Music is My Aeroplane
Jul. 5th, 2015 01:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Music is My Aeroplane
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dimeliora
Fandom: SPN
Wordcount: 3,705
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Prompt(s): Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smpc
Disclaimer: I don't own what I built on, but I do own what I built
Summary: Every now and then Dean manages to surprise Sam. This time he does it with rope.
Sam wakes up to Dean holding his wrist.
It’s not off-putting at all.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dean isn’t looking at him. His brother’s eyes are focused on Sam’s wrist. Something about it has Dean’s attention and for the life of him Sam can’t figure out what.
“You know I was thinking.”
And that’s it. Dean stops there, turning Sam’s hand a little to make the wrist sit at a different and equally confusing angle. Sam has learned over the years that Dean thinking is never a good thing. Especially when he’s doing it quietly.
“Dean. Hey!” He snaps his free fingers until Dean looks up. “Thinking what?”
His brother runs a thumb along the inside of his wrist, slow and soft, and then he draws it across tracing the lines there. The bracelets of life Sam thinks as he watches Dean’s face stay fixed and inscrutable.
If Dean knew palmistry he would know that the lines are broken enough that Sam is supposed to face many hardships, but that because it leads up to the wrist he’s supposed to get all his wishes fulfilled in the course of his lifetime.
Sam’s not holding his breath for that second part.
“It bruised you.”
That stops him. Sam isn’t sure what Dean means for a minute, and then he blinks and looks at his wrist again. There are rope burns and bruises from the Abarimon. He forgot that the rope left marks.
“Huh. Yeah it did.”
Dean lifts his wrist up, stares at it up close, and then opens his mouth and presses his lips to the wrist. Open. Sam feels the tip of his brother’s tongue trace the skin there, and then his brother starts sucking.
Hard.
“Hey. Hey what are you doing?”
Dean keeps sucking, teeth not in the mix at all, and then there’s a little burst of pain and a wave of warmth before Dean pulls back from Sam’s wrist and looks at what he did.
Next to the dim bruises and rope burns there’s a hickey, bold and bright red, but darkening swiftly. Sam tilts his head in shock. Dean doesn’t leave marks like that. Dean never leaves marks like that.
His brother’s thumb rubs softly over the mark and then Dean looks up at Sam and he sees that his brother doesn’t look playful. Dean looks intense, focused, and Sam finds that his breath speeds up at the sight of it more than it did when Dean was sucking the blood to the surface of his skin. This is the look his brother uses when he’s hunting.
“Sam. It left marks on you.”
For half a second Sam thinks that his brother has possibly gone insane. That there is something happening here that has an explanation outside of logic and reasoning. They deal with that sort of thing every day.
But Dean doesn’t seem off that way. He’s not confused, there’s no mania there, just a high level of focus and surety. He rubs the mark he’s left on Sam again and then stands up. Crosses the room to the bag and bends down before unzipping it in one sure motion.
And then Sam gets it. The two of them have been together long enough that Sam knows his brother’s kinks by now. Knows the way his brother thinks, what gets Dean off, and when. Dean is sexually fluid, set not to a specific type of sex or kind of thrill, but to whatever his brain is set on in that moment. That’s how Sam has experienced both Dean holding him down and fucking him in public places, and Dean spreading himself open and begging Sam to pick him up and manhandle him.
With Dean it’s all about the moment. There’s not a plan, and there’s not a pattern, there’s just an impulse.
And typically, reliably, Sam can get into that impulse in only seconds. The tightness of Dean’s movements means that tonight it’s going to be Sam held down. Sam controlled.
He can allow that.
“Dean?”
His brother pulls a length of rope out of the hunting duffel and without turning to face Sam he methodically starts unrolling it.
“Down to your underwear. On the stool.”
And Sam stands up. There’s no reason to make it a tease, Dean isn’t watching. But Sam takes his time pulling his shirt up and off. Sliding his jeans down his legs. He knows that Dean can hear every movement. That his brother is listening the way he would usually watch as the cloth scrapes against Sam’s skin.
Dean’s hands don’t stutter on the rope, but his brother’s body does tense a little bit in response to what Sam’s doing.
“Clock’s ticking Sammy.”
Sam sits on the stool, cool air brushing his skin, and readjusts himself in his gray boxer briefs as Dean finally turns around and crosses the room. He’s still intense, focused, and Sam wonders if he’ll be able to hold that look the whole time this go round.
If Dean will break or bend while he’s trying to do the same to Sam.
“Cross your arms behind your back, wrist over wrist, and sit upright.”
Sam repositions himself so that his back is facing Dean and his front is towards the bed. His feet are pressed firmly on the ground and his thighs tense as he holds himself upright, back muscles stretching to get him into the right position. He waits to see if this is right, and when Dean’s lips quirk just the tiniest bit he knows that he did it the way his brother wanted.
Dean comes to his side and loops the rope around front to back twice, one loop higher on the biceps and one lower. After that Sam can feel more movements, but he can’t see them. And then Dean drops the rope over the front, loops it through the bottom of what he’s already done, and then lifts it back over Sam’s other shoulder and behind. There’s one more loop up front, and then more behind, and then Sam’s wrists are wrapped tight and the rope pulls him more upright and stiff.
He looks down to see that the shape over his chest is a star, earth and fire points coming towards his neck and spirit point under his pecs and pointing down towards his groin.
It’s elaborate, intricate, and different from what Sam is used to. They haven’t done a whole lot of bondage with this before. This isn’t something Sam is necessarily prepared for, but he’s willing to sit still and see how it plays out. Dean tugs on his hair, and Sam pulls his head back up to the stiff upright position that Dean wanted him to hold in the first place.
“Dean?”
His brother clucks his tongue once and then takes Sam’s loose legs and uses them to turn Sam facing forward. His bound hands bouncing and his core muscles pulling taut to help his posture.
“Sammy. I need you quiet for a little bit. And then everything that comes out of you needs to be sound not words. Got me?”
He nods, eyes locked on Dean’s face, and then licks his lips to try to get moisture on them. Because he expects a kiss.
Dean doesn’t kiss him.
Instead his brother leans in and licks Sam’s neck before opening his mouth and settling it against the skin over Sam’s carotid. Sam tenses up even more, knows what’s coming but doesn’t know how to prepare for it, and then Dean starts to suck.
There’s that bright spark of pain again, and then Sam’s cock surges against the previously loose cotton of his boxer briefs and his back arches a bit more. Dean’s hands settle on his hips, keep him firmly pressed to the stool as his tongue flutters against Sam’s skin and his mouth keeps constant firm pressure.
And then Dean is gone, cool air rushing over the wet skin and heat left behind in the spot where Dean was sucking. Sam tries not to move, but he needs to readjust again and he can’t reach himself. Instead he makes an awkward little scoot on the stool only to have Dean push him back to the position he was in when they started.
“Hold still Sammy. It’s easy to hold still.”
Says Dean, the chronic twitcher. Sam holds his tongue easier than he’s holding his core and hips.
Dean stands upright, smiles at Sam, and then grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it slowly over his head. Sam stares, not sure what Dean is about to do, but expecting a cock in his mouth. Dean rarely takes his time when it comes to things like this. Usually he’s all about jumping to the hot and heavy parts, racing to the finish.
But not this time. This time Dean crosses to Sam’s left side and kneels. His fingers slide over Sam’s stomach muscles, full contact and then just tips, and Deans clucks his tongue again. There are light bruises there from their last hunt. They’re not that bad, just a spot when he hit a railing at high speed, but Dean pays close attention to them before dragging those same fingers up over Sam’s nipples.
And Sam feels a little quirk, a flutter in his stomach that makes him nervous, but Dean leans in and laps over the one bruise, opens his mouth, and begins to suck. His fingers play with Sam’s nipple, plucking gently, circling, teasing even as the pain bursts where Dean’s mouth is. He feels the rush of heat, the hickey forming hard and fast, and his cock leaking heavily in his boxer briefs as Dean keeps sucking and sucking. His brother’s mouth skips over an inch, starts working the skin again, and his fingers move to the next nipple.
Sam’s breath is coming hard and fast, lungs slightly restricted by the position, unable to breathe in deeply and unable to bend away from Dean comfortably. He’s kept in check by Dean’s hands, Dean’s mouth, and the ropes.
Dean releases the newest spot, hickey already formed and getting darker, and then he moves up just a little bit and starts to suck. Sam takes a breath that’s restricted, held tight, and then he twists just the tiniest bit to try to get a little more comfortable.
The fingers on his nipple stay gentle and sweet, the mouth on his ribs sucks harder so that Sam feels more of the pressure and sharpness. He holds still, and Dean’s mouth gentles on his skin.
Sam breathes again, clears his throat, and then licks his lips. He can do this. He can hold steady.
Dean moves up another inch, licks the nipple he’s not teasing with his fingertips, and then opens his mouth.
And Sam feels something that is both fear and anticipation. This is his nipple. There are a lot of nerves there. There’s a lot that probably shouldn’t be sucked into a hickey.
But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t tell Dean no. He knows that the pause isn’t all about making Sam anticipate the pain. It’s about letting Sam decide. And Sam decides to try it.
Dean’s tongue pushes against Sam’s nipple again. Presses firmly, not a lick but a poke, and Sam almost laughs breathlessly and hysterical at the oddness of it before Dean’s open mouth latches on and he starts to suck, gentle at first. Kind.
And then the pressure starts. It hurts, but it feels so fucking good Sam gives up on trying to hold still and obey and jerks his hips seeking friction on his poor ignored cock. Dean stays there, lips moving in tiny, infinitesimally tiny, movements as he keeps firm and steady pressure on Sam’s nipple. He can’t control the outburst of sound, not necessarily a cry but not exactly a moan either, as Dean ups the pressure more than Sam thought possible.
They stay that way for what feels like forever, and Sam loses the ability to feel the burn of his core muscles or the way his thighs are still taut and stiff to keep his balance on the stool. He loses the cool of the room, the gentle strokes of Dean’s fingertips, the aching of his cock. All there is at this moment is the wet of Dean’s mouth, the pressure of his brother’s suction, and the hot blood rushing up to the surface of his nipple.
And then Dean releases, mouth popping off but head staying right there by Sam’s nipple. His brother is surveying his work, face still intense and considering, and Sam takes several sharp and shallow breaths as feeling rushes back into the rest of him.
“Dean.”
He’s not supposed to talk, he knows it, but he can’t help it. His brother looks up and smiles, once, the big bad wolf kneeling in front of him.
And then Dean latches onto the other nipple, and Sam feels his cock jump, his whole body pull against the tightness of the ropes, and he tries to get away with his lower body even as his upper body presses harder. His brother’s eyes are closed this time, not studying Sam’s responses but simply enjoying the way that he’s making Sam’s body rebel against itself.
Dean feels his instability and keeps up the pressure as his hand grabs Sam’s thigh and pulls. His feet leave the floor and it’s only Dean keeping him on the stool as that mouth keeps pulling at his nipple, dragging it deeper into Dean’s mouth. It’s pain now, intense and bright, and Sam’s focus sharpens again on the sensation. He’s lost in it, unable to think beyond it, and he can feel everything in the area more intensely than he’s felt anything in his entire life.
His brother’s nose is crumpled against the flesh above his nipple, breath hot and hard, mouth wet and strong, and Sam wonders if Dean will ever let up. If he’ll just stay there sucking until Sam comes simply from the intensity and desperation of the act.
And then Dean releases, and the feeling rushes back into the rest of him. Sam gasps as much as the ropes will allow him, wrists pulling against the hemp and compressing his chest even more.
His brother lifts him off the stool with a grunt, and then carries Sam over to the bed. Sam is trying his hardest to get a full breath, but he’s dizzy and the world keeps moving on him. He’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out. He hits the bed, gently but the jarring isn’t what he’s ready for and he gasps again and then twists as the air gets just a little thinner.
Dean does something behind him, something Sam can’t see, and the pressure on his chest lets up a little bit. His nipples are aching, his cock is so hard he can’t imagine it will take more than a light stroke to make him come, and then Dean is rolling him face down.
Sam pushes his shoulders forward as much as he can to get some leverage and turns his head. He can’t see Dean now, and he stares instead at the nicked headboard bolted into the motel room wall.
There’s sound behind him, but Sam can’t hear it properly over the roar of blood in his head. His hips are pulled up, his knees positioned on the bed, his boxer briefs pulled roughly down and left on one ankle, and then Dean’s mouth is on his right ass cheek. Sam lets out a sigh, relaxed at the feeling, sure, and then the mouth opens and Sam has time to suck in one more breath before Dean is sucking too, pulling the tender flesh into his mouth.
Sam squirms, unable to stop himself, incapable of pretending dignity as Dean sucks a hickey there. His cock is hanging free now, not even the feel of the cotton to give him some friction or feeling, and he’s pretty sure his balls are so tight they’ve started to pull into his body. He can’t do this much longer. Dean’s gotta touch his cock or Sam is going to go insane.
But he can’t tell his brother that. He can’t make words because his mouth is stuck rotating between returning precious oxygen to his brain and letting out a long low sound that is something between a moan and a groan.
“Sammy. I’m gonna untie your arms. You’re going to put them down on the bed and keep them there. You lift them and you’ll regret it. Got me?”
He nods, desperate for his wrists to be free, and then the rope is twitching, moving, releasing. Sam takes in full, deep breaths, gasping like a fish thrown from its bowl as Dean’s fingers rub his hands briskly to make sure that the circulation is flowing properly and everything is working the way it should.
And then Dean is moving his legs again and Sam lays his palms flat on the comforter and tries to focus on that. On keeping his position.
“You’re gonna like this one.”
Sam is sure he will, but he’s also a little afraid of what Dean is planning. Everything up to this point has been new, and Sam is pretty sure that more adventure will kill him. And then Dean’s tongue is brushing over his left testicle and Sam hears himself cry out, thinking of the pressure of the other hickeys with what amounts to real terror in relation to his balls as Dean presses one slick finger against his hole.
The pressure never comes though, Dean’s tongue just brushes and flirts rubbing sensitive glands, and Sam breathes deep and slow. His hands haven’t moved. He’s not sure if Dean can see that but he’s pretty proud of it.
Dean’s tongue keeps moving, presses against a sensitive spot at the base of his cock and pushing hard, and Sam feels his orgasm rushing up, long denied and ready to slam into him. But then Dean’s tongue is gone, that slick finger still pushing against his hole but not entering, and Sam tries his hardest to see Dean and only gets peeks of his own flesh.
His brother’s mouth flirts over his balls again, and then settles on the back of his left thigh. The pressure starts up almost instantly and Sam’s hips jerk in response as his hands ball into fists gripping the comforter. Dean is teasing him, bright sparks of that hot pain travelling up and down the backs of his thighs, along the cheeks of his ass again, and then the mouth is gone and Sam is taking a deep breath at the end of the relentless torture. Dean uses this moment to slip not one but two fingers into Sam. His indrawn breath becomes a gasp. Sam is just adjusting to the pressure and getting control of his breathing again when Dean’s mouth appears like a goddamn specter on his cock and the pressure is there.
Sam comes, hard, vision going gray as he loses precious breath again and his hips jerk helplessly. He clamps down on Dean’s fingers and dimly he hears the comforter rip in his grip.
Thank god the room isn’t in their name because Sam doesn’t want to know how much this piece of shit cost.
He’s coming down, emptying into Dean’s mouth, and then his brother lets go as Sam is still riding the aftershocks and the fingers disappear. Sam expects that the next sensation he feels will be Dean’s dick pressing into him so he relaxes his muscles as best he can.
But Dean, again, breaks expectations by rolling Sam over and latching his mouth onto the sensitive skin on his inner thigh. His cock, still dribbling and softening, rubs against Dean’s cheek as his brother sucks a hickey into his skin and Sam thinks that any more sensation, any more of this hot pain, and his brain will simply break into pieces. He can’t follow what Dean’s hands are doing, can’t muster up even the most basic brain functioning to predict where Dean is going next.
Instead he pulls at the ripped comforter again and arches his hips a little to press his thigh deeper into Dean’s mouth.
Sam is grunting again, moaning in between, reduced to simply a noise making animal as he responds to Dean’s mouth.
His legs are spread roughly, Sam’s lower half is lifted, and Dean slides into him with ease before grabbing Sam’s arms and pulling him up so that Sam is on Dean’s lap, legs spread akimbo behind Dean and arms hanging loosely again Dean’s sides. He tries to get more upright, more involved, but there’s nothing left in him to do so.
Instead Sam is manipulated, moved, and then Dean grabs his ass with both hands and starts power lifting Sam up and down his cock in rapid movements that have Sam shuddering and gasping at the drag and pull of skin against skin.
Sam’s not hard again, no chance of another orgasm any time soon, but everything feels overly stimulated and ready. He squirms a little, and Dean’s right hand grips tighter in warning before he goes back to simply manhandling Sam on top of him. It doesn’t take long, Dean apparently worked himself up as much as he worked Sam up, and then Dean is spurting inside of him while he sucks another bruise onto Sam’s shoulder.
When Dean finishes moving Sam lays limp on top of him, unwilling to even try to move, and Dean lets out a low chuckle before he chest bumps Sam back to flop onto the bed and then slides out carefully and drops beside him.
They stay there, both sucking in air and staring at the ceiling, and then Sam turns his head and grunts at Dean. Dean lazily reaches over and pats his stomach in commiseration.
Idly, as he drifts off into sleep, Sam wonders if they could modify that rope configuration into a devil’s trap for holding demons.
Dean, as if he can hear Sam’s brain clunking back to life, pulls Sam’s head onto his chest and begins to snore obnoxiously.
Author:
dimelioraFandom: SPN
Wordcount: 3,705
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Prompt(s): Written for the
smpc Disclaimer: I don't own what I built on, but I do own what I built
Summary: Every now and then Dean manages to surprise Sam. This time he does it with rope.
Sam wakes up to Dean holding his wrist.
It’s not off-putting at all.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dean isn’t looking at him. His brother’s eyes are focused on Sam’s wrist. Something about it has Dean’s attention and for the life of him Sam can’t figure out what.
“You know I was thinking.”
And that’s it. Dean stops there, turning Sam’s hand a little to make the wrist sit at a different and equally confusing angle. Sam has learned over the years that Dean thinking is never a good thing. Especially when he’s doing it quietly.
“Dean. Hey!” He snaps his free fingers until Dean looks up. “Thinking what?”
His brother runs a thumb along the inside of his wrist, slow and soft, and then he draws it across tracing the lines there. The bracelets of life Sam thinks as he watches Dean’s face stay fixed and inscrutable.
If Dean knew palmistry he would know that the lines are broken enough that Sam is supposed to face many hardships, but that because it leads up to the wrist he’s supposed to get all his wishes fulfilled in the course of his lifetime.
Sam’s not holding his breath for that second part.
“It bruised you.”
That stops him. Sam isn’t sure what Dean means for a minute, and then he blinks and looks at his wrist again. There are rope burns and bruises from the Abarimon. He forgot that the rope left marks.
“Huh. Yeah it did.”
Dean lifts his wrist up, stares at it up close, and then opens his mouth and presses his lips to the wrist. Open. Sam feels the tip of his brother’s tongue trace the skin there, and then his brother starts sucking.
Hard.
“Hey. Hey what are you doing?”
Dean keeps sucking, teeth not in the mix at all, and then there’s a little burst of pain and a wave of warmth before Dean pulls back from Sam’s wrist and looks at what he did.
Next to the dim bruises and rope burns there’s a hickey, bold and bright red, but darkening swiftly. Sam tilts his head in shock. Dean doesn’t leave marks like that. Dean never leaves marks like that.
His brother’s thumb rubs softly over the mark and then Dean looks up at Sam and he sees that his brother doesn’t look playful. Dean looks intense, focused, and Sam finds that his breath speeds up at the sight of it more than it did when Dean was sucking the blood to the surface of his skin. This is the look his brother uses when he’s hunting.
“Sam. It left marks on you.”
For half a second Sam thinks that his brother has possibly gone insane. That there is something happening here that has an explanation outside of logic and reasoning. They deal with that sort of thing every day.
But Dean doesn’t seem off that way. He’s not confused, there’s no mania there, just a high level of focus and surety. He rubs the mark he’s left on Sam again and then stands up. Crosses the room to the bag and bends down before unzipping it in one sure motion.
And then Sam gets it. The two of them have been together long enough that Sam knows his brother’s kinks by now. Knows the way his brother thinks, what gets Dean off, and when. Dean is sexually fluid, set not to a specific type of sex or kind of thrill, but to whatever his brain is set on in that moment. That’s how Sam has experienced both Dean holding him down and fucking him in public places, and Dean spreading himself open and begging Sam to pick him up and manhandle him.
With Dean it’s all about the moment. There’s not a plan, and there’s not a pattern, there’s just an impulse.
And typically, reliably, Sam can get into that impulse in only seconds. The tightness of Dean’s movements means that tonight it’s going to be Sam held down. Sam controlled.
He can allow that.
“Dean?”
His brother pulls a length of rope out of the hunting duffel and without turning to face Sam he methodically starts unrolling it.
“Down to your underwear. On the stool.”
And Sam stands up. There’s no reason to make it a tease, Dean isn’t watching. But Sam takes his time pulling his shirt up and off. Sliding his jeans down his legs. He knows that Dean can hear every movement. That his brother is listening the way he would usually watch as the cloth scrapes against Sam’s skin.
Dean’s hands don’t stutter on the rope, but his brother’s body does tense a little bit in response to what Sam’s doing.
“Clock’s ticking Sammy.”
Sam sits on the stool, cool air brushing his skin, and readjusts himself in his gray boxer briefs as Dean finally turns around and crosses the room. He’s still intense, focused, and Sam wonders if he’ll be able to hold that look the whole time this go round.
If Dean will break or bend while he’s trying to do the same to Sam.
“Cross your arms behind your back, wrist over wrist, and sit upright.”
Sam repositions himself so that his back is facing Dean and his front is towards the bed. His feet are pressed firmly on the ground and his thighs tense as he holds himself upright, back muscles stretching to get him into the right position. He waits to see if this is right, and when Dean’s lips quirk just the tiniest bit he knows that he did it the way his brother wanted.
Dean comes to his side and loops the rope around front to back twice, one loop higher on the biceps and one lower. After that Sam can feel more movements, but he can’t see them. And then Dean drops the rope over the front, loops it through the bottom of what he’s already done, and then lifts it back over Sam’s other shoulder and behind. There’s one more loop up front, and then more behind, and then Sam’s wrists are wrapped tight and the rope pulls him more upright and stiff.
He looks down to see that the shape over his chest is a star, earth and fire points coming towards his neck and spirit point under his pecs and pointing down towards his groin.
It’s elaborate, intricate, and different from what Sam is used to. They haven’t done a whole lot of bondage with this before. This isn’t something Sam is necessarily prepared for, but he’s willing to sit still and see how it plays out. Dean tugs on his hair, and Sam pulls his head back up to the stiff upright position that Dean wanted him to hold in the first place.
“Dean?”
His brother clucks his tongue once and then takes Sam’s loose legs and uses them to turn Sam facing forward. His bound hands bouncing and his core muscles pulling taut to help his posture.
“Sammy. I need you quiet for a little bit. And then everything that comes out of you needs to be sound not words. Got me?”
He nods, eyes locked on Dean’s face, and then licks his lips to try to get moisture on them. Because he expects a kiss.
Dean doesn’t kiss him.
Instead his brother leans in and licks Sam’s neck before opening his mouth and settling it against the skin over Sam’s carotid. Sam tenses up even more, knows what’s coming but doesn’t know how to prepare for it, and then Dean starts to suck.
There’s that bright spark of pain again, and then Sam’s cock surges against the previously loose cotton of his boxer briefs and his back arches a bit more. Dean’s hands settle on his hips, keep him firmly pressed to the stool as his tongue flutters against Sam’s skin and his mouth keeps constant firm pressure.
And then Dean is gone, cool air rushing over the wet skin and heat left behind in the spot where Dean was sucking. Sam tries not to move, but he needs to readjust again and he can’t reach himself. Instead he makes an awkward little scoot on the stool only to have Dean push him back to the position he was in when they started.
“Hold still Sammy. It’s easy to hold still.”
Says Dean, the chronic twitcher. Sam holds his tongue easier than he’s holding his core and hips.
Dean stands upright, smiles at Sam, and then grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it slowly over his head. Sam stares, not sure what Dean is about to do, but expecting a cock in his mouth. Dean rarely takes his time when it comes to things like this. Usually he’s all about jumping to the hot and heavy parts, racing to the finish.
But not this time. This time Dean crosses to Sam’s left side and kneels. His fingers slide over Sam’s stomach muscles, full contact and then just tips, and Deans clucks his tongue again. There are light bruises there from their last hunt. They’re not that bad, just a spot when he hit a railing at high speed, but Dean pays close attention to them before dragging those same fingers up over Sam’s nipples.
And Sam feels a little quirk, a flutter in his stomach that makes him nervous, but Dean leans in and laps over the one bruise, opens his mouth, and begins to suck. His fingers play with Sam’s nipple, plucking gently, circling, teasing even as the pain bursts where Dean’s mouth is. He feels the rush of heat, the hickey forming hard and fast, and his cock leaking heavily in his boxer briefs as Dean keeps sucking and sucking. His brother’s mouth skips over an inch, starts working the skin again, and his fingers move to the next nipple.
Sam’s breath is coming hard and fast, lungs slightly restricted by the position, unable to breathe in deeply and unable to bend away from Dean comfortably. He’s kept in check by Dean’s hands, Dean’s mouth, and the ropes.
Dean releases the newest spot, hickey already formed and getting darker, and then he moves up just a little bit and starts to suck. Sam takes a breath that’s restricted, held tight, and then he twists just the tiniest bit to try to get a little more comfortable.
The fingers on his nipple stay gentle and sweet, the mouth on his ribs sucks harder so that Sam feels more of the pressure and sharpness. He holds still, and Dean’s mouth gentles on his skin.
Sam breathes again, clears his throat, and then licks his lips. He can do this. He can hold steady.
Dean moves up another inch, licks the nipple he’s not teasing with his fingertips, and then opens his mouth.
And Sam feels something that is both fear and anticipation. This is his nipple. There are a lot of nerves there. There’s a lot that probably shouldn’t be sucked into a hickey.
But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t tell Dean no. He knows that the pause isn’t all about making Sam anticipate the pain. It’s about letting Sam decide. And Sam decides to try it.
Dean’s tongue pushes against Sam’s nipple again. Presses firmly, not a lick but a poke, and Sam almost laughs breathlessly and hysterical at the oddness of it before Dean’s open mouth latches on and he starts to suck, gentle at first. Kind.
And then the pressure starts. It hurts, but it feels so fucking good Sam gives up on trying to hold still and obey and jerks his hips seeking friction on his poor ignored cock. Dean stays there, lips moving in tiny, infinitesimally tiny, movements as he keeps firm and steady pressure on Sam’s nipple. He can’t control the outburst of sound, not necessarily a cry but not exactly a moan either, as Dean ups the pressure more than Sam thought possible.
They stay that way for what feels like forever, and Sam loses the ability to feel the burn of his core muscles or the way his thighs are still taut and stiff to keep his balance on the stool. He loses the cool of the room, the gentle strokes of Dean’s fingertips, the aching of his cock. All there is at this moment is the wet of Dean’s mouth, the pressure of his brother’s suction, and the hot blood rushing up to the surface of his nipple.
And then Dean releases, mouth popping off but head staying right there by Sam’s nipple. His brother is surveying his work, face still intense and considering, and Sam takes several sharp and shallow breaths as feeling rushes back into the rest of him.
“Dean.”
He’s not supposed to talk, he knows it, but he can’t help it. His brother looks up and smiles, once, the big bad wolf kneeling in front of him.
And then Dean latches onto the other nipple, and Sam feels his cock jump, his whole body pull against the tightness of the ropes, and he tries to get away with his lower body even as his upper body presses harder. His brother’s eyes are closed this time, not studying Sam’s responses but simply enjoying the way that he’s making Sam’s body rebel against itself.
Dean feels his instability and keeps up the pressure as his hand grabs Sam’s thigh and pulls. His feet leave the floor and it’s only Dean keeping him on the stool as that mouth keeps pulling at his nipple, dragging it deeper into Dean’s mouth. It’s pain now, intense and bright, and Sam’s focus sharpens again on the sensation. He’s lost in it, unable to think beyond it, and he can feel everything in the area more intensely than he’s felt anything in his entire life.
His brother’s nose is crumpled against the flesh above his nipple, breath hot and hard, mouth wet and strong, and Sam wonders if Dean will ever let up. If he’ll just stay there sucking until Sam comes simply from the intensity and desperation of the act.
And then Dean releases, and the feeling rushes back into the rest of him. Sam gasps as much as the ropes will allow him, wrists pulling against the hemp and compressing his chest even more.
His brother lifts him off the stool with a grunt, and then carries Sam over to the bed. Sam is trying his hardest to get a full breath, but he’s dizzy and the world keeps moving on him. He’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out. He hits the bed, gently but the jarring isn’t what he’s ready for and he gasps again and then twists as the air gets just a little thinner.
Dean does something behind him, something Sam can’t see, and the pressure on his chest lets up a little bit. His nipples are aching, his cock is so hard he can’t imagine it will take more than a light stroke to make him come, and then Dean is rolling him face down.
Sam pushes his shoulders forward as much as he can to get some leverage and turns his head. He can’t see Dean now, and he stares instead at the nicked headboard bolted into the motel room wall.
There’s sound behind him, but Sam can’t hear it properly over the roar of blood in his head. His hips are pulled up, his knees positioned on the bed, his boxer briefs pulled roughly down and left on one ankle, and then Dean’s mouth is on his right ass cheek. Sam lets out a sigh, relaxed at the feeling, sure, and then the mouth opens and Sam has time to suck in one more breath before Dean is sucking too, pulling the tender flesh into his mouth.
Sam squirms, unable to stop himself, incapable of pretending dignity as Dean sucks a hickey there. His cock is hanging free now, not even the feel of the cotton to give him some friction or feeling, and he’s pretty sure his balls are so tight they’ve started to pull into his body. He can’t do this much longer. Dean’s gotta touch his cock or Sam is going to go insane.
But he can’t tell his brother that. He can’t make words because his mouth is stuck rotating between returning precious oxygen to his brain and letting out a long low sound that is something between a moan and a groan.
“Sammy. I’m gonna untie your arms. You’re going to put them down on the bed and keep them there. You lift them and you’ll regret it. Got me?”
He nods, desperate for his wrists to be free, and then the rope is twitching, moving, releasing. Sam takes in full, deep breaths, gasping like a fish thrown from its bowl as Dean’s fingers rub his hands briskly to make sure that the circulation is flowing properly and everything is working the way it should.
And then Dean is moving his legs again and Sam lays his palms flat on the comforter and tries to focus on that. On keeping his position.
“You’re gonna like this one.”
Sam is sure he will, but he’s also a little afraid of what Dean is planning. Everything up to this point has been new, and Sam is pretty sure that more adventure will kill him. And then Dean’s tongue is brushing over his left testicle and Sam hears himself cry out, thinking of the pressure of the other hickeys with what amounts to real terror in relation to his balls as Dean presses one slick finger against his hole.
The pressure never comes though, Dean’s tongue just brushes and flirts rubbing sensitive glands, and Sam breathes deep and slow. His hands haven’t moved. He’s not sure if Dean can see that but he’s pretty proud of it.
Dean’s tongue keeps moving, presses against a sensitive spot at the base of his cock and pushing hard, and Sam feels his orgasm rushing up, long denied and ready to slam into him. But then Dean’s tongue is gone, that slick finger still pushing against his hole but not entering, and Sam tries his hardest to see Dean and only gets peeks of his own flesh.
His brother’s mouth flirts over his balls again, and then settles on the back of his left thigh. The pressure starts up almost instantly and Sam’s hips jerk in response as his hands ball into fists gripping the comforter. Dean is teasing him, bright sparks of that hot pain travelling up and down the backs of his thighs, along the cheeks of his ass again, and then the mouth is gone and Sam is taking a deep breath at the end of the relentless torture. Dean uses this moment to slip not one but two fingers into Sam. His indrawn breath becomes a gasp. Sam is just adjusting to the pressure and getting control of his breathing again when Dean’s mouth appears like a goddamn specter on his cock and the pressure is there.
Sam comes, hard, vision going gray as he loses precious breath again and his hips jerk helplessly. He clamps down on Dean’s fingers and dimly he hears the comforter rip in his grip.
Thank god the room isn’t in their name because Sam doesn’t want to know how much this piece of shit cost.
He’s coming down, emptying into Dean’s mouth, and then his brother lets go as Sam is still riding the aftershocks and the fingers disappear. Sam expects that the next sensation he feels will be Dean’s dick pressing into him so he relaxes his muscles as best he can.
But Dean, again, breaks expectations by rolling Sam over and latching his mouth onto the sensitive skin on his inner thigh. His cock, still dribbling and softening, rubs against Dean’s cheek as his brother sucks a hickey into his skin and Sam thinks that any more sensation, any more of this hot pain, and his brain will simply break into pieces. He can’t follow what Dean’s hands are doing, can’t muster up even the most basic brain functioning to predict where Dean is going next.
Instead he pulls at the ripped comforter again and arches his hips a little to press his thigh deeper into Dean’s mouth.
Sam is grunting again, moaning in between, reduced to simply a noise making animal as he responds to Dean’s mouth.
His legs are spread roughly, Sam’s lower half is lifted, and Dean slides into him with ease before grabbing Sam’s arms and pulling him up so that Sam is on Dean’s lap, legs spread akimbo behind Dean and arms hanging loosely again Dean’s sides. He tries to get more upright, more involved, but there’s nothing left in him to do so.
Instead Sam is manipulated, moved, and then Dean grabs his ass with both hands and starts power lifting Sam up and down his cock in rapid movements that have Sam shuddering and gasping at the drag and pull of skin against skin.
Sam’s not hard again, no chance of another orgasm any time soon, but everything feels overly stimulated and ready. He squirms a little, and Dean’s right hand grips tighter in warning before he goes back to simply manhandling Sam on top of him. It doesn’t take long, Dean apparently worked himself up as much as he worked Sam up, and then Dean is spurting inside of him while he sucks another bruise onto Sam’s shoulder.
When Dean finishes moving Sam lays limp on top of him, unwilling to even try to move, and Dean lets out a low chuckle before he chest bumps Sam back to flop onto the bed and then slides out carefully and drops beside him.
They stay there, both sucking in air and staring at the ceiling, and then Sam turns his head and grunts at Dean. Dean lazily reaches over and pats his stomach in commiseration.
Idly, as he drifts off into sleep, Sam wonders if they could modify that rope configuration into a devil’s trap for holding demons.
Dean, as if he can hear Sam’s brain clunking back to life, pulls Sam’s head onto his chest and begins to snore obnoxiously.
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Art: Music is My Aeroplane
Date: 2015-07-05 05:11 am (UTC)Art: Music is My Aeroplane
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Date: 2015-07-05 08:36 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2015-07-05 11:30 am (UTC)Wow...just wow...
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Date: 2016-07-17 09:24 pm (UTC)I'm so very glad you liked it! Dominant, possessive, protective Dean is my biggest turn on so I was glad to share. Thank you again and sorry it took so long to reply!!
Edition 3,264
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