Sam’s the first one to know this...what they do...it just isn’t healthy.
He figures that Dean probably wouldn’t disagree, but here they are, anyway, Dean buried balls deep in his little brother. Dean’s hand twisted so tight in Sam’s hair that he’s close to ripping a chunk of it right out as he tugs Sam’s head back, and Dean’s own knife pressed up against Sam’s throat.
Dean’s a sure hand, Sam knows it, and, once it’s over, he goes to the bathroom and checks, and there’s not even the hint of a mark.
But there is a small, faint little voice in the back of his head that says this time.
The thing is that Dean’s pretty insatiable. Sometimes, Sam thinks they’d never get out of bed, except Dean likes to fuck him anywhere.
There’s probably not a surface in the entire bunker where they haven’t done it, at least once, and sometimes Dean will even book a hotel room if he feels like treating them both to a little more luxury than they’re used to.
But Dean almost always prefers at home, and Sam can see him getting that edgy look about him that tells him this is going to be more than just sex.
That’s happening more often too; Dean’s need for control asserting itself more frequently and not just outside the bedroom.
Not just in what hunts they take, who they trust to let into the bunker, or the like.
Sometimes, it’s whether he ties Sam up or not. Sometimes it’s whether Sam gets to come, or not, or how many times Dean will make him come before he decides Sam’s had enough.
And Sam...doesn’t mind it. There’s a certain thrill to be had of knowing he’s put himself in Dean’s hands, especially when he’s completely helpless, and practically nothing beats that feeling.
It’s just not quite how Sam wants it to be done. Because when it’s over, Dean doesn’t really get the whole aftercare thing. He doesn’t hold Sam, he doesn’t get him water, and help him wind his way down, pull himself back together.
Sam feels like his scene doesn’t end when Dean’s does, one way or the other, but trying to explain that to Dean...
Still, Sam won’t give up what they have even if it has a downside.
What’s perfect in this life anyway?
And it’s not like he can’t safeword.
Dean’s also gotten very good at finding and using restraints Sam can’t get out of, despite how talented they both are in that respect.
The cuffs wrapped around his wrists, and padlocked, are also knotted to some lengths of rope that are secured around the posts. It means Sam’s hands are at head height, and held there.
There’s a similar restraint system in use around his ankles, holding his legs so far apart that his thigh muscles burn, and meaning he’s spreadeagled on display for his brother.
Dean’s already prepped him, took his time over it, and the lube is dribbling out of Sam’s ass, not the most pleasant of feelings.
But he’s had worse, and he figures that’ll be the least of his worries by the time Dean’s done with him.
He watches his brother slowly strip; by the time Dean gets on the bed, he’s as hard as Sam is himself.
“Safeword,” he says.
“Bunker,” Sam responds, and says it a few times in his head, like some kind of mantra.
Dean nods, and then he leans down to kiss his brother. The rare moment of tenderness catches Sam off guard; usually Dean starts like he means to go on, so maybe this is him trying to fake him out.
Or maybe, finally, Dean’s heard what Sam’s being trying to say to him.
Dean spends some time worshipping him, licking and kissing his way down Sam’s neck, to his nipples, laving them with his tongue before sucking each one, in turn, into his mouth.
Sam arches off the bed; his nipples have always been one of the most sensitive parts of his body, and Dean knows it.
Then he uses his tongue to dig into Sam’s belly button, stretching it out, while Sam writhes beneath him.
This...it’s so different from where Dean usually takes things, and Sam likes where they usually go, he does, but he likes this too.
He could get used to this.
That’s when he sees Dean lean to the side and pick something up off the floor.
It’s a length of rope.
Sam stills, wondering what Dean’s going to do.
He made a rope prison for Sam’s jewels, once, wrapping his balls up so tight Sam couldn’t come if his life depended on it, chafing him pretty bad.
He hopes it’s not that, until he sees the size of the loops Dean’s making out of the rope and then his balls don’t seem such a bad idea.
“Sssh. You know I’ve got you, Sammy, right? You know I always make it good for you.”
Sam nods, but his eyes don’t leave the rope, not until Dean tugs the loops over his head, and then tweaks them until they’re tight around his neck.
Not too tight, but even so when Sam swallows, his feels his Adam’s apple catch on them.
Dean takes the lengths and knots them securely around the slats of the headboard, leaving the rope lying in a flat line from there back to Sam’s neck.
Okay, it’s just another way of holding him in place. No different from the rope attached to his cuffs.
Sam can handle it.
Dean fiddles with the ropes some more then, and Sam can’t see what he’s doing, but they don’t feel any tighter.
And then Dean starts to fuck him. He doesn’t go in gentle, just sinks inside Sam in one hard push, and Sam gasps because maybe Dean prepped him but he still feels it.
Dean keeps a steady rhythm, moaning as he pumps his dick into his little brother’s helpless form, and Sam’s getting close himself, the cuffs, being spread open like he has, knowing Dean’s going to force him to come, maybe once, maybe more than once, knowing he’s basically surrendered himself to Dean, all serving to push him so near to coming.
That’s when Dean reaches for the rope around Sam’s neck again and, before Sam even knows he was about to tell Dean no, his brother twists something at the front of the loops and just like that Sam can’t breathe.
The rope bites into his neck, any slack in the lengths tied around the headboard is just gone, and his throat feels like it’s caught in a vise.
His lungs try to take in air, and again, but there’s none, nothing’s getting through. The pain as they spasm is like something being cinched tight around his chest, and he bucks, desperate, keening, but Dean just watches him as he keeps fucking into him.
“B...unker…”. It’s a fight to get the word out, it comes out like a hoarse strained whisper, and Dean leans a little closer, not even pausing in shoving his dick in and out of Sam’s hole.
“What, Sam? You need to talk up, I can’t hear you. Are you safewording?”
Sam tries to force the word out again, how can Dean not know that he wants to stop, but his voice is gone, and he nods frantically, as well as he can with the taut rope around his neck.
“You want to keep going? Great, because I’m fucking loving this.”
Sam’s eyes are nearly popping out of his head, he can feel the pressure surging up and he knows he probably has moments before he passes out, and Dean’s grinning at it.
Dean knows he wants to stop.
And Dean’s not going to let him.
Just as Sam’s vision starts to fade Dean reaches forward, and tugs hard at the rope loops and they loosen.
But Sam’s body doesn’t know that. It’s almost given up, and Dean has to slap him twice to get him to breathe again.
And then Dean’s coming, and he jerks Sam off until his body just does what comes naturally, and what Dean expects of it.
Sam’s breathing is ragged and painful, his lungs now desperate for what was denied to them before, and he makes a horrid whooping sound as he sucks in air.
“Fuck, such a drama queen,” Dean mutters, and starts undoing the ropes linked to the cuffs.
Sam’s in no position to complain as Dean manhandles him, pushing and pulling, and maybe, maybe Dean’s going to look after him, now, because Sam’s shaking and his body isn’t following his commands.
So he thinks.
By the time his head is clear enough, he’s face down on the bed again, wrists cuffed behind him, ankles cuffed together, and then Dean’s rolling him to the edge.
“Dean, I want up,” he protests, and hears Dean chuckle.
“You’re getting up,” he says, and then he’s hefting Sam over his shoulder, grunting with the effort.
He slaps Sam’s ass hard, and ignores his protests as he carries him through to the den.
When he sets Sam down, making him sit on the floor, Sam snarls at him.
“Bunker,” he says. “Fucking bunker, didn’t you hear me?”
Dean shrugs. “Scene’s over.”
“Not now! Before, when I couldn’t fucking breathe!”
“If I’d heard you, I’ve have stopped.”
Sam stares at him. Where’s the lie? He looks away, not sure anymore if his panic deceived him or if his brother is now.
“Untie me, if the scene’s over.”
Dean pushes him onto his hands and knees, and then sits down in the chair.
Before Sam can move, Dean’s feet are resting on his back, and he hears the TV come on.
“Scene’s over. But you didn’t safeword, Sammy and that means a punishment. Let me know if your knees get sore, and I’ll find you a cushion.”