it means or where it's leading, but he can feel it, knows that everything that happens from here on in comes down to whatever he says now. That really doesn't help get the words out past the tar-thick worry in his throat.

"I don't want some half-assed suck," everything inside him twists sideways as the words keep falling out of his mouth. "Do it right or don't waste my time."

Fire flares so hot behind Dean's eyes Sam swears he can feel it prickling his skin. If this was anyone but Dean, he'd have probably just irreparably screwed things up, but it is Dean, and he's survived for years on nothing but the overwhelming need to prove he's good enough. Why the hell hadn't Sam thought of that before?

Dean's wedged himself between Sam's legs before there's a chance to say anything else, and why the hell would he ever want to say anything else when Dean's finally pulling his neglected cock free. The jagged breaths Dean's huffing over the head make the muscles in Sam's stomach flutter. He so hungry for the feel of Dean's mouth, sweet heat wrapped tight around him, but his brother just holds there, looking up at Sam through his lashes and it takes lifetimes too long for Sam to figure out that he's waiting for permission. Once he does, Dean's barely able to keep a grip on Sam's cock it twitches so hard.

"Do it," he commands, steely tone almost lost as Dean fucking engulfs him, takes him all the way to the base and... God, oh, God, his brother sucks like he was built for it, like he's going to suck the fillings out of Sam's teeth through his dick and right now that seems completely and totally plausible.

Sam's barely got a chance to get his hand curved around the back of Dean's head before he's losing it all the way down his brother's throat. Dean swallows around him, take it all and keeps going until the sensation stops riding the edge between pleasure and pain and just becomes pain. He releases Sam's spent dick with a whine when Sam commands it - and fuck if that doesn't make his cock think about perking up and doing it all over again - and pillows his head in the dip of Sam's hip.

Sam caresses his brother's short hair, Dean's soft whuffing breaths brushing the nest of hair around his base and doing strange, exciting things to Sam's dick even as his eyes droop slowly closed.

They really do need to talk about this, and they will, because eventually Dean's brain is going to start working again - and he bitches about Sam over thinking shit - and he just knows his brother's going to try and fight this again. But he's been here now, and any doubts he might ever have had melted away in the wash of them both coming like an act of God. This was what they needed, both of them, and he'd make sure they had it, even he had to tie Dean to the bed every night to give it to them.

Actually, that didn't sound half-bad at all.

On to Part Two