Supernatural - A Map of Me and You (2/2)
Title: A Map of Me and You.
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal).
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing/character: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester. (Sam/Dean.)
Rating: NC17.
Word Count: 12,013.
Kink: Multiple (see warnings).
Warnings: Slash, incest, sex, domination/submission, sex toys, spanking, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, orgasm denial, sap. No spoilers.
Notes: Thank you to my artist, auroraprimavera, for being really encouraging, for poking me, and for often being my guinea pig the first one to see the scenes as I finished them. Thank you feywood for the encouragement and the beta (and for being the love of my life ♥).
Summary: It starts with a butt plug in Phoenix, Arizona. Sam makes Dean wear it the whole day. Then it kinda escalates, just like their prank wars -- Dean finds a plug that vibrates, and, well, turn about is fair play. And then there's all the rest of it, too: handcuffs and spanking, and finally Sam figures out that Dean kinda likes the idea of being watched when they have sex. And, yeah, he can't deny Dean anything, really, can he?
Artist: auroraprimavera, providing a banner, two manips, and a minimix. The minimix is here, with a front cover and a back cover. The first manip is here and the other is here. Her full art post is here.
Other: My artist made a mix, and so did I. You can find my mix here.
Part One | Part Two
This isn't really getting his own back, or he didn't mean it to be, but it looks like he might, after all, have made a good choice. It's a better alleyway than the last one -- shorter, maybe, but darker, and there's a sort of alcove that he can push Dean back into. He looks good -- flushed, open-mouthed, unable to believe what Sam's actually doing. That's alright: Sam can hardly believe it himself.
He's been teasing Dean all day. Just little touches, little looks, and a brief moment of brushing up against him, whispering in his ear -- it isn't much, but it's built up. More than he thought, even, and he wasn't prepared for the way Dean kissed him when they finally got back to the car. Not that he was exactly prepared for his own reaction, either. Somehow it's like he can never get enough of Dean, and it always surprises him, even though it really shouldn't. So he'd pushed Dean down here, without really thinking, without really planning anything. Just wanting him, as fast as possible.
But it's perfect. It really is.
Sam is on his knees on the concrete. It hurts, a little, and there might be glass down there from the way it feels, but he's not really focused on that. He's focused on the way Dean is touching him -- one hand cupping the back of his neck, warm and familiar, and the other just touching him, wherever he can reach. Touching his face. He runs his fingers over Sam's cheek, feeling the bulge of his own cock there, and groans.
"Sammy -- "
Sam pulls back, not really to tease, just so he can talk -- a little reluctantly himself, actually, because he likes sucking Dean off, likes the weight and the taste and the shape, and most of all the feeling that he's doing something for Dean, just for Dean. He grins up at him, though, licks the taste from his lips. "Anyone could catch us here, you know," he says, almost like Dean back in that alleyway on that horrible wonderful interminable day with the goddamn vibrating butt plug. It almost comes with capital letters in his mind -- The Day Of The Vibrating Butt Plug. He kisses at Dean's hip, licks for the brief taste of sweat, digs his fingers into his skin, because Dean likes to feel it. "Anyone could. They'd just have to walk past. Could even be someone we know. A hunter. We'd be caught. They'd know -- "
And he's right, he was right when he thought -- Dean trembles, shudders a little at the thought, but if anything, he's harder, the slick of pre-come -- Sam has to lick again, to taste, and Dean groans, both fingers now in Sam's hair, tugging gently.
"Everyone'd see you," he says, breathless. "Everyone'd see you, on your knees for me. Anyone could. They'd know what you do for me -- what I make you do -- "
Sam laughs. "Or what I make you do." He licks again, teasing. "They might all find out how I can make you moan. Whimper. They'd find out that your little brother can make you fall apart -- "
"Sammy, please," Dean says, his cock jerking a little, his fingers tightening again in Sam's hair. "Please. Just -- just suck me off already. Fucking tease."
"You like this, though." Sam wraps his hand around Dean's cock, light pressure, licking at the tip. "You like the thought that someone might catch us. You want someone to catch us, almost. Don't you? Don't you want that?"
"I -- "
"I'll find someone, someday. Someone to watch us. Maybe we'll go to a bar and pick someone up together."
"Sam -- " Dean gasps, almost panting now. Sam's talking almost at random, just talking to make Dean gasp and shudder, but it's hot, it's so fucking hot, the thought of someone watching them. Maybe, maybe someone watching him do this, take Dean in. Sam does it properly now, taking Dean's cock in deep and sucking, deep as he can, hot and wet as he can. He moans around Dean and Dean jerks. "Sammy -- "
He sounds so fucking good. He always does -- of course he does -- but this is different, this is almost new. There's a rawness, like something's cutting to the bone, like Sam's got inside his skin and pulled out something unexpected. And it is, kind of, unexpected. Except that Sam remembers that other time, that other alleyway. Sam wonders if Dean would ever have told him. Whether he wanted him to know, or whether he wanted to keep it a secret. Whether he's shamed. Whether he just can't ask for something that's just for him.
But then, so much that Dean does is really for Sammy. Always for him, everything Dean does, and it's stupid, kneeling in an alleyway and thinking this like it's a fucking revelation, but it makes Sam's chest seize tight with want and love, affection. He doesn't pull back again, doesn't try to say it, only to show it, sucking harder and just resting his hands on Dean's hips now, thumbs caressing the line of bone.
It doesn't take long. It feels like forever, and it feels like no time at all -- it takes so long because he imagines footsteps, imagines someone coming to find them, and he imagines how it'd feel -- someone actually seeing them, maybe even knowing who they are, or at least knowing they're brothers. They still always say brothers, and try to act it, even though there's all this under the surface. People are less and less convinced every time, and it doesn't help their case any when they're saying crazy things and they want to be believed. Sam wonders if someone seeing them, really seeing them, seeing them like this, would take the lid off it for good.
He doesn't know if he wants to find out.
It feels like it's no time at all, like it's over too fast, because nobody does catch them, and it's just all them, everything they normally do.
He knows when Dean's going to come. How could he not? He knows Dean so well. He knows every inch of him by heart, after all, flesh and blood and bone. All of it. Dean's fingers seize tighter in his hair, and he's pushing in with sudden new urgency, Sam's name caught in his throat, a half-breathed plea --
"Sammy," Dean says, just that, but it's everything.
Sam feels shaky, after, like he's the one who came, which is stupid. Dean kisses him like they might never get chance again, pressing up close to him, and then he pushes him back against the wall and undoes his pants and sticks his hand in. He drags a whimper from Sam right away -- he's so turned on, and Dean always knows just how to touch him.
"Gonna make you feel so good," Dean whispers, and Sam closes his eyes tighter, bites his lip, rocking into it.
"Yeah," he says, "yeah, you always do."
---
Dean looks uncomfortable. He looks fucking gorgeous too -- Sam's already had him take his shirt off, and it's a warm day and the AC is barely working, so there's a light sheen of sweat on his skin. The sweat might be partly discomfort, too, though, and he isn't relaxed at all. He's lying there like he's just waiting for something to go wrong, his hands cuffed above his head, attached to the bed. He's half-hard, which isn't bad -- Sam teases him about being nearly thirty and losing his teenage vigour. This can just be fuel to the fire.
He looks good, but this isn't what Sam wants at all if Dean isn't going to relax.
"Trust me, Dean," Sam says, with a little huff. "If you really hate it, you can be out of those handcuffs in ten minutes, max."
"Not without something to pick them open."
"You'd find something. Come on. Don't you want it?"
Dean shifts slightly. "I'll try it."
"This can't be the first time anyone's ever wanted to tie you up for sex," Sam says, trying not to show the brief stab of jealousy when he thinks about it, when he thinks about Dean with other people. He's been used to dealing with that since he was ten. He'd been jealous then of anyone who took Dean away, in fact. Now Dean's his, so all that doesn't matter.
"It's the first time I've let someone," Dean says, and he swallows like that was somehow difficult to say, and it makes Sam's heart lurch a little.
"It'll be good." He hesitates for a moment, wondering if what he's got in mind might be a little too much, but then he decides hell with it and picks up the cloth anyway, the cloth that's just the right shape and size to be tied around Dean's head, just the right shape and size to be a blindfold. Dean's eyes flicker to it and Sam waits a heartbeat, waits for him to freak or something. Then he'll tease Dean forever, but really he'll understand. They're normally the people who do things, not the ones who sit around helpless. Being helpless is something neither of them has ever liked, and it makes sense if it carries into this context too...
But Dean just smirks. "Don't you want to gag me, too?"
"No," Sam says, already moving to fasten the rag around Dean's eyes, 'cause that wasn't a no. That means, at the very least, a hesitant yes, because Dean knows he can say no to Sam. At least when they're like this. "I want to hear you."
He didn't mean that to sound quite as possessive as it comes out, but it doesn't matter, and Dean takes it the right way, squirming a little.
"Is this it?" Dean asks, when Sam's got him properly blindfolded, and fuck -- Sam just loves him so fucking much, and it's such a stupid thing to think right now. But it's true. Dean's uncomfortable and not quite happy but he's just going along with it for Sam, and that's so fucking amazing and he loves him so much.
Well, he's not going along with it quite just for Sam, 'cause he knows -- he must know -- that saying no is okay, but mostly he's saying yes to please Sam and that's amazing. That's Dean all over, so completely him it's predictable, but it's good. It's good.
"Of course not," he says, trying to ignore the fact that he feels just a little giddy. God, if Dean knew, how hard would he be teasing him right now? Or maybe not right now -- not when he's tied up at his baby brother's mercy -- but eventually, once the mindblowing sex was over, maybe. "You think I'm that uninventive?"
Dean shrugs a little, despite the awkward way he's handcuffed. "Talk is cheap."
Sam just smirks. He does, in fact, have more plans -- it's nothing much, really, but it's different and he's pretty sure it's going to be mindblowing for both of them, all things considered.
"I'm gonna fuck you," he says, getting on the bed. He straddles Dean's body, barely touching, but so that Dean knows he's there, and leans down to whisper in his ear. "I'm gonna do it so slowly, so carefully. I'm going to blow your fucking mind."
"Yeah?" Dean asks, just a little shaky, still trying to sound cocky. Sam grins, nuzzling a little at the side of his face.
"Yeah," he says, grabbing the lube. He's so fucking hard already, just looking at Dean like this. Hell, if he was blind this'd still be amazing, knowing he has Dean spread out like this. He doesn't have to see it to find it fucking amazing. He slicks his cock carefully. He's probably using too much lube -- it makes a thick, obscene sound under his fingers -- but he needs there to be plenty. He pushes Dean's legs apart and settles between them. "Ready, Dean?"
"Do your worst," Dean says, all cocky. Sam just smiles and presses the tip of his cock up against Dean's entrance. He hasn't fucked him in a couple of days, so he's a little tight -- that's just going to make things even better. He keeps it slow, though, because of that -- well, maybe he would anyway, but especially because of that. Dean shudders under him, opens to him, and it'd be so fucking easy to just shove right in. He knows Dean could take it, would probably like it, though he'd be sore afterwards, would probably bitch in the morning. It'd be so easy, but this is sweet too, this feels so fucking good. Easy as it is, he's tight too, and Sam doesn't think he's going to last very long.
He wants to bury his face in Dean's shoulder, but more than that he wants to watch him, so he takes his weight on his arms enough that he can. Dean's biting his lip, and he suddenly wishes he hadn't blindfolded him, so he could see his eyes -- whether they'd crinkle with the force of him shutting them, or whether they'd be wide and open. And he kind of wishes Dean weren't handcuffed, 'cause he wants to feel Dean's hands on him. He glances up and he can see the way Dean's hands have curled into fists, the way his blunt nails are digging into his palms. There's strain there, still, and he hasn't quite relaxed, but that kind of makes it better, imagining Dean's hands on him, holding, digging in.
"Fuck, Sammy."
"Sshh," Sam says, not really sure why he's saying it, but then he's making more soothing noises as he pushes in deeper and Dean tenses up tighter, wound up tight under him. He frees up a hand to touch him properly -- brushing over his nipples, his stomach, teasing at his cock with the lightest of touches. "Ssh, come on, it's okay."
Dean says something incomprehensible, but then there's an unmistakeable moan when Sam rocks in deep again. Sam watches, watches him arch and squirm -- and yes, he fucking squirms, and it looks so good because there's a flush in his cheeks and he's tugging at the handcuffs and he looks as if it's going to be a little too much for him, after all. Sam's going to keep going anyway, because he wants to see Dean when it's too much, wants to see him on the edge and falling off it.
He'll be there to catch him, of course. Always.
"Wanna hear you, Dean," he says. Dean's head is tilting back, exposing his neck, and Sam resists for a minute but then he leans in and bites and sucks and leaves his marks there, better than crosses on a map, a surer reminder of where and what home is, for both of them. Dean shudders again, arching up more. It's hard to keep moving slow, but Sam does it. This can't hurt Dean, at all, this has got to be completely good, and it's more about Dean than about him.
Although he's got to get his own back, too, try and make it last, try and make Dean last. Make him wait for it.
He doesn't know how long it really lasts. It's amazing, every minute of it, feeling every shake and quiver of Dean's body, hearing the noises he'd deny, feeling everything. The way he arches up.
It might not even last that long, Sam doesn't honestly know, but when Dean comes it's amazing -- he tenses even more under him, squeezes around him, groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt -- and Sam can't help but come too, thrusting in harder and deeper and feeling racked by it, holding onto Dean so tightly because he doesn't want there to be any space between them. He can feel Dean's come slick on his skin, and Dean's still squirming and --
It takes quite a long time for him to find coherence again. If you can call it coherence. "Okay?"
"M'yeah," Dean says, without moving. It takes another couple of minutes before he summons up the energy to speak again. "Handcuffs?"
"Right," Sam says. He pulls out of Dean and fumbles for the keys, gets the handcuffs undone quickly. There are red marks on Dean's wrists, and thin lines of broken skin, rubbed raw. "Huh. Is that -- "
"It stings, that's all."
"Right."
"C'mere," Dean says, and kisses him. Now he can touch him and that's nice, even if Sam doesn't want to think about another round. Dean's fingers push through his hair, almost massaging, and the kiss is easy, open, a little wet. Sloppy but perfect.
Sam feels somewhat justified, if also somewhat ridiculous, when he grabs Dean's wrists and kisses the marks. Dean doesn't even protest. He doesn't really speak again until they're half-asleep.
"That was weak, Sammy," he whispers.
"You keep telling yourself that," Sam whispers back, because Dean fucking loved it.
---
He has no idea what the room is like. He doesn't normally pay that much attention, these days, except for scoping out potential escape routes, potential ways they could be attacked. But this time he's been too much in a haze to even think of that -- trusting to Dean. Which is not a stupid idea, because Dean is as paranoid as hell and they can't be in any danger, but it goes against long habit. Nobody's perfect, no matter how good they are.
The only thing he's really noticed about the room is the mirror, and that's because he can see himself in it. He can see himself laying across Dean's lap naked, he can see the stupid flush in his cheeks and the way he's moving, moving against Dean, moving for more.
He can see the red hand-shaped print on his ass, where Dean has hit him, bright and sharp. He thinks he'd probably be able to see the individual fingers, if the mirror was closer. He makes this little noise in his throat, because that's hotter than anything, and drops his head. "Dean, fuck, please," he says.
"Never figured you'd like this," Dean says, running his fingers over the mark, pressing gently. "I've done it with a couple of girls before, 'cause they asked, but I didn't think you'd..."
"Dean, please," Sam says, again, because this is ridiculous, ridiculously much, and he wants Dean so bad. "Do it again, come on."
"Maybe I should have done this long ago," Dean says, teasing. He slaps Sam again, hard and quick, and Sam can't deny the way his cock jerks, the way he presses into it. "Put you over my knee and spanked you. Would that have made you a good boy, Sammy? No, wait -- maybe you'd have misbehaved just to get this."
Sam thinks that maybe his cheeks are even pinker now. "Dean -- "
"What?"
"Don't get carried away with yourself," Sam says, even though he's squirming in Dean's lap and he knows that it must look like this is something he's wanted forever, something he's wanted so much... It's not, though, it's new and scary and amazing, and more so because he never thought he'd want something like this. "Dean, come on."
"What do you want? More of this?" Dean asks, slapping lightly this time, like a tease. "Or this?" He shifts slightly, makes Sam move, and touches him lightly, circling, just dipping a finger inside him. Sam moans at both. Dean's tone is teasing, too. "Hard to tell when you won't be clear about what you want, Sammy."
Sam thinks that maybe he does look ridiculously young, judging from the mirror, like this across Dean's lap. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look, but Dean notices.
"Don't want to look any more? Maybe you should. Open your eyes, Sam," he says, and because it's Dean's turn to be in charge, more or less, Sam does as he's told. They look amazing, they really do -- and Dean is as flushed as him, really. He looks almost giddy with it, his eyes hot and focused, and they're mostly focused all on Sam, looking down at him, looking down at the mark he's making. The marks, plural now, some clearer than others but all there and obvious and Sam can't look away. He moans softly and Dean smiles. "Look good, don't we?"
"Yeah," Sam says, because that's just telling the truth. He squirms again, rubbing his cock against Dean's leg, and kind of moans, but it sounds more like a whimper. "More, Dean."
"You like the marks," Dean says, without moving. He's watching Sam carefully.
He has to choke out the answer. Not because he doesn't want to say it, but because this is all too fucking much. "Yes. Come on."
Dean slaps him once more, obliging, but then his fingers move down again, one fingertip pushes inside him dry. Sam squirms against it -- it doesn't feel bad, not a tiny invasion like that, but it feels like a tease, a promise. "You want me to fuck you, Sammy? I bet you do. I bet it won't even take much for you to come. So desperate, aren't you?"
Sam groans again and Dean pulls away. He doesn't push Sam off his lap, but there's an awkward minute while he's hooking the shoulder strap of his bag, tugging it over close and leaning to search for the lube. It seems to take forever. There's air conditioning in this room, turned up too high, and though a minute ago Sam was burning up with want, now he's feeling the chill of it. He shivers a little, pressing himself firmer against Dean's body. "Hurry up."
"Impatient," Dean says, laughing a little, and shifts slightly at his weird angle, leans to press a kiss between Sam's shoulderblades. "Just wait a minute. I thought I was the one who always wants instant gratification."
There's nothing to say to that. Sam's about to move -- to lie down on the bed, maybe, spread his legs -- but Dean stops him.
"Want you like this," he says, and there's the little click of the lube's lid, and then a second after the chill of the stuff against his skin. Dean just teases though, rubbing and rubbing, not using any real pressure, not giving Sam anything. He rocks a little, trying to get more, and gets another sharp slap that makes him arch his back.
"Dean -- "
"Sshh," Dean says, pushing one finger into him. "Just let me... God, Sam, you're always so fucking tight."
"Dean," Sam says, almost pleadingly, and thinks that if there was anyone listening but Dean they'd have to excuse the whine in his voice. It's totally justified. "Please."
"You always drive me so crazy," he says, conversationally, just as if they're sat in some diner over lunch. "So fucking crazy. It doesn't even matter what we're doing, you just always drive me mad. Don't know what to do with myself sometimes, the way you make me feel." He twists his finger and Sam makes this little noise in his throat. His heart's hammering, and god, he wants it so bad. Dean keeps it slow though, sliding a second finger into him as slowly as he can. "You have no idea. When you were still a kid practically, I wanted you then. It was so fucking wrong but I wanted you all the time. Wanted to make my time with you, make it really good, show you the ropes. Didn't hope for much more than that."
"Dean," Sam starts, again, feeling awkward and stupid, repeating himself again like this, but Dean twists his fingers just right and he moans instead of whatever he meant to say.
"So now all the time... I know how good it is, you know? I know I don't really deserve it. Don't tell me I do, I know what you think, and I think you're wrong. And everytime I think something is too much to ask and I've finally pushed my luck too far, you just... you come through for me."
"Chick flick moment," Sam says, even though he wants to hear more. Dean makes this annoyed noise and crooks his fingers again and Sam bucks on his lap, moans again. He has to grab a pillow to bury his face in, to keep the noise down. He grips it tight like that's gonna keep him together somehow. "Fuck, Dean."
"Not yet," Dean says, which is lame as hell as a comeback, but Sam can't tell him that because he's too occupied with the feeling of Dean's fingers inside him, pushing deeper, driving him fucking crazy. "Gonna fuck you so careful," he whispers, right into Sam's ear, and Sam shivers at the feel of his breath. "So slow."
"You mean -- ah," Sam arches as Dean's fingers move inside him again, "ah, you mean you're going to tease."
"Same thing," Dean says, grinning. "It is my turn, after all."
---
The ceiling is actually white, which is kind of surprising, in this kind of place, and in this kind of light. Sam's used to ceilings that are yellow-ish, at best. But this one is white. It's a funny thing to notice, but he doesn't exactly have enough energy to move right now -- and anyway, Dean's lying on top of him, which makes it that much more difficult. He wriggles and Dean just grunts, pressing his face more firmly into Sam's shoulder. It's kind of a nice feeling, since this is almost cuddling, although he'd better not ever mention anything like it or they'll be back to separate beds, or something ridiculous like that.
"You're going to have a job topping this," he says, into Sam's shoulder. He even manages to sound smug, despite having his face mashed against Sam's skin, despite the way his voice is muffled as a result. Sam squirms a little, trying to elbow him, but that's hard when he's underneath him like that, so he settles for a sharp poke in the ribs.
Besides, he has a plan of revenge anyway.
"It's okay," he says, "I've already got a plan."
Dean pushes up a little then, narrowing his eyes. "That sounds ominous."
"You'll just have to wait and see," Sam says, with a lazy grin. He tugs Dean down again, kissing him softly. "You'll enjoy it."
"Yeah, well," Dean starts, but then gets distracted by kissing Sam, which is okay as far as both of them are concerned. Sam's right, anyway, and they both know it.
---
The girl Dean chose is pretty much his normal type. She has a big smile and a big rack, unnaturally white teeth and a really short skirt. Her voice is a bit too high, grates more than a bit, but they don't want her to talk, so that's just fine. Sam hasn't told Dean what they're doing, but he picked her out himself anyway, and she agreed to what Sam had in mind. She made some ridiculous kind of moaning noise when he whispered it in her ear, but apparently they're just that hot that she's willing to go along with just about anything. Or that could be more of a commentary on her: Sam doesn't care, because this isn't even remotely about her or even him. It's about Dean, and what Dean might want.
It's been a couple of weeks since he told Dean he has a plan, and he's pretty sure Dean's guard was down before he leaned in and told him to pick a girl. Now Dean is skittish, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they wait at red lights, biting his lip hard. Sam has half an eye for the girl in the back seat and her bright, curious eyes, but mostly he's just watching Dean. Now and then he touches him, runs his fingers over the tense line of his neck or even leans in to lick or bite. Dean makes a little noise when he does, body tensing.
He has no idea what to expect, he just wants it. Good.
"Bet you wish you knew what he's got planned," the girl says.
"I trust him to blow my mind," Dean says. He keeps his eyes on the road, but his hands tighten around the wheel again. Sam's pretty sure it's not irritation.
"You look pretty good together," she tells him. "How long have you been his bitch?"
Dean tenses a little more and Sam doesn't know whether that's because he likes it or because he really really doesn't. He strokes the back of Dean's neck again, though, smirks lazily. "Long time," he says, and Dean makes this little sound in his throat that the girl doesn't even hear. "Right, Dean?"
"Right," Dean says.
"That's right, you know, I don't even know your names," the girl says. "Didn't catch them in the club. I'm Traci. With an 'i' at the end."
"Sam and Dean," Sam tells her. He doesn't know if Dean sees the significance in it, in the fact that he said their real names. It's not like anyone's chasing them nowadays, so it's safe, but it's not normal. It's something different: another kind of nakedness. He's laying Dean bare, even though he's pretty sure this girl doesn't deserve it. "He's Dean."
"I guessed," she says, with a bright smile, showing teeth. There's a bit of envy in her voice. "You sure I don't get to touch you? Either of you?"
He gives her a quelling look; Dean doesn't need many clues to start figuring out what Sam's planning. "Yes."
"Okay," she says, with an exaggerated pout. "Okay. It'll be good just to watch you. And I can have fun on my own, you know what I mean?" She actually winks at him.
He doesn't really bother dignifying that with an answer. His attention is all for Dean.
"Might wanna speed up," he says, low, mostly just for Dean. "I'm not gonna wait all night."
Dean makes another little noise in his throat and puts his foot down, finally.
---
The main thing that matters is that there's a bed. The lamp doesn't work for a moment, but then it flickers into life. Sam's already kissing Dean, holding him hard and pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Dean's making these little noises -- and Tracy or Traci or whatever her name is makes a little noise too -- and Sam is abruptly worried that this isn't going to take any time at all. He pulls away, ignoring Dean's soft protest and the fact that his mouth is open, lips slightly swollen and shiny with his spit, the fact that he's touching Sam, shoving his hands up under his shirt. Well. For a certain value of ignoring, anyway.
"Sit down over there," he tells the girl, nodding to a chair, and she nods too, smiling.
"And shut up?" she asks, smiling, with a warmth in her voice, and Sam surprisingly finds himself liking her. Despite the grating pitch of her voice.
"Yeah," he says, giving her a smile back. "If you don't mind."
"Hey, I don't want to get kicked out."
Sam nods and looks back at Dean, lets himself take note of Dean's insistent tugging on his shirt. He grins and hauls it off. "Eager, huh?" he says to Dean, and Dean makes this huffy little noise and drags his own shirt off.
"You're the one who was trying to lick my tonsils a minute ago."
Sam rolls his eyes and undoes Dean's belt. He doubles it up, gives Dean a quick swat on the thigh with it, light enough that it doesn't really matter -- hard enough to make a visible shudder run through Dean. His lips part again and Sam takes advantage of it, kissing him stupid. He undoes Dean's pants while he's doing that, brushes his fingers over his crotch teasingly. "Get on the bed."
"Sam -- "
"Do it."
"Yes sir," Dean says, low and hot, and Sam gives him another quick lick with the belt before he drops it.
"Now," he says, and watches as Dean crawls up on the bed. He doesn't look at Traci -- how much difference does the 'i' make anyway? -- but his voice is pitched for her ears. "Look at you," he says, "look at you, all eager for it. You don't even know what I'm going to do."
Dean's eyes flick to the belt and then to Sam's face. "Might have given me some ideas."
Sam's kind of surprised by that. "Not this time." He sits down, pats his lap. "Get here. Lying down, not straddling me." He's positioned them so that Traci will be able to see it all -- so that she'll be able to see Dean's face, which is the most important part. Dean's used to strange girls eyeing him up, has a long habit of indulging them, in fact, but this is going to be different. It almost doesn't matter what Traci can see as long as she can see Dean's face, see him open, wide-open. "Remember doing something like this?"
Dean moves against him a little, once he's settled. Whimpers, even. "Yes."
"Pity we haven't got a mirror, huh? So you could watch yourself. But Traci's here. Traci can see you, Dean."
The little noise Dean makes is even better than Sam anticipated, and the way he's acting -- he's wide-open already, Sam thinks, and everything he does is just going to lever him open more, leave him vulnerable. And Dean doesn't care -- even wants it -- and he wonders how many of Dean's wants are colliding together here, tangling up in each other, tripping him up, making him shake with want for it.
Dean jerks against him the first time he slaps him. It isn't even that hard, at all, but he makes this strangled noise anyway. It makes Sam's cock jerk, and he kind of wishes he'd taken his jeans off already. Doesn't matter, though. Dean matters, but that's just about all. He slaps Dean again, still lightly, and listens for the dual intakes of breath -- Dean, and Traci.
"You look so good together," she says, as if half-unwillingly, and then, "Sorry."
Dean shudders, though, when she speaks -- Sam doesn't think that's because he's annoyed by her voice, not at this stage. He seems to like the reminder that someone's watching him. "Open your eyes," Sam tells him, and he can't see Dean's face from this angle, but he's pretty sure he obeys. It wouldn't be like Dean to start acting up now, not when he's getting what he wants.
The rest of it is an unfortunate blur in Sam's memory. He wants to hold onto every detail but mostly he just remembers how fucking hot it is, how Dean rocks against him and moans and even whimpers, and how he's pretty sure Traci stops even blinking after a while. He doesn't just keep slapping Dean hard every time, nor in the same place -- he teases sometimes, stops and just touches him, feels the heat of his reddened skin, or makes him spread his legs a bit and touches his entrance. Dean seems to love it all, panting and arching, rubbing against Sam's leg when he can. Sam's not sure exactly when Dean starts pleading, but that's really good too, the way he clutches the bedcovers and gasps out please and Sammy and harder, oh fuck, do it harder.
When Sam stops, Dean looks wrecked. His lips are even more bitten now, and he keeps shaking even when Sam stops touching him. "Sammy," he whispers, and he'd sound broken if Sam didn't know better. "Oh come on, please." His ass is all red, the tops of his thighs too, and Sam can feel how hard he is, how slick, and Jesus.
"Fuck him," Traci says -- she kept silent most of the time, and Sam hasn't even looked at her since the beginning of this, but her voice is a little hoarse. "Jesus Christ, fuck him already."
"Yeah," Sam says, 'cause she has a very good idea anyway, and he fumbles for lube quickly. "You want that, Dean?"
"Yes," Dean says, almost a sob in his voice. Sam doesn't exactly take his time about preparing him, shoving him face-down on the bed and doing it quickly, roughly. Dean doesn't seem to mind, arching into it, gasping, and there's a lot more of the yes and the Sammy before Sam's done. Sam fumbles, gets his jeans undone and that's all, pulls his cock out -- no more patience to actually get naked. He pushes into Dean hard, one quick drive, and somewhere in the back of his head a more cautious voice is scraping at his consciousness, but Dean just arches and moans and Traci makes this little noise too, and yeah, this is just fine, this is just right.
---
"We've got to stop doing this, Sammy," Dean says. Traci's long gone by now. Dean's sprawled out all over the bed, his head is on Sam's thigh, and he's pretty much the picture of post-coital satisfaction. That doesn't lend much weight to his words, and, Sam feels, justifies his little snort.
"Why? Too much for your dignity?"
Dean just smiles, lazy-sweet, and turns a little so he can look up at Sam's face. "Nah. I just think, if we keep coming that hard, we're going to have heart attacks."
He looks fucking gorgeous, his lips dark and bitten, his whole body slack with afterglow. Sam could almost find enough energy for another round, just looking at him and thinking about his mouth and what he could do with it. All he does, though, is reach up and run his fingers through Dean's hair, almost petting him. He's not exactly surprised when Dean stretches just a little, pushes into it.
"I think I'll risk it," he says, tugging just a little at the longer strands. Dean makes a little noise.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Dean stretches out more, idly running his hands over Sam's body, stroking his knee. He's still smiling openly. "Me too."
Sam will work up the energy to kiss him for that, sooner or later. For now, he just slides his fingers through Dean's hair again, makes another mark on his inner map of them. "Good."
-End-
Part One | Part Two
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal).
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing/character: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester. (Sam/Dean.)
Rating: NC17.
Word Count: 12,013.
Kink: Multiple (see warnings).
Warnings: Slash, incest, sex, domination/submission, sex toys, spanking, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, orgasm denial, sap. No spoilers.
Notes: Thank you to my artist, auroraprimavera, for being really encouraging, for poking me, and for often being my guinea pig the first one to see the scenes as I finished them. Thank you feywood for the encouragement and the beta (and for being the love of my life ♥).
Summary: It starts with a butt plug in Phoenix, Arizona. Sam makes Dean wear it the whole day. Then it kinda escalates, just like their prank wars -- Dean finds a plug that vibrates, and, well, turn about is fair play. And then there's all the rest of it, too: handcuffs and spanking, and finally Sam figures out that Dean kinda likes the idea of being watched when they have sex. And, yeah, he can't deny Dean anything, really, can he?
Artist: auroraprimavera, providing a banner, two manips, and a minimix. The minimix is here, with a front cover and a back cover. The first manip is here and the other is here. Her full art post is here.
Other: My artist made a mix, and so did I. You can find my mix here.
Part One | Part Two
This isn't really getting his own back, or he didn't mean it to be, but it looks like he might, after all, have made a good choice. It's a better alleyway than the last one -- shorter, maybe, but darker, and there's a sort of alcove that he can push Dean back into. He looks good -- flushed, open-mouthed, unable to believe what Sam's actually doing. That's alright: Sam can hardly believe it himself.
He's been teasing Dean all day. Just little touches, little looks, and a brief moment of brushing up against him, whispering in his ear -- it isn't much, but it's built up. More than he thought, even, and he wasn't prepared for the way Dean kissed him when they finally got back to the car. Not that he was exactly prepared for his own reaction, either. Somehow it's like he can never get enough of Dean, and it always surprises him, even though it really shouldn't. So he'd pushed Dean down here, without really thinking, without really planning anything. Just wanting him, as fast as possible.
But it's perfect. It really is.
Sam is on his knees on the concrete. It hurts, a little, and there might be glass down there from the way it feels, but he's not really focused on that. He's focused on the way Dean is touching him -- one hand cupping the back of his neck, warm and familiar, and the other just touching him, wherever he can reach. Touching his face. He runs his fingers over Sam's cheek, feeling the bulge of his own cock there, and groans.
"Sammy -- "
Sam pulls back, not really to tease, just so he can talk -- a little reluctantly himself, actually, because he likes sucking Dean off, likes the weight and the taste and the shape, and most of all the feeling that he's doing something for Dean, just for Dean. He grins up at him, though, licks the taste from his lips. "Anyone could catch us here, you know," he says, almost like Dean back in that alleyway on that horrible wonderful interminable day with the goddamn vibrating butt plug. It almost comes with capital letters in his mind -- The Day Of The Vibrating Butt Plug. He kisses at Dean's hip, licks for the brief taste of sweat, digs his fingers into his skin, because Dean likes to feel it. "Anyone could. They'd just have to walk past. Could even be someone we know. A hunter. We'd be caught. They'd know -- "
And he's right, he was right when he thought -- Dean trembles, shudders a little at the thought, but if anything, he's harder, the slick of pre-come -- Sam has to lick again, to taste, and Dean groans, both fingers now in Sam's hair, tugging gently.
"Everyone'd see you," he says, breathless. "Everyone'd see you, on your knees for me. Anyone could. They'd know what you do for me -- what I make you do -- "
Sam laughs. "Or what I make you do." He licks again, teasing. "They might all find out how I can make you moan. Whimper. They'd find out that your little brother can make you fall apart -- "
"Sammy, please," Dean says, his cock jerking a little, his fingers tightening again in Sam's hair. "Please. Just -- just suck me off already. Fucking tease."
"You like this, though." Sam wraps his hand around Dean's cock, light pressure, licking at the tip. "You like the thought that someone might catch us. You want someone to catch us, almost. Don't you? Don't you want that?"
"I -- "
"I'll find someone, someday. Someone to watch us. Maybe we'll go to a bar and pick someone up together."
"Sam -- " Dean gasps, almost panting now. Sam's talking almost at random, just talking to make Dean gasp and shudder, but it's hot, it's so fucking hot, the thought of someone watching them. Maybe, maybe someone watching him do this, take Dean in. Sam does it properly now, taking Dean's cock in deep and sucking, deep as he can, hot and wet as he can. He moans around Dean and Dean jerks. "Sammy -- "
He sounds so fucking good. He always does -- of course he does -- but this is different, this is almost new. There's a rawness, like something's cutting to the bone, like Sam's got inside his skin and pulled out something unexpected. And it is, kind of, unexpected. Except that Sam remembers that other time, that other alleyway. Sam wonders if Dean would ever have told him. Whether he wanted him to know, or whether he wanted to keep it a secret. Whether he's shamed. Whether he just can't ask for something that's just for him.
But then, so much that Dean does is really for Sammy. Always for him, everything Dean does, and it's stupid, kneeling in an alleyway and thinking this like it's a fucking revelation, but it makes Sam's chest seize tight with want and love, affection. He doesn't pull back again, doesn't try to say it, only to show it, sucking harder and just resting his hands on Dean's hips now, thumbs caressing the line of bone.
It doesn't take long. It feels like forever, and it feels like no time at all -- it takes so long because he imagines footsteps, imagines someone coming to find them, and he imagines how it'd feel -- someone actually seeing them, maybe even knowing who they are, or at least knowing they're brothers. They still always say brothers, and try to act it, even though there's all this under the surface. People are less and less convinced every time, and it doesn't help their case any when they're saying crazy things and they want to be believed. Sam wonders if someone seeing them, really seeing them, seeing them like this, would take the lid off it for good.
He doesn't know if he wants to find out.
It feels like it's no time at all, like it's over too fast, because nobody does catch them, and it's just all them, everything they normally do.
He knows when Dean's going to come. How could he not? He knows Dean so well. He knows every inch of him by heart, after all, flesh and blood and bone. All of it. Dean's fingers seize tighter in his hair, and he's pushing in with sudden new urgency, Sam's name caught in his throat, a half-breathed plea --
"Sammy," Dean says, just that, but it's everything.
Sam feels shaky, after, like he's the one who came, which is stupid. Dean kisses him like they might never get chance again, pressing up close to him, and then he pushes him back against the wall and undoes his pants and sticks his hand in. He drags a whimper from Sam right away -- he's so turned on, and Dean always knows just how to touch him.
"Gonna make you feel so good," Dean whispers, and Sam closes his eyes tighter, bites his lip, rocking into it.
"Yeah," he says, "yeah, you always do."
---
Dean looks uncomfortable. He looks fucking gorgeous too -- Sam's already had him take his shirt off, and it's a warm day and the AC is barely working, so there's a light sheen of sweat on his skin. The sweat might be partly discomfort, too, though, and he isn't relaxed at all. He's lying there like he's just waiting for something to go wrong, his hands cuffed above his head, attached to the bed. He's half-hard, which isn't bad -- Sam teases him about being nearly thirty and losing his teenage vigour. This can just be fuel to the fire.
He looks good, but this isn't what Sam wants at all if Dean isn't going to relax.
"Trust me, Dean," Sam says, with a little huff. "If you really hate it, you can be out of those handcuffs in ten minutes, max."
"Not without something to pick them open."
"You'd find something. Come on. Don't you want it?"
Dean shifts slightly. "I'll try it."
"This can't be the first time anyone's ever wanted to tie you up for sex," Sam says, trying not to show the brief stab of jealousy when he thinks about it, when he thinks about Dean with other people. He's been used to dealing with that since he was ten. He'd been jealous then of anyone who took Dean away, in fact. Now Dean's his, so all that doesn't matter.
"It's the first time I've let someone," Dean says, and he swallows like that was somehow difficult to say, and it makes Sam's heart lurch a little.
"It'll be good." He hesitates for a moment, wondering if what he's got in mind might be a little too much, but then he decides hell with it and picks up the cloth anyway, the cloth that's just the right shape and size to be tied around Dean's head, just the right shape and size to be a blindfold. Dean's eyes flicker to it and Sam waits a heartbeat, waits for him to freak or something. Then he'll tease Dean forever, but really he'll understand. They're normally the people who do things, not the ones who sit around helpless. Being helpless is something neither of them has ever liked, and it makes sense if it carries into this context too...
But Dean just smirks. "Don't you want to gag me, too?"
"No," Sam says, already moving to fasten the rag around Dean's eyes, 'cause that wasn't a no. That means, at the very least, a hesitant yes, because Dean knows he can say no to Sam. At least when they're like this. "I want to hear you."
He didn't mean that to sound quite as possessive as it comes out, but it doesn't matter, and Dean takes it the right way, squirming a little.
"Is this it?" Dean asks, when Sam's got him properly blindfolded, and fuck -- Sam just loves him so fucking much, and it's such a stupid thing to think right now. But it's true. Dean's uncomfortable and not quite happy but he's just going along with it for Sam, and that's so fucking amazing and he loves him so much.
Well, he's not going along with it quite just for Sam, 'cause he knows -- he must know -- that saying no is okay, but mostly he's saying yes to please Sam and that's amazing. That's Dean all over, so completely him it's predictable, but it's good. It's good.
"Of course not," he says, trying to ignore the fact that he feels just a little giddy. God, if Dean knew, how hard would he be teasing him right now? Or maybe not right now -- not when he's tied up at his baby brother's mercy -- but eventually, once the mindblowing sex was over, maybe. "You think I'm that uninventive?"
Dean shrugs a little, despite the awkward way he's handcuffed. "Talk is cheap."
Sam just smirks. He does, in fact, have more plans -- it's nothing much, really, but it's different and he's pretty sure it's going to be mindblowing for both of them, all things considered.
"I'm gonna fuck you," he says, getting on the bed. He straddles Dean's body, barely touching, but so that Dean knows he's there, and leans down to whisper in his ear. "I'm gonna do it so slowly, so carefully. I'm going to blow your fucking mind."
"Yeah?" Dean asks, just a little shaky, still trying to sound cocky. Sam grins, nuzzling a little at the side of his face.
"Yeah," he says, grabbing the lube. He's so fucking hard already, just looking at Dean like this. Hell, if he was blind this'd still be amazing, knowing he has Dean spread out like this. He doesn't have to see it to find it fucking amazing. He slicks his cock carefully. He's probably using too much lube -- it makes a thick, obscene sound under his fingers -- but he needs there to be plenty. He pushes Dean's legs apart and settles between them. "Ready, Dean?"
"Do your worst," Dean says, all cocky. Sam just smiles and presses the tip of his cock up against Dean's entrance. He hasn't fucked him in a couple of days, so he's a little tight -- that's just going to make things even better. He keeps it slow, though, because of that -- well, maybe he would anyway, but especially because of that. Dean shudders under him, opens to him, and it'd be so fucking easy to just shove right in. He knows Dean could take it, would probably like it, though he'd be sore afterwards, would probably bitch in the morning. It'd be so easy, but this is sweet too, this feels so fucking good. Easy as it is, he's tight too, and Sam doesn't think he's going to last very long.
He wants to bury his face in Dean's shoulder, but more than that he wants to watch him, so he takes his weight on his arms enough that he can. Dean's biting his lip, and he suddenly wishes he hadn't blindfolded him, so he could see his eyes -- whether they'd crinkle with the force of him shutting them, or whether they'd be wide and open. And he kind of wishes Dean weren't handcuffed, 'cause he wants to feel Dean's hands on him. He glances up and he can see the way Dean's hands have curled into fists, the way his blunt nails are digging into his palms. There's strain there, still, and he hasn't quite relaxed, but that kind of makes it better, imagining Dean's hands on him, holding, digging in.
"Fuck, Sammy."
"Sshh," Sam says, not really sure why he's saying it, but then he's making more soothing noises as he pushes in deeper and Dean tenses up tighter, wound up tight under him. He frees up a hand to touch him properly -- brushing over his nipples, his stomach, teasing at his cock with the lightest of touches. "Ssh, come on, it's okay."
Dean says something incomprehensible, but then there's an unmistakeable moan when Sam rocks in deep again. Sam watches, watches him arch and squirm -- and yes, he fucking squirms, and it looks so good because there's a flush in his cheeks and he's tugging at the handcuffs and he looks as if it's going to be a little too much for him, after all. Sam's going to keep going anyway, because he wants to see Dean when it's too much, wants to see him on the edge and falling off it.
He'll be there to catch him, of course. Always.
"Wanna hear you, Dean," he says. Dean's head is tilting back, exposing his neck, and Sam resists for a minute but then he leans in and bites and sucks and leaves his marks there, better than crosses on a map, a surer reminder of where and what home is, for both of them. Dean shudders again, arching up more. It's hard to keep moving slow, but Sam does it. This can't hurt Dean, at all, this has got to be completely good, and it's more about Dean than about him.
Although he's got to get his own back, too, try and make it last, try and make Dean last. Make him wait for it.
He doesn't know how long it really lasts. It's amazing, every minute of it, feeling every shake and quiver of Dean's body, hearing the noises he'd deny, feeling everything. The way he arches up.
It might not even last that long, Sam doesn't honestly know, but when Dean comes it's amazing -- he tenses even more under him, squeezes around him, groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt -- and Sam can't help but come too, thrusting in harder and deeper and feeling racked by it, holding onto Dean so tightly because he doesn't want there to be any space between them. He can feel Dean's come slick on his skin, and Dean's still squirming and --
It takes quite a long time for him to find coherence again. If you can call it coherence. "Okay?"
"M'yeah," Dean says, without moving. It takes another couple of minutes before he summons up the energy to speak again. "Handcuffs?"
"Right," Sam says. He pulls out of Dean and fumbles for the keys, gets the handcuffs undone quickly. There are red marks on Dean's wrists, and thin lines of broken skin, rubbed raw. "Huh. Is that -- "
"It stings, that's all."
"Right."
"C'mere," Dean says, and kisses him. Now he can touch him and that's nice, even if Sam doesn't want to think about another round. Dean's fingers push through his hair, almost massaging, and the kiss is easy, open, a little wet. Sloppy but perfect.
Sam feels somewhat justified, if also somewhat ridiculous, when he grabs Dean's wrists and kisses the marks. Dean doesn't even protest. He doesn't really speak again until they're half-asleep.
"That was weak, Sammy," he whispers.
"You keep telling yourself that," Sam whispers back, because Dean fucking loved it.
---
He has no idea what the room is like. He doesn't normally pay that much attention, these days, except for scoping out potential escape routes, potential ways they could be attacked. But this time he's been too much in a haze to even think of that -- trusting to Dean. Which is not a stupid idea, because Dean is as paranoid as hell and they can't be in any danger, but it goes against long habit. Nobody's perfect, no matter how good they are.
The only thing he's really noticed about the room is the mirror, and that's because he can see himself in it. He can see himself laying across Dean's lap naked, he can see the stupid flush in his cheeks and the way he's moving, moving against Dean, moving for more.
He can see the red hand-shaped print on his ass, where Dean has hit him, bright and sharp. He thinks he'd probably be able to see the individual fingers, if the mirror was closer. He makes this little noise in his throat, because that's hotter than anything, and drops his head. "Dean, fuck, please," he says.
"Never figured you'd like this," Dean says, running his fingers over the mark, pressing gently. "I've done it with a couple of girls before, 'cause they asked, but I didn't think you'd..."
"Dean, please," Sam says, again, because this is ridiculous, ridiculously much, and he wants Dean so bad. "Do it again, come on."
"Maybe I should have done this long ago," Dean says, teasing. He slaps Sam again, hard and quick, and Sam can't deny the way his cock jerks, the way he presses into it. "Put you over my knee and spanked you. Would that have made you a good boy, Sammy? No, wait -- maybe you'd have misbehaved just to get this."
Sam thinks that maybe his cheeks are even pinker now. "Dean -- "
"What?"
"Don't get carried away with yourself," Sam says, even though he's squirming in Dean's lap and he knows that it must look like this is something he's wanted forever, something he's wanted so much... It's not, though, it's new and scary and amazing, and more so because he never thought he'd want something like this. "Dean, come on."
"What do you want? More of this?" Dean asks, slapping lightly this time, like a tease. "Or this?" He shifts slightly, makes Sam move, and touches him lightly, circling, just dipping a finger inside him. Sam moans at both. Dean's tone is teasing, too. "Hard to tell when you won't be clear about what you want, Sammy."
Sam thinks that maybe he does look ridiculously young, judging from the mirror, like this across Dean's lap. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look, but Dean notices.
"Don't want to look any more? Maybe you should. Open your eyes, Sam," he says, and because it's Dean's turn to be in charge, more or less, Sam does as he's told. They look amazing, they really do -- and Dean is as flushed as him, really. He looks almost giddy with it, his eyes hot and focused, and they're mostly focused all on Sam, looking down at him, looking down at the mark he's making. The marks, plural now, some clearer than others but all there and obvious and Sam can't look away. He moans softly and Dean smiles. "Look good, don't we?"
"Yeah," Sam says, because that's just telling the truth. He squirms again, rubbing his cock against Dean's leg, and kind of moans, but it sounds more like a whimper. "More, Dean."
"You like the marks," Dean says, without moving. He's watching Sam carefully.
He has to choke out the answer. Not because he doesn't want to say it, but because this is all too fucking much. "Yes. Come on."
Dean slaps him once more, obliging, but then his fingers move down again, one fingertip pushes inside him dry. Sam squirms against it -- it doesn't feel bad, not a tiny invasion like that, but it feels like a tease, a promise. "You want me to fuck you, Sammy? I bet you do. I bet it won't even take much for you to come. So desperate, aren't you?"
Sam groans again and Dean pulls away. He doesn't push Sam off his lap, but there's an awkward minute while he's hooking the shoulder strap of his bag, tugging it over close and leaning to search for the lube. It seems to take forever. There's air conditioning in this room, turned up too high, and though a minute ago Sam was burning up with want, now he's feeling the chill of it. He shivers a little, pressing himself firmer against Dean's body. "Hurry up."
"Impatient," Dean says, laughing a little, and shifts slightly at his weird angle, leans to press a kiss between Sam's shoulderblades. "Just wait a minute. I thought I was the one who always wants instant gratification."
There's nothing to say to that. Sam's about to move -- to lie down on the bed, maybe, spread his legs -- but Dean stops him.
"Want you like this," he says, and there's the little click of the lube's lid, and then a second after the chill of the stuff against his skin. Dean just teases though, rubbing and rubbing, not using any real pressure, not giving Sam anything. He rocks a little, trying to get more, and gets another sharp slap that makes him arch his back.
"Dean -- "
"Sshh," Dean says, pushing one finger into him. "Just let me... God, Sam, you're always so fucking tight."
"Dean," Sam says, almost pleadingly, and thinks that if there was anyone listening but Dean they'd have to excuse the whine in his voice. It's totally justified. "Please."
"You always drive me so crazy," he says, conversationally, just as if they're sat in some diner over lunch. "So fucking crazy. It doesn't even matter what we're doing, you just always drive me mad. Don't know what to do with myself sometimes, the way you make me feel." He twists his finger and Sam makes this little noise in his throat. His heart's hammering, and god, he wants it so bad. Dean keeps it slow though, sliding a second finger into him as slowly as he can. "You have no idea. When you were still a kid practically, I wanted you then. It was so fucking wrong but I wanted you all the time. Wanted to make my time with you, make it really good, show you the ropes. Didn't hope for much more than that."
"Dean," Sam starts, again, feeling awkward and stupid, repeating himself again like this, but Dean twists his fingers just right and he moans instead of whatever he meant to say.
"So now all the time... I know how good it is, you know? I know I don't really deserve it. Don't tell me I do, I know what you think, and I think you're wrong. And everytime I think something is too much to ask and I've finally pushed my luck too far, you just... you come through for me."
"Chick flick moment," Sam says, even though he wants to hear more. Dean makes this annoyed noise and crooks his fingers again and Sam bucks on his lap, moans again. He has to grab a pillow to bury his face in, to keep the noise down. He grips it tight like that's gonna keep him together somehow. "Fuck, Dean."
"Not yet," Dean says, which is lame as hell as a comeback, but Sam can't tell him that because he's too occupied with the feeling of Dean's fingers inside him, pushing deeper, driving him fucking crazy. "Gonna fuck you so careful," he whispers, right into Sam's ear, and Sam shivers at the feel of his breath. "So slow."
"You mean -- ah," Sam arches as Dean's fingers move inside him again, "ah, you mean you're going to tease."
"Same thing," Dean says, grinning. "It is my turn, after all."
---
The ceiling is actually white, which is kind of surprising, in this kind of place, and in this kind of light. Sam's used to ceilings that are yellow-ish, at best. But this one is white. It's a funny thing to notice, but he doesn't exactly have enough energy to move right now -- and anyway, Dean's lying on top of him, which makes it that much more difficult. He wriggles and Dean just grunts, pressing his face more firmly into Sam's shoulder. It's kind of a nice feeling, since this is almost cuddling, although he'd better not ever mention anything like it or they'll be back to separate beds, or something ridiculous like that.
"You're going to have a job topping this," he says, into Sam's shoulder. He even manages to sound smug, despite having his face mashed against Sam's skin, despite the way his voice is muffled as a result. Sam squirms a little, trying to elbow him, but that's hard when he's underneath him like that, so he settles for a sharp poke in the ribs.
Besides, he has a plan of revenge anyway.
"It's okay," he says, "I've already got a plan."
Dean pushes up a little then, narrowing his eyes. "That sounds ominous."
"You'll just have to wait and see," Sam says, with a lazy grin. He tugs Dean down again, kissing him softly. "You'll enjoy it."
"Yeah, well," Dean starts, but then gets distracted by kissing Sam, which is okay as far as both of them are concerned. Sam's right, anyway, and they both know it.
---
The girl Dean chose is pretty much his normal type. She has a big smile and a big rack, unnaturally white teeth and a really short skirt. Her voice is a bit too high, grates more than a bit, but they don't want her to talk, so that's just fine. Sam hasn't told Dean what they're doing, but he picked her out himself anyway, and she agreed to what Sam had in mind. She made some ridiculous kind of moaning noise when he whispered it in her ear, but apparently they're just that hot that she's willing to go along with just about anything. Or that could be more of a commentary on her: Sam doesn't care, because this isn't even remotely about her or even him. It's about Dean, and what Dean might want.
It's been a couple of weeks since he told Dean he has a plan, and he's pretty sure Dean's guard was down before he leaned in and told him to pick a girl. Now Dean is skittish, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they wait at red lights, biting his lip hard. Sam has half an eye for the girl in the back seat and her bright, curious eyes, but mostly he's just watching Dean. Now and then he touches him, runs his fingers over the tense line of his neck or even leans in to lick or bite. Dean makes a little noise when he does, body tensing.
He has no idea what to expect, he just wants it. Good.
"Bet you wish you knew what he's got planned," the girl says.
"I trust him to blow my mind," Dean says. He keeps his eyes on the road, but his hands tighten around the wheel again. Sam's pretty sure it's not irritation.
"You look pretty good together," she tells him. "How long have you been his bitch?"
Dean tenses a little more and Sam doesn't know whether that's because he likes it or because he really really doesn't. He strokes the back of Dean's neck again, though, smirks lazily. "Long time," he says, and Dean makes this little sound in his throat that the girl doesn't even hear. "Right, Dean?"
"Right," Dean says.
"That's right, you know, I don't even know your names," the girl says. "Didn't catch them in the club. I'm Traci. With an 'i' at the end."
"Sam and Dean," Sam tells her. He doesn't know if Dean sees the significance in it, in the fact that he said their real names. It's not like anyone's chasing them nowadays, so it's safe, but it's not normal. It's something different: another kind of nakedness. He's laying Dean bare, even though he's pretty sure this girl doesn't deserve it. "He's Dean."
"I guessed," she says, with a bright smile, showing teeth. There's a bit of envy in her voice. "You sure I don't get to touch you? Either of you?"
He gives her a quelling look; Dean doesn't need many clues to start figuring out what Sam's planning. "Yes."
"Okay," she says, with an exaggerated pout. "Okay. It'll be good just to watch you. And I can have fun on my own, you know what I mean?" She actually winks at him.
He doesn't really bother dignifying that with an answer. His attention is all for Dean.
"Might wanna speed up," he says, low, mostly just for Dean. "I'm not gonna wait all night."
Dean makes another little noise in his throat and puts his foot down, finally.
---
The main thing that matters is that there's a bed. The lamp doesn't work for a moment, but then it flickers into life. Sam's already kissing Dean, holding him hard and pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Dean's making these little noises -- and Tracy or Traci or whatever her name is makes a little noise too -- and Sam is abruptly worried that this isn't going to take any time at all. He pulls away, ignoring Dean's soft protest and the fact that his mouth is open, lips slightly swollen and shiny with his spit, the fact that he's touching Sam, shoving his hands up under his shirt. Well. For a certain value of ignoring, anyway.
"Sit down over there," he tells the girl, nodding to a chair, and she nods too, smiling.
"And shut up?" she asks, smiling, with a warmth in her voice, and Sam surprisingly finds himself liking her. Despite the grating pitch of her voice.
"Yeah," he says, giving her a smile back. "If you don't mind."
"Hey, I don't want to get kicked out."
Sam nods and looks back at Dean, lets himself take note of Dean's insistent tugging on his shirt. He grins and hauls it off. "Eager, huh?" he says to Dean, and Dean makes this huffy little noise and drags his own shirt off.
"You're the one who was trying to lick my tonsils a minute ago."
Sam rolls his eyes and undoes Dean's belt. He doubles it up, gives Dean a quick swat on the thigh with it, light enough that it doesn't really matter -- hard enough to make a visible shudder run through Dean. His lips part again and Sam takes advantage of it, kissing him stupid. He undoes Dean's pants while he's doing that, brushes his fingers over his crotch teasingly. "Get on the bed."
"Sam -- "
"Do it."
"Yes sir," Dean says, low and hot, and Sam gives him another quick lick with the belt before he drops it.
"Now," he says, and watches as Dean crawls up on the bed. He doesn't look at Traci -- how much difference does the 'i' make anyway? -- but his voice is pitched for her ears. "Look at you," he says, "look at you, all eager for it. You don't even know what I'm going to do."
Dean's eyes flick to the belt and then to Sam's face. "Might have given me some ideas."
Sam's kind of surprised by that. "Not this time." He sits down, pats his lap. "Get here. Lying down, not straddling me." He's positioned them so that Traci will be able to see it all -- so that she'll be able to see Dean's face, which is the most important part. Dean's used to strange girls eyeing him up, has a long habit of indulging them, in fact, but this is going to be different. It almost doesn't matter what Traci can see as long as she can see Dean's face, see him open, wide-open. "Remember doing something like this?"
Dean moves against him a little, once he's settled. Whimpers, even. "Yes."
"Pity we haven't got a mirror, huh? So you could watch yourself. But Traci's here. Traci can see you, Dean."
The little noise Dean makes is even better than Sam anticipated, and the way he's acting -- he's wide-open already, Sam thinks, and everything he does is just going to lever him open more, leave him vulnerable. And Dean doesn't care -- even wants it -- and he wonders how many of Dean's wants are colliding together here, tangling up in each other, tripping him up, making him shake with want for it.
Dean jerks against him the first time he slaps him. It isn't even that hard, at all, but he makes this strangled noise anyway. It makes Sam's cock jerk, and he kind of wishes he'd taken his jeans off already. Doesn't matter, though. Dean matters, but that's just about all. He slaps Dean again, still lightly, and listens for the dual intakes of breath -- Dean, and Traci.
"You look so good together," she says, as if half-unwillingly, and then, "Sorry."
Dean shudders, though, when she speaks -- Sam doesn't think that's because he's annoyed by her voice, not at this stage. He seems to like the reminder that someone's watching him. "Open your eyes," Sam tells him, and he can't see Dean's face from this angle, but he's pretty sure he obeys. It wouldn't be like Dean to start acting up now, not when he's getting what he wants.
The rest of it is an unfortunate blur in Sam's memory. He wants to hold onto every detail but mostly he just remembers how fucking hot it is, how Dean rocks against him and moans and even whimpers, and how he's pretty sure Traci stops even blinking after a while. He doesn't just keep slapping Dean hard every time, nor in the same place -- he teases sometimes, stops and just touches him, feels the heat of his reddened skin, or makes him spread his legs a bit and touches his entrance. Dean seems to love it all, panting and arching, rubbing against Sam's leg when he can. Sam's not sure exactly when Dean starts pleading, but that's really good too, the way he clutches the bedcovers and gasps out please and Sammy and harder, oh fuck, do it harder.
When Sam stops, Dean looks wrecked. His lips are even more bitten now, and he keeps shaking even when Sam stops touching him. "Sammy," he whispers, and he'd sound broken if Sam didn't know better. "Oh come on, please." His ass is all red, the tops of his thighs too, and Sam can feel how hard he is, how slick, and Jesus.
"Fuck him," Traci says -- she kept silent most of the time, and Sam hasn't even looked at her since the beginning of this, but her voice is a little hoarse. "Jesus Christ, fuck him already."
"Yeah," Sam says, 'cause she has a very good idea anyway, and he fumbles for lube quickly. "You want that, Dean?"
"Yes," Dean says, almost a sob in his voice. Sam doesn't exactly take his time about preparing him, shoving him face-down on the bed and doing it quickly, roughly. Dean doesn't seem to mind, arching into it, gasping, and there's a lot more of the yes and the Sammy before Sam's done. Sam fumbles, gets his jeans undone and that's all, pulls his cock out -- no more patience to actually get naked. He pushes into Dean hard, one quick drive, and somewhere in the back of his head a more cautious voice is scraping at his consciousness, but Dean just arches and moans and Traci makes this little noise too, and yeah, this is just fine, this is just right.
---
"We've got to stop doing this, Sammy," Dean says. Traci's long gone by now. Dean's sprawled out all over the bed, his head is on Sam's thigh, and he's pretty much the picture of post-coital satisfaction. That doesn't lend much weight to his words, and, Sam feels, justifies his little snort.
"Why? Too much for your dignity?"
Dean just smiles, lazy-sweet, and turns a little so he can look up at Sam's face. "Nah. I just think, if we keep coming that hard, we're going to have heart attacks."
He looks fucking gorgeous, his lips dark and bitten, his whole body slack with afterglow. Sam could almost find enough energy for another round, just looking at him and thinking about his mouth and what he could do with it. All he does, though, is reach up and run his fingers through Dean's hair, almost petting him. He's not exactly surprised when Dean stretches just a little, pushes into it.
"I think I'll risk it," he says, tugging just a little at the longer strands. Dean makes a little noise.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Dean stretches out more, idly running his hands over Sam's body, stroking his knee. He's still smiling openly. "Me too."
Sam will work up the energy to kiss him for that, sooner or later. For now, he just slides his fingers through Dean's hair again, makes another mark on his inner map of them. "Good."
-End-
Part One | Part Two