They rarely have the time to do something like this. Up until now, most of their sex life consisted of the odd hand or blow job in the car or quick fucks in the hotel of the week, too exhausted for anything more elaborated. Hell, for the past few years they had company more often than not, either Bobby or Cas or someone else, and it's difficult to let go when there's just a thin wall or an unlocked door separating them from prying eyes and ears.
So yeah. Them being alone, in a space that's all their own, is a first. And wow, holy fuck, Sam didn't really appreciate the luxury of that until this very moment.
They're in Dean's room, and Dean's spread out in front of him, in the most literal sense. Hands bound, legs bent just slightly, his lower body elevated by a couple of pillows. He's bathed in the faint light of the lamp on his desk, halfway across the room and obscured further by Sam sitting between his legs. But it's enough to highlight the hills and valleys of his upper body, his chest and his stomach, his hips. There's a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, more obvious where it pools on his temple, dampening a few strands of his short hair, letting it seem darker than it is. His eyes are closed, he's biting his lip, and his hands are curled into fists where they're hanging in the oversized handcuffs padded with small towels that act as makeshift restraints. And, of course, there's his cock, straining up from his belly hard and dark red, wet and shiny with precome, ready to come for a while now but prevented from it by the ring of leather resting snug against the base.
He's never been more beautiful, and when it comes to Dean, that's saying something. The cocky idiot, bursting a blood vessel whenever someone dares to call him pretty, but using that fact whenever it's convenient anyway.
Right now, though, he's not so cocky. He stopped talking altogether half an hour ago, gave up on the constant string of dirty talk that's usually a trademark of Dean in bed. Sam always guessed that it's a front, something to distract him from what he feels, what's happening with his body and in his head, and he has always been curious what it'd be like when Dean's stripped of that layer of defense.
He didn't imagine it to be like this.
Sam lets his hand hover over Dean's crotch, indecisive. There's a bunch of little toys lying on the bed, a dildo, a small, vibrating plug, and some other gimmicks. But what catches Sam's attention in the end is the bowl of half-melted ice cubes. He grins, taking one out, and bends forward, careful not to lower himself enough to brush Dean's dick with any part of his body. Dean seems to sense him, cranes his neck, then shivers violently when Sam runs the hand with the ice cub down his chest, then up again, making sure to pass his nipples on the way. That's another thing that makes this so rewarding; Dean's reactions are double – if not triple – as intense as they usually are, like he wants to downright jump out of his skin at the slightest touch. The noises he makes, in contrast, have grown quieter, less throaty groans and more keening and whimpering.
Sam keeps it up until the ice has melted, and then bends down to lick at the nubs, hardened by both arousal and the cold. They feel hot on his tongue, though, still aggravated from the time he spent pinching and biting them earlier. When he lets his teeth scrape over them again now, Dean arches underneath him, a futile attempt to get away from the sensation that actually raises his chest up further towards Sam.
Abandoning them, Sam leans up a bit more so he can kiss Dean, not much tongue, more to reassure and soothe than anything else. A reward, sort of, a reminder. It also, not quite by accident, makes his chest touch Dean's cock, briefly, not nearly long enough or with enough pressure to be more than a tease; they've been at this for hours, and Sam hasn't touched it once since he fastened the cock ring; everywhere else, but not where Dean wants it the most. Dean raises his hips up, desperate for friction as he must be by now, but Sam's not letting him have it, sits back down on his haunches. His own erection is merely an afterthought, brought to the forefront of his mind when it bobs against his stomach, but the point of this exercise isn't about Sam getting off.
“What next?“ he asks, not expecting an answer, grins when Dean opens his eyes, groans, lets them fall closed again.
To answer his own question, he pushes Dean's legs further apart, runs a hand down Dean's lube-slick crack. He's already loose and open – the dildo got some exercise earlier – and gives another full-body tremble at the touch. Sam runs his other hand lightly over Dean's flank to calm him down before he takes the plug up from the bed, together with a bottle of lube.
Dean raises his head when Sam opens the bottle, but his eyes stay tightly shut. When they started, Sam left him a choice: agreeing to a blindfold, or keeping them shut by the threat of punishment later. Dean choose option number two, and apart from some cheating like just now when Sam asked him a question, he's done good with that.
Sam picks the plug up, uses the lube to get it nice and slick, and then turns it on. At the sound, Dean's head falls back down into his pillow, muscles in his thighs straining in anticipation, and the noise he lets go off when Sam touches the toy to his hole is low and desperate. It goes in easily, easy enough that Sam can put in a finger alongside it, feel the vibrations reverberate into Dean's body as he fucks it in and out in shallow thrusts.
Dean moves with it, hips undulating in the rhythm Sam sets, and Sam grins when he sees another drop of pre-come forming on the tip Dean's dick. It's so sensitive by now that he seems to feel even that, cock twitching when it spills over and runs down his shaft.
And just like that, Sam finds he's reached the end of his own patience. He's done waiting, done playing. More than anything, he wants to know what Dean tastes like right now. A few more thrusts with the plug, turned up to the highest setting just to see Dean squirm, and then he takes it out, bends down so quickly Dean won't be able to catch up with it, and licks along the underside of Dean's cock. He follows the trail of the liquid with his tongue, lapping it up, before his lips close around the crown and he sucks lightly, barely at all, but Dean jumps. His eyes fly open, meeting Sam's for the fraction of a second before he apparently remembers that he's not supposed to look and screws them shut again, and he moans, a sound that shoots arousal straight up Sam's spine.
But he takes his time with this, like he did with anything else. He pulls off, just watching Dean's cock twitch some more and his fists open and close helplessly in his bonds, before he laps up the next drop pulsing out of it, relishing the salty taste, every bit as good as Sam imagined it. He licks down as far as Dean's balls, breathing in the heady smell of him there, before he goes back to sucking him down. Dean meets him, not quite thrusting into his mouth but moving in sync, but he immediately stops when Sam brings his hand up to grip it at the base, squeezes lightly, and then removes the cock ring.
Dean stills completely, his whole body locking up. His breathing goes ragged, and it barely takes another minute before the bitter taste of his come floods Sam's mouth. Sam keeps at it until Dean's done coming, spent cock starting to go soft, then he pulls off with a slurping sound.
When he looks up, Dean has his head bent to the side, as far as he's able with his arms bound above him. He's hiding, and no, this isn't going to fly.
“Hey,” Sam says. “You can open your eyes now. Dean? Look at me.”
Dean blinks, slowly, reluctantly, but eventually cranes his head so he can meet Sam's gaze. His expression is raw and naked, a little embarrassed. He says Sam's name once, not rising up like a question, but more like it's the only thing he can think of right now. The only thing on his mind in this very moment, and Sam wants to burst with how much he loves him.
“Yeah. I'm proud of you, you did so good.” Sam gets off the bed to pick up his t-shirt from the floor, uses it to perfunctory clean Dean up. The real thing will have to wait until later, after they've both caught their breath. He opens the cuffs, vowing to get better, more comfortable restraints when Dean rubs at his wrists and flexes his fingers to get the circulation in them going again. Then he curls up next to Dean, kisses him before he rests his head on Dean's chest.
Dean's hand wanders to Sam's crotch, but Sam grabs his arm to stop him. He's still hard, knows his erection must dig into Dean's thigh and it's probably what made him want to reciprocate, but he doesn't need that taken care of. Not now. He's only been half aware of it all this time, focused so completely on Dean, and now that they're done he's already flagging. He feels drained, not so much physically, as Dean must, but emotionally, and an orgasm isn't very high on his list of priorities right now.
At Dean's questioningly raised eyebrow, Sam lets go and laces their fingers together instead. “Later. We'll take care of that later.”
“Thought this was about me holding out, not you,” Dean mumbles, but he moves their hands and rest them on his stomach.
Sam doesn't respond. He just squeezes Dean's hand and closes his eyes, waiting to fall asleep.