Shifting Rivalry 1/2
Shifting Rivalry
Sam Wesson has been Dean Smith’s full-time sub for five years, and he’s happy with their life the way it is. But then Dean’s old flame shows up out of the blue, looking for a place to heal … and it seems like maybe he’s thinking of sticking around.
Tags: BDSM AU, domestic, jealousy, hurt/comfort, bathing, bottom!Cas, bottom!Sam, top!Dean, Dean/Sam/Castiel.
A big thank you to wildirerose, Princess_aleera,
and the mods at DeanCasBigBang.
** Don't forget to check out ALL the incredible art byPaxdracona!!**
Sam was on his hands and knees on the bed, with Dean behind him. “Dean, harder!”
“Hey, who’s running this show,” Dean teased. “Huh? Who wears the panties in this relationship?”
Today that would be Sam, but only because Dean had put him up to it. You’ll love it, he’d said, with suspicious certainly.
All day Sam had been tortured by the pink fabric, tight and silky around his dick and his balls. He’d practically leaked all the way through them. By the time he had finally come home, he’d barely had the presence of mind to drop his trousers and beg his Dom to fuck him.
Now here he was, moaning, thighs bound with stretched panty, and Dean was taking his time?!
“So beautiful, sweetheart,” Dean said, stroking the knobs of his spine. “So perfect for me just like this, in your pretty panties. Asking me to please, please fuck your sweet little hole.”
“I’m asking you to please, please fuck it harder,” said Sam.
Dean tapped his side. “Be a good boy for me,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. We never get enough time together, I just wanna go slow and be sweet to you.”
Which was nice and all, but since they never had enough time together, Sam just needed to get fucked.
“Please, Dean,” he begged shamelessly. “Please do it hard. Make me feel it.”
But instead Dean pulled out entirely and stepped back, ignoring Sam’s moan of despair. Strong, callused hands gently pulled the panties down Sam’s legs, guiding him to kick them off.
“Here.” Dean handed the panties to Sam, who took them in confusion.
“Uh, what … ?”
“Gotta remind you that I’m in charge, Sammy. If I want to fuck you slow then that’s what I’m going to do, and I don’t need your input. I think you know what to do with those, hmm?”
Moaning, Sam hesitated, playing for time. But Dean was his Dom, and that meant he was in charge in the bedroom. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and put the damp fabric gingerly on his tongue.
He could taste himself, sharp and bitter.
“That’s right. That’s my good boy. You suck on your panties while you get fucked nice and slow, and remember who you belong to. Who do you belong to, baby?”
“‘ou,” mumbled Sam through a muffling wad of silk.
Dean lifted his hips up, pushing Sam back down on his elbows again. Despite Sam’s larger size, he was easily manhandled into the position Dean wanted; ass in the air, head lowered, trying not to drool on the pillows.
Dean checked his readiness with two fingers (always so careful, thought Sam irritably, even though he’d been balls deep inside him just a few minutes ago) and lined himself up.
The doorbell interrupted them.
Sam groaned, collapsing into the pillowcase.
“Maybe they’ll go away,” said Dean, holding still with the wet head of his cock kissing Sam’s stretched hole. Sam rubbed back against it desperately but Dean just moved away.
The doorbell rang again, twice, sounding urgent.
Dean groaned. “Just a second!” He hollered. “Coming!”
No, thought Sam mournfully, they weren’t.
“Go on, Sammy,” said Dean, cracking Sam playfully across the backside. “You get it.”
Grumbling through his mouthful, Sam clambered awkwardly across the bed and stood, letting Dean help him into a pair of sweatpants that had been left on the bedroom floor. They were Dean’s, of course, and way too short in the calf.
“This is a good look on you, Sammy,” said Dean, lovingly tucking Sam's dick under the waistband. The front of the pants was obviously tented.
Sam gurgled.
“Front door’s thataway, kiddo.” Dean pushed him towards the hallway, hurriedly stepping into some clothes himself.
But when Sam reached to pull out the sodden wad of underwear in his mouth, Dean caught up with him and grabbed his wrist. “No no, sweetheart. You’re going to answer the door just like that.”
Sam shuddered with delighted humiliation.
Obediently, he crossed the living room, padding in bare feet across the restored hardwood floor. The room was dark, curtains all pulled shut the way Dean liked it when they were playing. It was necessary; the house Dean had purchased for them was tucked into a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood in the small college town where Sam taught part time.
Their neighbors thought they were an ordinary gay couple.
The reality was that Sam considered himself to be Dean’s sub, permanently and full-time. Had been every minute for the last five years, since Dean, then a professional Dom, had introduced Sam to the scene.
It didn’t mean every minute of their relationship was kinky sex toys and bondage. Sometimes it just meant that Dean walked Sam home after work, holding his hand. Sometimes it meant that he cooked dinner and fed Sam every bite. Sometimes, like today, it meant that he made Sam suck on his own panties while he fucked him up the ass.
It worked for them.
Dean let Sam get as far as reaching for the doorknob, but at the last second he nudged him behind the door so that he wouldn’t be visible to whoever was collecting subscriptions or delivering a package on the other side.
Sam breathed wetly through his underwear as he waited for the inevitable exchange (good morning Sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior? Or, would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?).
Except, Dean wasn’t saying anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and full of wonder: “Cas?”
Discretely, Sam spat out the panties and dropped them behind the door. He stepped into the doorway to look for himself.
It was Cas - and wow, was that ever a blast from the past - but he looked nothing like instead of the serene, gentle-hearted man Sam remembered. He was thin, his face gaunt and dirty, with the better part of a beard covering his chin and cheeks. Under the familiar tan trench coat he was dressed in dirty hospital scrubs. Worst of all, his expression was vague and absent.
“Angel?” Dean was all up in his personal space at once, cupping his cheek, lifting his head up to meet his gaze. His fingers skated over the new peachfuzz on his cheeks. “Hey, you hearin’ me?”
Cas’ eyes slid away, unseeing.
Before Dean had committed to Sam, Cas had been his favorite submissive. Sam could remember watching them together, on stage, Cas gracefully accepting everything Dean gave him. They’d never been exclusive, but it had been obvious there’d been a lot of trust and affection there. When Sam and Dean had left the scene together, Cas had still been going strong, and Sam had assumed he was still out there, living it up.
“Dean … what’s wrong with him?” he asked.
Dean looked grim. “I dunno. C’mon, Sammy, help me get him inside.”
Obediently, Sam came forward to offer a hand as Dean coaxed Cas over the doorframe. “Should we call an ambulance? Or maybe the police?”
“I don't think so,” said Dean, shaking his head. “He always tried to stay under the radar before. I got the feeling he might be an illegal alien, or something. His full name sounds foreign … Russian, maybe.”
Sam realized he had never wondered about Cas’ full name before.
Dean had finally gotten Cas all the way inside with a firm hand on his elbow, tugging him in and then bumping the door closed behind him. Together, they muscled him over to the couch.
“Here, angel, sit.”
Dean snagged the afghan off the back of the cushions and wrapped it around him. Sam realized a beat later that Cas was trembling, faintly. “It’s okay,” Dean soothed, tucking the edges of the blanket more snugly around Cas’ shoulders. “It’s okay, buddy, we’ve got you now.”
“God, he stinks,” said Sam, his voice low.
“You do stink,” Dean told Cas tenderly. “What have you been doing to yourself?” Not seeming particularly repulsed, he hooked an arm around Cas’ neck and pulled him in to his chest. Cas went without protest,but he didn’t lift his arms to hug Dean back. He just let himself be held, resting on Dean’s shoulder when Dean palmed the back of his head. “What the hell happened to you, huh?”
“Maybe he was drugged?”
Dean lifted Cas’ chin again, examining him. Cas’ eyes were huge, the bluest blue that Sam had ever seen, but they drifted listlessly away from Dean’s, back to the floor. “Hey, up here.” Dean snapped his fingers. Cas’ eyes darted back up. “That’s right, look at me, that’s good. Well, your pupils are normal, anyway. Are you hurt anywhere? Sammy, help me. I can’t see if he’s hurt.”
Untucking the blankets, Dean wrestled off the large, ugly overcoat and stripped it away from Cas’ arms. Cas let it happen, watching the coat slide off of him. “Phew.” Dean rolled it up and put it by the end table, presumably to be washed.
Sam wrinkled his nose. It was like sitting next to a homeless person on the bus, the scent of sweat and dirt.
“Okay, let’s get a good look at you,” said Dean, gently guiding him forward so he could run his hands over his neck, his head, his arms. “Is this hurting?” He pulled Cas’ head up to check. “You got a fever?” Dean’s hand molded to Cas’ forehead.
Cas blinked slowly, allowing it.
“You don’t feel hot.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Sam.
“Well, first things first, he needs a shower. Or maybe a long soak in a tub of bleach. You’re going to be a whole lot happier once you’re clean, aren’t you angel?” Dean’s voice was softer when directed at the shorter man.
Sam recalled that Cas had always been fastidious, his clothes immaculate and miraculously spotless, even though his hair was usually rumpled.
“C’mon, stinky, bathroom is this way.” Dean wrapped one arm tight around Cas’ skinny waist, levering him up, as Sam hurried to help. “Good thing we got the big shower, huh?” Dean had made extensive, mostly sex-related renovations to the little house, including the addition of an extra-large bathroom. He loved to see Sam dripping wet.
“Good thing,” said Sam.
Together, they got down the hall, Dean talking quietly to Cas the whole time. It reminded Sam of when he’d first learned to sub, how Dean had coaxed and coddled him through it. But that was five years ago, and Sam had his feet under him now, was a confident, contented submissive. Sure, in the bedroom Dean still called him baby or sweetheart, but it wasn’t like he needed it so much any more.
“Okay, stay with Sammy while I go get the water warmed up,” said Dean, letting Sam take more of Cas’ weight. Cas leaned willing into the new source of support, seemingly indifferent.
Dean started the shower and stood with his hand under the spray. “Alright, it’s ready for you,” he said finally. “Looks good, doesn’t it? You wanna get in?”
Cas didn’t answer, obviously. He was staring at the tile floor, which Dean had laid by hand.
“Hoo-kay. Maybe we need a little help, huh, that’s okay, Sammy and I will help you. Won’t we Sammy.”
Sammy nodded obediently.
Dean soaked a washcloth in the sink and came forward.
“There’s my good boy,” he soothed, carefully wiping Cas’ dirty face. “Does that feel good, angel? Yeah? Sam, help me get his pants off.”
“Dean, I’m not sure …”
“Well I don’t think he’s going to take care of it himself,” said Dean. “We’ll just get him started and see if he picks it up, huh?”
Sam looked at Cas, who didn’t seem to be making any effort to undress himself. He was wearing what seemed to have been scrub pants, but they were faded and grey now with age and grime. Sam made a face as he untied the string and awkwardly tugged them down Cas’ skinny waist.
No underwear, he noted.
Dean pulled the shirt off over his own head, then Sam helped him do the same for Cas. Sam was only wearing sweatpants, so apparently those were just going to get wet. He watched as Dean stepped out of his own cargos, down to a black pair of boxers, and involuntarily licked his lips at the sight.
“Save it for later, Sammy,” said Dean, winking.
Together they guided Cas, now naked and pale, over the lip of the tub. To hold him up - he was wavering on his feet - Sam ended up getting in with him, while Dean stood on the tile floor getting hit with residual spray.
“Whattaya think, angel?” asked Dean, trying to press the washcloth into Cas’ hands. “Gonna clean yourself up?” But as soon as Dean let go, the washcloth dropped from Cas’ lax fingertips, landing with a splat on the floor of the tub.
“I guess that’s a no,” said Sam.
Dean ended up stepping in too, crowding Sam under the showerhead. The warm stream of water was relaxing, even to Sam, although Cas had no visible reaction. Picking up Sam’s bottle of shampoo, Dean washed Cas’ hair while Sam held the shorter man up. He watched Dean’s strong hands, gently scrubbing Cas’ scalp, careful to keep the bubbles from running into his eyes. When Dean guided his chin up to rinse, the water ran grey.
Then Dean reached for the hand-sprayer and turned it on, diverting water from the shower. With brisk efficiency he rubbed the soapy washcloth over Cas’ sallow chest, under his arms, over his back. Cas allowed all of it indifferently, even when Dean’s hands moved lower.
“Just getting you nice and clean,” Dean coaxed, sliding one of his hands between Cas’ thighs and spreading them apart.
Cas didn’t struggle. He turned his face into Dean’s shoulder and kept quiet as Dean hosed him off in front, then moved down to soap his knobby knees and calves. Sam knew Cas must have been out of it, to stay completely soft even when Dean knelt down, his face only inches from Cas’ pale dick.
“Here,” said Dean, handing the hand-sprayer around to Sam, who was standing behind Cas.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Can you get a good look at his butt? And clean him up.”Dean gave his orders calmly, with the full expectation of being obeyed.
“Uh … what?”
“Well, obviously something happened to him. I want you to check that he’s not hurt.” Dean stood up and gathered Cas into his arms, sliding his fingers through the dark hair. “Angel, be good and let Sammy get a look at you, okay? He’s not gonna hurt you. He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”
Oh, hurt like … hurt. “I don’t know, Dean,” said Sam dubiously.
“Well, either you do it or I do, which do you prefer?”
Huh. Sam realized suddenly that Dean was trying, in his own weird way, to be sensitive to the situation; he didn’t want Sam to watch him getting up close and personal with his former lover.
“Alright, alright,” Sam muttered, steeling himself. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a man’s butt before, considering how much Dean loved to ride his face.
“Good. Now quit playing around like a girl. Just get in there and take a look for me.”
Reluctantly, Sam took one of Cas’ round, white buttocks in each of his hands and gently spread them open. Cas made a soft sound, maybe a whimper, but Dean easily kept him calm. “Easy, angel, it’s just Sam, remember Sammy? He just needs to check you out, and then we’ll get you something to eat, and then you can go to sleep, okay?”
Sam hurriedly sluiced the sprayer over his crack and down his thighs.
“What do you see?”
“He looks fine.”
Dean was peering at Cas’ face, which was pressed into his shoulder. “He doesn’t seem like he’s hurting. No redness, no scarring, anything?”
“Nope.” Sam handed the sprayer back and stepped out to get towels.
“Get yourself dried off and dressed first,” said Dean, helping Cas out of the tub and towards the towel Sam was holding open for him. Cas went docilely into Sam’s arms and accepted the soft terrycloth being wrapped around him. “Then bring back something of mine for him to wear.”
Sam handed Dean a towel as well, then a bundled-up Cas.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright with him?”
“He doesn’t seem like he’s looking to cause trouble.” Dean leaned against the sink and guided Cas in to rest against him, gently toweling his hair.
Sam hurried back to the bedroom anyway.
It felt strange to see Dean being tender with someone else. Obviously Sam knew he'd had other subs in the past, considering how they met ... and he knew Dean had put that all behind him, now that Sam wore his collar (although it wasn’t a collar at all - it was a handmade braided leather ring, which Dean had shyly slipped on the fourth finger of his left hand, before a long night of the kind of sex Sam suspected Dean liked best, where Sam just laid there like a blowup doll and let Dean do all the work).
But it still felt strange. Even though it would be petty to consider a catatonic man as competition.
By the time Sam got back, Dean had already moved on through the hierarchy of needs. “What do we have that’s easy to eat?” he asked, clearly reviewing the contents of the kitchen cabinets in his head.
Sam handed over a pair of Dean’s track pants, a soft, clean Henley, and Dean’s sweatshirt, for Cas. Pointedly, he had also brought a pair of boxer-briefs. He watched as Dean dressed himself and then Cas, talking to him in low tones, maneuvering his uncooperative limbs into legholes and sleeves.
Cas seemed to like the sweatshirt best, nestling into it when it was draped over his shoulders. It was the first reaction he’d shown since he’d arrived. Sam told himself it wasn’t because the sweatshirt had been worn and smelled like Dean - motor oil and woodsmoke. He was probably just cold.
“Sammy, don’t we have a jar of applesauce? From your low-fat baking kick?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“That’d go good on your stomach, huh angel?” Dean patted the body part in question affectionately, pulling down his shirt. Cas didn’t react. “Sam! Get this man some baby food!”
Sam rolled his eyes but obediently walked into the kitchen to look for the jar, finally finding it untouched in the back of the cupboard (the healthy baking experiments had not been a success: for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to Sam, Dean was a much better cook than him).
He popped the lid off and rummaged through the drawers in search of a spoon as Dean came in behind him, towing Cas who was at least no longer quite so pungent.
“Good,” said Dean, at the sight of the jar. “Take a seat, and I’ll hand him to you.”
Sam barely dragged over one of their second-hand cane-backed chairs in time.
“Dean!” Sam suddenly had a lapful - an armful - of damp, chilly flesh.
“Put your arms around him,” Dean ordered. “Jeez Sam, this shouldn’t be this hard.”
Sam scowled but wrapped one arm around Cas’ waist, anchoring him on his lap. Cas was slightly built and barely heavy, compared to Sam, who was aware that he was built, as Dean liked to say, ‘on the Clydesdale scale.’
Cas settled back against Sam’s broad chest, letting himself be situated where Dean wanted him.
“Okay, angel, just going to get you some water here first,” Dean murmured, turning his back to them and walking to the sink. Cas made a soft sound, what might have been dismay.
“I’m right here, right here,” said Dean immediately, his voice soothing. “It’s okay, angel. I’m coming right back. See?” He had a glass of water in his hands when he returned. “Gonna be a good boy and drink this all for me?”
Sam swallowed automatically. Dean had babied him just like this, once. Watching as Dean coaxed Cas’ chin up, set the water to his lips and helped him drink it - watching Cas’ calm, trustful eyes, fixed on Dean’s face - it made Sam wonder if Dean missed playing the role.
When Cas was gone, he’d try harder, thought Sam.
“That’s better, huh angel,” said Dean. “You want to try some food now?” Cautiously, he brought the spoon to Cas’ lips, laden with the soft applesauce.
When was the last time Dean had used that voice with Sam? Probably the stomach flu he’d gotten a few months back. Which hadn’t been very romantic, considering Sam was throwing up every twenty minutes.
“That’s so good, Cas, that’s great,” Dean praised, as Cas swallowed feebly. Sam could feel the movement through the body in his lap.
Since when was it this easy to please Dean? All he had to do was freaking eat. Sam ate every day!
Stop it, he reminded himself. Whatever had happened to Cas, it was obviously something horrible, and he owed it to a fellow submissive to be mature about sharing the attention once in a while.
After all, his relationship with Dean was strong. Hell, they had sex pretty much every night, even after all these years! If Dean was bothered that Sam was less submissive than he used to be, he would have been comfortable saying something. Right?
Cas was turning his face away from the spoon, and Dean was trying to coax him into taking another bite. “It’s not gonna upset your tummy, angel,” he promised, “it’s gonna taste good. See, Sammy likes it, huh Sam?”
The spoon changed course and ended up hovering at Sam’s lips. He opened for it automatically and let Dean slide the spoon into his mouth, accepting a spoonful of sweet, bland puree.
“Say ‘mm,’ Sammy,” said Dean, giving Sam a sharp look.
“Mm,” said Sam, humbly.
“That’s my good boy.” Dean reached up to wipe Sam’s lower lip with his thumb, cleaning off any extra fruit, meeting his eyes and smiling warmly for just a second. Then his eyes returned to Cas. “Now you, angel. C’mon, just one more. For me.”
Obviously that was a request nobody could refuse; Cas let his head rest heavily on Sam’s shoulder and opened his mouth.
“Good, good boy,” Dean soothed, petting his damp mop of hair. “Did great, angel, just great. Let’s get you upstairs to bed now, okay?”
Dean soon had Cas tucked into the spare bed in the guest room, and spent a few minutes whispering softly while Sam watched awkwardly from the doorway. Then Dean kissed Cas’ forehead - “sleep tight, angel, Sammy and I’ll be right next door” - and left him already mostly asleep.
Dean dragged Sam up the stairs to their own master bedroom, stripped him out of his clothes with greedy hands, and hustled him into bed. San would have liked to talk, but he was exhausted and it was obvious that Dean was too. Instead he held his questions and let Dean spoon him, naked, drifting off with Dean’s teeth at the nape of his neck.
-
Cas slept for days. He was like a puppet with the strings cut, barely moving, barely responding.
Dean never seemed to get tired of catering to him. It seemed like every other minute he was making soup, washing sheets, fetching more blankets. He took a whole week off work: “not to worry, Sammy, Garth can cover for me at the shop” - which was pretty funny for a guy who previously claimed that if he left before 6, it’d bring on the apocalypse.
Sam would leave for his morning class and Dean would be sitting on the bed reading aloud. He'd return at the end of the night and find Dean still there, trying to make Cas laugh with a long, rambling story about the time he made it with twins.
“He’s getting better,” Dean insisted, when Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s seeing me now, you know, instead of looking straight through me.”
But it had been almost a week, and still Cas hadn't said a word.
“Someone’s got to be missing him,” Sam said reasonably. “Maybe we should start calling around, huh?”
But Dean just shook his head. “Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone’s looking for him, it’s no one he wants to see.”
Sam tried to be patient. He had to admit that, in general, Dean had accommodated him in their relationship a lot more than the reverse. They had moved to this area because the local college had the program Sam was interested in. Dean had started Smith’s Towing and Salvage (which he said was “the family business”) mostly to pay for Sam’s Ph.D. - although privately Sam was pretty sure he also liked playing the hero to stranded motorists. He’d built an addition on the house just so Sam could have a study (and the extra-large bathroom, but that was sort of a mutual benefit).
“My little Sammy’s a scholar,” he’d say proudly to anyone that would listen, even though at present Sam was only adjunct faculty, making barely $1000 per credit hour.
But now Dean was distracted and irritable every minute he was away from Cas. He'd skipped Sam's weekly sounding (“we gotta keep it down, for God’s sake, I just got him to sleep!”). He barely left the house except to buy ‘food that Cas would eat,’ and after three meals a day of porridge, pannacotta, and bread pudding, Sam would kill for something that wasn't made of milk and honey.
The days and nights had begun to bleed together because every few hours Dean would be up to check on him, tuned into some Cas-frequency that Sam couldn’t hear.
Case in point: the quiet of the dark house was split by a hoarse cry, and Sam woke to found himself alone.
Cas.
Sam strained to hear and thought he could detect a softer coo, coming from the direction of the guest bedroom.
He got up and stepped into boxers, knowing he was breaking the rules because he wasn't supposed to dress himself without permission. But whatever, Dean could paddle him for it later, if he even noticed.
He crept down the hallway towards the guest room, peering inside from the doorway.
Dean was standing with his arms around the smaller man, rocking him slowly back and forth. Although he was silent, Sam could see Cas’ shoulders shaking slightly. Dean was rubbing his back, long strokes up at down his spine, patting his butt like a fussy baby.
Sam knew better than anyone how warm, how safe Dean’s arms could feel, like he could protect you from the whole world.
“He’s having nightmares,” he guessed, slipping in to stand by them.
“Second one tonight,” said Dean grimly.
“What can we do?”
Dean rubbed his chin.
“Maybe some herbal tea,” Sam suggested. “Or hot milk, maybe?”
“I was thinking a nice warm enema,” said Dean.
“Uhh … what?”
“Well, it always makes you sleepy. Settles you right down.”
That was true, but Sam didn’t feel exactly satisfied with the explanation.
“I just thought … maybe it’d make him feel better, being nice and full,” said Dean quietly. His fingers were combing through Cas’ dark hair. “He's been a sub for as long as I've known him. He’s probably not used to sleeping empty. I mean, obviously we can't fuck him, but this could be the next best thing.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,“ said Sam.
“He needs to get some proper sleep, Sammy. I’m worried about him. And what if this is the part of the problem, you know, why he's not recovering faster? Maybe we've been going about this all wrong.”
Sam scowled. “Well, then who cares what I think,” he sniped.
“You know, this sibling rivalry is getting a little old, Sammy.”
“Sibling riv- ” Sam gasped.
“Just because there's a new baby in the family, doesn't mean daddy loves you any less,” Dean added smugly, faux-sweet.
“Fuck you,” said Sam, a little more forcefully than he meant to.
“And oh look, you just earned yourself one too. Lie on the bed, knees up. I’m gonna go get the stuff.”
“You can’t just - ”
“Sam!”
Sam fell silent. Dean’s voice had hit the tone where he wasn’t joking.
“Get yourself naked and lie on the bed, on your back, nice and spread. Hands above your head. You argue with me again, you’re in time-out for the next twelve hours. Is that clear?”
Sam chewed on his lip. “Yes Dean.”
“Good boy. I’m going to find the other kit. Cas, stay here and wait for me.” He leaned over to pet Cas’ cheek. “I’m gonna make you feel better, okay?”
Sam could feel Cas’ wide blue eyes, watching him in the dark room. He gritted his teeth and obeyed Dean’s directions, stripping out of his shorts and coming uncomfortably to lay next to Cas on the bed, naked.
He both loved and loathed it when Dean got firm with him. Most of the time Dean treated him like a beloved pet, to be cosseted and stroked and spoiled. But every once in a while, he used his hard voice and Sam found himself called to heel, helpless as a child. Obeying Dean wasn’t something he consciously thought about, it was just something that … happened.
“There are my good boys,” said Dean, “look at you two, waiting so patient for me.” His voice had returned to his former silky tones. Sam gritted his teeth and waited out the routine. Dean laid a beach towel over the bed and set up the hanging bags.
“Let’s get Sammy filled up first,” said Dean, still using his coaxing-little-kids voice, “and then you, angel. Sammy, you’ve been naughty so you’ll take yours on your back. Cas, roll onto your side. I’ll tell you when to pull your shorts down.”
Sam closed his eyes, feeling the mattress shift as Cas rearranged himself on the bed. Huh, Dean was right; he really was more with it.
“Here we go.” Dean took hold of Sam’s ankle and guided him to bend his knee, opening him up.
Sam whimpered, his eyes filling with tears. He hated taking water; it made him too full and felt weird and he couldn’t come from it. Dean would only give him a small one, he knew, just so he would sleep, but he still didn’t want it.
But he had made Dean angry and he deserved it.
“S’alright, Sammy, I know it’s late and you’re sleepy and there’s a lot going on right now.” Dean murmured, stroking the hair out of his eyes. “You’re gonna feel better in just a second.”
Sam sobbed anyway when he felt his legs pressed wider apart, a touch of KY. Then the cool plastic nozzle was slipping into him, just big enough for him to feel the stretch. He squirmed at the feeling of the tube sinking into his colon.
“Ah-ah. Gonna cuff your hands above your head, if you can’t be good for me.”
Sam moaned when he felt the first trickle of water. Like being peed into.
“Take it for me quietly, sweetheart.” Dean rubbed his belly soothingly.
The water exerted pressure on his insides - different than a toy, different than Dean’s dick or even his tongue. It felt like too much, like he was an over-filled balloon. At least it was warm. The heat of it inside him made him feel drugged and heavy.
He stopped struggling and went limp, his legs spread wide with the tube spearing up behind his balls. The water was still coming.
A blanket was spread over him. He felt Dean checking the position of the nozzle. He closed his eyes, floating.
“That’s my sweetheart.” A finger slid into his mouth and Sam automatically started suckling.
“Sammy’s got an oral fixation like you wouldn’t believe,” Dean said conversationally, presumably to Cas. “Should have seen him sucking on his panties the other day.”
Sam was too lethargic to dispute it. He licked at Dean’s finger sleepily, whining when Dean withdrew it.
“Gonna be your turn next, angel. You want to be relaxed just like Sammy, don’t you?”
Dean capped the tube and disconnected it from the bag, leaving the nozzle jutting obscenely out of Sam. He flipped the blankets down, Sam stretched full with all that water backed up inside him. He walked to the other side of the bed.
“Easy angel, just gonna pull your shorts down a little, out of the way.”
Sam turned his head on the pillow, opened his eyes blearily to watch. He could follow the process just by reading Cas’ expressions; he tensed almost imperceptibly as his rear was exposed, then let go at the sound of Dean’s voice. His cheeks were healthy pink as he was lubed. His eyelashes fluttered, and his lips formed a soft little O as the nozzle pressed into him. Then he relaxed completely, all the tension leaving his body as he took the water. “Good boy.” Dean kissed his forehead, lingering. “Bet that feels better, huh.”
Sam was beginning to drift in and out.
Dean sat between them on the bed. He rubbed low on Sam’s belly, a gentle massage. “Feeling good now?”
“Mm-hmm.”
At some point Sam was aware of hands pulling on him, sitting him up. He was guided across the room, over the tub. “There you go, good boy.” Someone tugged out the nozzle and Sam relaxed. He was aware of Cas somewhere nearby, waiting his turn.
“Sleepy now?”
He was back in bed, the sheets swaddled tight around him. He gripped Dean’s wrist and tugged feebly, indicating what he wanted. “Just a second, sweetheart.” Dean pulled the sheet up over Cas, whispering something too quiet for Sam to hear.
Then he laid down behind Sam, nudging him forward to make room.
It pushed him closer to Cas, who blinked at him sleepily, their faces inches apart.
“Sleep tight, both of you.”
Dean slid his teeth into their customary spot on Sam’s neck.
Sam’s eyes were too heavy to resist the order.
Sometime in the night, he woke to find them all tangled together. Cas’ head was resting on Sam’s shoulder, an unfamiliar weight, and Sam’s face was buried in the warm, secret curve of Dean’s neck.
Dean had two fingers between Sam’s legs, resting against his hole. His other hand rested on Cas’ hip.
Sam closed his eyes and fell back asleep.
If Cas had any more nightmares that night, nobody woke up to know.
Next: (Part 2/2)