Safeword (1/1)
Title: Safeword
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Fiction. The characters Sam and Dean Winchester belong to the CW and Eric Kripke.
Warnings: Minor BDSM and D/s, I suppose. Rough sex, violence, mentioned non-con.
Spoilers: End of Season 3.
Summary: Dean has to use his safeword.
Word count: 1, 800
Author's Notes: Another for the spnkink_meme. Original prompt under the cut. Hope you enjoy! *g*
Original prompt: I'd love it if someone wrote a fic where Jensen/Dean uses his safeword and Jared/Sam doesn't realize what he said until he's sobbing, begging him to stop. If it's Sam/Dean, perhaps Dean was having flashbacks to his time in Hell?
Heavy focus on h/c and the fact that the safeword was said more than once, please and thank you!
The handcuffs were polished; bright and shining against Dean’s pale skin, digging in tight and bruising. It had taken some persuading to get Dean to wear them, but Dean had given in to his little brother. Sam took a moment to look at his gorgeous, naked brother writhing beneath him, took a moment to gaze down at his hard contours of muscle, smooth skin glittering with beads of sweat and his swollen red cock bobbing against his stomach with each useless jerk of his hips.
“Sam,” gasped Dean, squirming, his eyes squeezed tight and his head thrown back, his neck curved, and fragile compared to Sam’s strong hands.
Sam dipped forwards, catching his brother’s mouth hungrily in his own; claiming it, taking back all the time he’d been gone, all the time he’d been not Sam’s. When Sam pulled back, Dean let out a high keening noise that he’d deny later. “Fuck,” growled Sam, reaching up and grabbing Dean’s forearms, “do it again. Make that sound again.”
Dean groaned when Sam caught the skin on his neck in between his sharp teeth. Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s forearms, just below the handcuffs. “Again,” he demanded, pulling back an inch for a breath, before biting down on Dean’s collarbone. His cock was rubbing against Dean’s bare skin, and Sam let out a long moan at the friction.
Dean made the keening sound again - his voice sounding so raw and hurt and beautiful. “S-Sam,” breathed Dean, his voice getting caught in his throat roughly, his brother a heavy weight on top of him.
Dean pulled at his restraints when Sam pulled back, the clanking of metal resounding around the room. “I can’t wait to feel your tight hole around my cock, Dean. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me for a week -” growled Sam, moving off Dean and lifting his brother’s legs over his shoulders.
Shivers ran down Dean’s spine and he tried to move but he couldn’t. Dread settled in his stomach along with intense arousal. “You gonna take it like a whore for me, Dean?” demanded Sam, fingering Dean’s hole with barely lubricated fingers. “So slutty, aren’t you? All tied up with nowhere to go - you wanna take me dry, Dean? Feel me filling you up so good?”
“Yes,” gasped Dean. He moved against his restraints more fiercely, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin, pain beginning to throb through his head.
“You want it,” hissed Sam, his cock pushing at Dean’s entrance, “you want it so bad don’t you, whore? Prove you’re the only one I need, Dean, prove it. Prove it.”
I only need you, Dean - what d’you say I hang the rest of you meatsuits up on the rack and we’ll spend some alone time together? Dean gasped as his skin remembered the bleeding and dying and torturing and wantinghopingneeding Sam. “Fuck!” Dean cried out as Sam slammed into him, pain and pleasure rippling through him.
“So fucking tight, Dean, missed you so fucking much, do you like this? Feel good?” Sam snapped his hips against Dean, fucking him ruthlessly.
(Misses you, missed you, missed you) Dean didn’t know what it was - only that it was huge and being forced into his tight hole (feel good, whore? So fucking tight, whore, can’t move, can you? Can’t move, can’t move!), blood dripped down his thighs as he squirmed against the restraints, and he screamed. Screamed as loud as he fucking could and it was still so goddamn quiet. Sam grabbed Dean’s hips with bruising force as he continued to slam roughly into his brother, Dean shuddered as Sam pressed against his jutting hipbones, feeling his erection softening - it hurt, everywhere hurt and memories of burning, ripping, bleeding, biting, stabbing tore through his mind; he was screaming in pain inside his head. And fuck, he couldn’t move. His hands arms were trapped at an awkward angle and the rest of his body was pinned down from the weight of Sam’s body. “Fuck - stop, Sam! I - red! Red, red, red, red - Sam!”
Sam’s head was thrown back, his thrusts becoming more brutal, the hands on Dean’s hips tightening, the bones feeling breakable under his brother’s strong hands. Touching all over all over all over - sinking into his bones; flesh from flesh, muscle from bone, heart from cage, claiming, taking, hurting, excruciating - killing. Bound. Yours, yours, yours. Red light, oh God, red light. “Red! Sammy! Stop! Red!” cried Dean, convulsions of agonizing pain thrilling through his body; he could feel himself bleeding and his wrists almost breaking as he writhed underneath Sam violently. “Red light!”
He was fucked. Trapped and chained and overwhelmed - mistrusting, hurting, crying in distress. They’re all here to see you, Dean, one by one. They don’t like your fight, so you’re all tied up, okay? They can have whatever they want and you’ll get off on it. Try anything and I will burn those chains right through your skin and into your bones. “Sam! Red!”
He did. He chained him up to the bone.
Fuck, he shouldn’t have let Sam cuff him. Trap him. “Red, Sam! Please!” cried Dean, succumbing to the pain. He felt as though he was a stranger in his own body as he continued to struggle pointlessly against Sam, his hips bucking up violently - still clutched in Sam’s large hands.
Dean’s body was jolting with his sobs. He vaguely felt Sam jerk above him, letting out a loud curse, vaguely felt Sam freeze inside him. “Dean? Oh - fuck!” Dean was docile as Sam pulled out of him violently, pain searing through him at the feeling. “Shit, Dean, are you - are you okay?” Dean felt his restraints vanish, his hands falling down loosely. It hurt.
Dean blinked slowly as his brother appeared above him; touching, rubbing, un-comforting. Sam’s eyes were tearful and guilty. “Dean? Fuck, I’m fucking so sorry - what happened? Where did I hurt you? Shit, are you bleeding? What’s wrong?”
Dean was... Dean didn’t... Dean, hey, what’s wrong? (Hands to face hands to face dirty hands to dirty face) you’re not gonna go all weak on me now, are you? Your spirit is too much fun... maybe I should give you a day off; I could easily torture some less-souls while you watch. Would you like that? Yeesh, that bleeding looks bad, don’t worry, you can give me your answer when you aren’t choking on your own blood. Dean didn’t... “No!”
Sam snapped his hand back and hovered it above his brother’s face for a few moments. Dean’s breathing was heavy and ragged and, to his disgust, tears were freefalling from his eyes. Sam grabbed him up, pulling his brother up against his wide chest. “Dean? Dean? I’m so sorry - Dean -”
“Red,” whispered Dean blankly, barely able to talk - his air catching in his throat as he struggled feebly in Sam’s hold - not wanting to be weak, not wanting to be held, not wanting to be seen, not being able to do anything about it. Weak, aren’t you? Weak little kitten. Want some milk, little kitty? Blood? Fresh meat? Here kitty, kitty. “Red, Sammy.”
Sam’s grip tightened on Dean and he let out a hurt noise. He was rubbing Dean’s side with a sweaty hand, creating hot friction on his bare skin. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking as he began to rock them back and forth. “I didn’t -” Sam choked back a hurt sound, “I didn’t mean to hurt you - I got so caught up - where does it hurt, Dean?”
“Red.”
Red hellfire, red blood, red organs, red meat, red eyes, red thoughts.
“Fuck, Dean,” cried Sam, and Dean could feel water running down his face. They really gotta stop staying at these cheap motels - with their freaking leaking ceilings leaking dirty water. He didn’t even think it was raining outside.
“Red, Sam,” leaked in hell sometimes; the metal spikes on the ceiling doused with blood always dripping dripping dripping.
Sam let out a soft noise from above Dean. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled thickly.
Oh.
“Red.”
“Stop saying that. Please. I-I should’ve - I should’ve been listening, Dean, I’m so sorry. Please, just. Talk to me, please, Dean. Stop... please, where are you hurting? Where did I hurt you?”
Dean sighed, lowering his eyes. Red. Sam hadn’t stopped. He still wasn’t stopping. “Red, red, red,” he whispered.
“I know Dean, God - I know, I should’ve listened -”
“Still not.”
Sam jerked a little, gripping Dean tighter. “What?”
“Still not listening, Sammy,” murmured Dean; shrill cries running through his mind, stripping him down, ripping him awake but not aware.
“What do you mean?”
“Red light. Red. Not a safeword. It’s not safe.” Hues of red, shades of red; crimson, scarlet, sangria, maroon, carnelian: different streaming colours all becoming the same hell.
Sam let out a choked noise, and he moved to put his hands near Dean’s, which were pinned under his body. Sam pulled back with a gasp. “Fuck, Dean, you are bleeding - get up.”
“No.” Flash pain flash death flash torture flash soul.
“Dean,” groaned Sam wetly, pulling away from Dean and climbing off the bed; cold air rushing to where his brother was pressed against him. He was at Dean’s front in a second and Dean looked him in the eye - they were red. His face had tear-tracks running down it and his hair was matted against his forehead. “Dean, can you hear me? We need to get you cleaned up -”
Broken. Full. Full of broken. Full of - “Can’t, Sammy - can’t move -” Sam grabbed him and tried to pull him up and Dean struggled, sobs wracking his frame again as pain tore through him. “Stop, Sam! Stop, stop, stop - red! Stop!”
“Shit!” Sam let go and Dean fell back against the bed, his chest heaving. “What can I do?” asked Sam, sounding panicked, “what do I do, Dean? I-I hurt you and I didn't listen- and what do I do?”
Through his haze and pain, Dean wanted to laugh and say that he isn’t hurt, Dean wanted to tell Sam to go away, to not see him like this, but the damage was done. It was past done; it was polished and wrapped in a neat box.
He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t strong enough to push Sam away when he was in this much pain, and he needed Sam to know - needed him to know that it wasn’t his fault. “S’okay - Sammy,” gasped Dean, “stay.”
Sam let out a sob and climbed back down next to Dean, wrapping his strong, warm body around his brother. And it was like Dean’s pain was seeping into Sam as they lay there, like it was sinking into the hard mattress. “It’s... you can go,” said Dean eventually in a raspy voice, once he was almost himself again. “Go.”
“Tell me about hell.”
Dean let out a soft cry and pressed his head into Sam’s chest before he knew what he was doing. “It’s red.”
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Fiction. The characters Sam and Dean Winchester belong to the CW and Eric Kripke.
Warnings: Minor BDSM and D/s, I suppose. Rough sex, violence, mentioned non-con.
Spoilers: End of Season 3.
Summary: Dean has to use his safeword.
Word count: 1, 800
Author's Notes: Another for the spnkink_meme. Original prompt under the cut. Hope you enjoy! *g*
Original prompt: I'd love it if someone wrote a fic where Jensen/Dean uses his safeword and Jared/Sam doesn't realize what he said until he's sobbing, begging him to stop. If it's Sam/Dean, perhaps Dean was having flashbacks to his time in Hell?
Heavy focus on h/c and the fact that the safeword was said more than once, please and thank you!
The handcuffs were polished; bright and shining against Dean’s pale skin, digging in tight and bruising. It had taken some persuading to get Dean to wear them, but Dean had given in to his little brother. Sam took a moment to look at his gorgeous, naked brother writhing beneath him, took a moment to gaze down at his hard contours of muscle, smooth skin glittering with beads of sweat and his swollen red cock bobbing against his stomach with each useless jerk of his hips.
“Sam,” gasped Dean, squirming, his eyes squeezed tight and his head thrown back, his neck curved, and fragile compared to Sam’s strong hands.
Sam dipped forwards, catching his brother’s mouth hungrily in his own; claiming it, taking back all the time he’d been gone, all the time he’d been not Sam’s. When Sam pulled back, Dean let out a high keening noise that he’d deny later. “Fuck,” growled Sam, reaching up and grabbing Dean’s forearms, “do it again. Make that sound again.”
Dean groaned when Sam caught the skin on his neck in between his sharp teeth. Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s forearms, just below the handcuffs. “Again,” he demanded, pulling back an inch for a breath, before biting down on Dean’s collarbone. His cock was rubbing against Dean’s bare skin, and Sam let out a long moan at the friction.
Dean made the keening sound again - his voice sounding so raw and hurt and beautiful. “S-Sam,” breathed Dean, his voice getting caught in his throat roughly, his brother a heavy weight on top of him.
Dean pulled at his restraints when Sam pulled back, the clanking of metal resounding around the room. “I can’t wait to feel your tight hole around my cock, Dean. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me for a week -” growled Sam, moving off Dean and lifting his brother’s legs over his shoulders.
Shivers ran down Dean’s spine and he tried to move but he couldn’t. Dread settled in his stomach along with intense arousal. “You gonna take it like a whore for me, Dean?” demanded Sam, fingering Dean’s hole with barely lubricated fingers. “So slutty, aren’t you? All tied up with nowhere to go - you wanna take me dry, Dean? Feel me filling you up so good?”
“Yes,” gasped Dean. He moved against his restraints more fiercely, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin, pain beginning to throb through his head.
“You want it,” hissed Sam, his cock pushing at Dean’s entrance, “you want it so bad don’t you, whore? Prove you’re the only one I need, Dean, prove it. Prove it.”
I only need you, Dean - what d’you say I hang the rest of you meatsuits up on the rack and we’ll spend some alone time together? Dean gasped as his skin remembered the bleeding and dying and torturing and wantinghopingneeding Sam. “Fuck!” Dean cried out as Sam slammed into him, pain and pleasure rippling through him.
“So fucking tight, Dean, missed you so fucking much, do you like this? Feel good?” Sam snapped his hips against Dean, fucking him ruthlessly.
(Misses you, missed you, missed you) Dean didn’t know what it was - only that it was huge and being forced into his tight hole (feel good, whore? So fucking tight, whore, can’t move, can you? Can’t move, can’t move!), blood dripped down his thighs as he squirmed against the restraints, and he screamed. Screamed as loud as he fucking could and it was still so goddamn quiet. Sam grabbed Dean’s hips with bruising force as he continued to slam roughly into his brother, Dean shuddered as Sam pressed against his jutting hipbones, feeling his erection softening - it hurt, everywhere hurt and memories of burning, ripping, bleeding, biting, stabbing tore through his mind; he was screaming in pain inside his head. And fuck, he couldn’t move. His hands arms were trapped at an awkward angle and the rest of his body was pinned down from the weight of Sam’s body. “Fuck - stop, Sam! I - red! Red, red, red, red - Sam!”
Sam’s head was thrown back, his thrusts becoming more brutal, the hands on Dean’s hips tightening, the bones feeling breakable under his brother’s strong hands. Touching all over all over all over - sinking into his bones; flesh from flesh, muscle from bone, heart from cage, claiming, taking, hurting, excruciating - killing. Bound. Yours, yours, yours. Red light, oh God, red light. “Red! Sammy! Stop! Red!” cried Dean, convulsions of agonizing pain thrilling through his body; he could feel himself bleeding and his wrists almost breaking as he writhed underneath Sam violently. “Red light!”
He was fucked. Trapped and chained and overwhelmed - mistrusting, hurting, crying in distress. They’re all here to see you, Dean, one by one. They don’t like your fight, so you’re all tied up, okay? They can have whatever they want and you’ll get off on it. Try anything and I will burn those chains right through your skin and into your bones. “Sam! Red!”
He did. He chained him up to the bone.
Fuck, he shouldn’t have let Sam cuff him. Trap him. “Red, Sam! Please!” cried Dean, succumbing to the pain. He felt as though he was a stranger in his own body as he continued to struggle pointlessly against Sam, his hips bucking up violently - still clutched in Sam’s large hands.
Dean’s body was jolting with his sobs. He vaguely felt Sam jerk above him, letting out a loud curse, vaguely felt Sam freeze inside him. “Dean? Oh - fuck!” Dean was docile as Sam pulled out of him violently, pain searing through him at the feeling. “Shit, Dean, are you - are you okay?” Dean felt his restraints vanish, his hands falling down loosely. It hurt.
Dean blinked slowly as his brother appeared above him; touching, rubbing, un-comforting. Sam’s eyes were tearful and guilty. “Dean? Fuck, I’m fucking so sorry - what happened? Where did I hurt you? Shit, are you bleeding? What’s wrong?”
Dean was... Dean didn’t... Dean, hey, what’s wrong? (Hands to face hands to face dirty hands to dirty face) you’re not gonna go all weak on me now, are you? Your spirit is too much fun... maybe I should give you a day off; I could easily torture some less-souls while you watch. Would you like that? Yeesh, that bleeding looks bad, don’t worry, you can give me your answer when you aren’t choking on your own blood. Dean didn’t... “No!”
Sam snapped his hand back and hovered it above his brother’s face for a few moments. Dean’s breathing was heavy and ragged and, to his disgust, tears were freefalling from his eyes. Sam grabbed him up, pulling his brother up against his wide chest. “Dean? Dean? I’m so sorry - Dean -”
“Red,” whispered Dean blankly, barely able to talk - his air catching in his throat as he struggled feebly in Sam’s hold - not wanting to be weak, not wanting to be held, not wanting to be seen, not being able to do anything about it. Weak, aren’t you? Weak little kitten. Want some milk, little kitty? Blood? Fresh meat? Here kitty, kitty. “Red, Sammy.”
Sam’s grip tightened on Dean and he let out a hurt noise. He was rubbing Dean’s side with a sweaty hand, creating hot friction on his bare skin. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking as he began to rock them back and forth. “I didn’t -” Sam choked back a hurt sound, “I didn’t mean to hurt you - I got so caught up - where does it hurt, Dean?”
“Red.”
Red hellfire, red blood, red organs, red meat, red eyes, red thoughts.
“Fuck, Dean,” cried Sam, and Dean could feel water running down his face. They really gotta stop staying at these cheap motels - with their freaking leaking ceilings leaking dirty water. He didn’t even think it was raining outside.
“Red, Sam,” leaked in hell sometimes; the metal spikes on the ceiling doused with blood always dripping dripping dripping.
Sam let out a soft noise from above Dean. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled thickly.
Oh.
“Red.”
“Stop saying that. Please. I-I should’ve - I should’ve been listening, Dean, I’m so sorry. Please, just. Talk to me, please, Dean. Stop... please, where are you hurting? Where did I hurt you?”
Dean sighed, lowering his eyes. Red. Sam hadn’t stopped. He still wasn’t stopping. “Red, red, red,” he whispered.
“I know Dean, God - I know, I should’ve listened -”
“Still not.”
Sam jerked a little, gripping Dean tighter. “What?”
“Still not listening, Sammy,” murmured Dean; shrill cries running through his mind, stripping him down, ripping him awake but not aware.
“What do you mean?”
“Red light. Red. Not a safeword. It’s not safe.” Hues of red, shades of red; crimson, scarlet, sangria, maroon, carnelian: different streaming colours all becoming the same hell.
Sam let out a choked noise, and he moved to put his hands near Dean’s, which were pinned under his body. Sam pulled back with a gasp. “Fuck, Dean, you are bleeding - get up.”
“No.” Flash pain flash death flash torture flash soul.
“Dean,” groaned Sam wetly, pulling away from Dean and climbing off the bed; cold air rushing to where his brother was pressed against him. He was at Dean’s front in a second and Dean looked him in the eye - they were red. His face had tear-tracks running down it and his hair was matted against his forehead. “Dean, can you hear me? We need to get you cleaned up -”
Broken. Full. Full of broken. Full of - “Can’t, Sammy - can’t move -” Sam grabbed him and tried to pull him up and Dean struggled, sobs wracking his frame again as pain tore through him. “Stop, Sam! Stop, stop, stop - red! Stop!”
“Shit!” Sam let go and Dean fell back against the bed, his chest heaving. “What can I do?” asked Sam, sounding panicked, “what do I do, Dean? I-I hurt you and I didn't listen- and what do I do?”
Through his haze and pain, Dean wanted to laugh and say that he isn’t hurt, Dean wanted to tell Sam to go away, to not see him like this, but the damage was done. It was past done; it was polished and wrapped in a neat box.
He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t strong enough to push Sam away when he was in this much pain, and he needed Sam to know - needed him to know that it wasn’t his fault. “S’okay - Sammy,” gasped Dean, “stay.”
Sam let out a sob and climbed back down next to Dean, wrapping his strong, warm body around his brother. And it was like Dean’s pain was seeping into Sam as they lay there, like it was sinking into the hard mattress. “It’s... you can go,” said Dean eventually in a raspy voice, once he was almost himself again. “Go.”
“Tell me about hell.”
Dean let out a soft cry and pressed his head into Sam’s chest before he knew what he was doing. “It’s red.”