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Gypsy curse

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It didn't happen overnight. The curse needed time to develop, to grow, to build up. It probably took even longer for Dean because God knew his brother's pain threshold was way beyond normal for a human. Not that Sam minded. The waiting period had its own perks. Watching Dean's stubbornness melting away day by day was a treat by itself.

Also, Dean needed this break between each treatment to keep his wit. Sam didn't want his brother broken after all. If a well-broken sub was all he needed, he wouldn't have left Stanford with its campus full of approval-seeking-undergrads. He just needed Dean submitting to him —and only him— despite being Dean fucking Winchester.

It was also crucial to have enough time, however arbitrary, in between treatments to keep the situation sustainable. A few days a month spent in his personal hell was something Dean could afford. He could still continue saving people and hunting things in between; following Daddy dearest's footsteps. Win and, maybe a little less but still, win.

It was getting close; Sam could tell from the way Dean couldn't keep his legs closed any longer. So, this time the torture was in his balls. How wonderful! It was Sam's favorite body part that got tortured by the curse, second only to Dean's nipples. Those perky nipples took the crown in this wonderful cursed body part lottery. The way they grew and swelled... sometimes even leaked… not just the constant pain but the humiliation of it too. Especially when Dean ended up needing to milk them. Or when Sam bit them only to taste the sweetness leaking from them. Mmmm mmm mmmh!

It'd been some time since Sam enjoyed that torture— torture for Dean, but pure indulgence for Sam— but balls were a perfectly good substitute. Perfectly good. They must be swollen by now. Sam wanted to wager with someone on how big they would end up this time, before Dean said enough was enough. He was hoping for orange size. Fuck! He had to tighten his grip on the wheel to satisfy the sudden and overwhelming urge to squeeze something in his palm.

Sam had taken over driving yesterday, but knowing Dean, they had at least another day —or two—before his brother kneeled down in enough pain to beg Sam. Beg Sam to do it. Beg him to fuck him. Fuck him hard. Until then, Sam just kept pushing the Impala through enough potholes to enjoy the euphoric hisses escaping Dean's dreamy mouth. It was a sign of how gone Dean already was that he didn't even complain about Sam abusing his precious baby.




They had chosen this motel for the maximum privacy, with a cabin resting on the hills away from the rest of the establishment. Sam had paid upfront for a few days and asked not to be disturbed. The manager, a middle aged man with a bear belly of massive proportions, leered at them, mostly at Dean. Sam wanted to scoop out his bloodshot, protruding eyes, but he had more urgent matters to attend to. Now, waiting in the large bathroom with a surprisingly good quality clawfoot bathtub, he long forgotten the ugly bastard and was almost giddy with excitement.

They had established this routine where Sam supposedly needed time and space to get into the role, the personality, the headspace...

"I can't do this as myself, Dean," he had explained while putting the puppy eyes, which were his brother's undoing, into full force. "You're my brother."

"Sammy..." Dean choked on his words; pain temporarily crippling him. Oh, how long he had waited for that first time. Still, apparently it couldn't keep him from trying to help with Sam's discomfort.

"I'm gonna do it," Sam made sure his face was the combination of misery and determination. "I can't do it as myself, but I can play the role, Dean." A forced teardrop fell exactly at the moment when his brother looked at him. If Sam had known how much he'd end up using the stuff he had learned in the theatre club, he sure would have fought more to attend them.

"Method acting…" Dean started to tease Sam, but the agony he was suffering was too powerful, even for the Dean Winchester sass, to continue.



 

Now, Sam didn't have to explain himself anymore. When Dean told him it was time, he expected Sam to lock himself in the bathroom before coming out as a sadistic, total asshole. Sam always went in with sad eyes, and came out happy. It was a relief to be able to act as himself during the treatments, not to hide how fucking much he enjoyed their time together.

This time, Dean was waiting right next to the bed, naked below the waist.

"Seems you've waited too long, Dean," Sam pointed out the two big, painful looking orbs; already salivating on the prospects of the coming activity.

Dean responded with a grunt that might mean yes, or no or whatever.

Sam remedied that attitude with a swift kick to the gonads. Dean hadn't been expecting things to start this soon apparently; he fell over rather dramatically, head first, on the floor.

"Is this the thanks I get, Dean?" he bellowed, watching Dean groan on the floor. "Mumbling like an ungrateful brat."

He grabbed Dean's hair, lifting his still convulsing body to look directly at his eyes. His green eyes. Beautiful eyes. Shining now with fresh tears, glimmering like a sacred garden under morning mist eyes. Sam wanted to sink in their depths, to immerse in them.

"Sam," Dean croaked, barely audible, barely discernible. "Please."

Sam kissed him. A kiss that soon enough turned into a vicious biting. Plump lips, crushed in between Sam's incisors without the slightest resistance. Exactly like Dean would be under Sam.

Sam had had time to think how to play today. Plenty of time. And finally witnessing the size of Dean's unfortunate balls in all their naked glory, he wanted to jump around with excitement. Today was going to be much better than he had planned.

"You should've come to me sooner, brother." He pointed at the unnatural looking nuts. "This can't really be healthy."

His free hand found the aforementioned orbs that hung low between Dean's legs. Big enough to fill Sam's whole palm and then some. And heavy. Sam gave a squeeze. First very soft. He, then, increased the pressure gradually while watching Dean's terrified expression which was addictively open and honest.

"Don't close your eyes," he ordered when Dean squeezed them shut. "I need you to see this."

He continued squeezing his fist until Dean couldn't stand on his legs. His eyes were still open though, and begging.

Dean was convulsing when Sam decided to lay him on the mattress; seizures strong enough to shake the king-size bed. Quick, shallow breaths with hint of whimpers kept slipping away; composing an enchanting symphony for Sam to enjoy. Sam undressed his brother and watched him trying but delightfully failing to gain a sense of control, to employ that stupid mind over body mantra of their dad.

When Dean stopped looking like being electrocuted, Sam took out today's surprise. It seemed that the new toy was a size or two smaller than what Dean's balls actually required. So Sam had to force-push the purple balls through the opening of the humbler in order to be able to close the damn thing. Dean was already keening by the time Sam's preparations were ready.

His brother suffered beautifully.



Funny enough, the curse didn't actually need the torture Sam was bestowing on Dean. It didn't even require the sex. The only requirement for the curse was Dean to suffocate, to die even if only for a moment. It was a cruelly clever design: the pain in the chosen body part kept increasing gradually until the victim was willing to die to get rid of it. Again and again and again. Sam had just added a single extra word while translating the Romani text, erotic in front of the asphyxiation . Dean hadn't even questioned it. It was a risky move, very much so. Dean might have learned the truth easily if he had asked anyone else to translate the text. Or he could have stumbled upon it by chance. But the thrill of doing something this wrong, this obvious while Dean trusted him this completely was irresistible.




The humbler's design was perfect; no hard edges stood in between Sam and his brother. All the metal parts were placed strategically in the front, nothing to hinder Sam's pleasure. It still managed to push the ball sack back, away from the body like a little cushion sitting in between Dean's ass cheeks. The color of it reminded Sam the little tomato shaped pin cushion Jessica used for "quilting.” Oh! Next time Sam would buy pretty needles with glass heads to adorn this little cushion just like that one. Next time.

Now, he slapped it twice just to feel how tight it was under his hands. And to hear Dean howl, of course.

"I guess I need to keep you quiet," he chastised Dean and then promptly pushed the penis gag in his heaving mouth.



Sex with Dean was always great. Sam's brother was a hedonist with strong stamina and beautiful body. He also didn't refrain from constantly improving himself in everything related to under-the-covers rock-and-roll; Sam could attest to the progression of his game over the years. However, Dean wasn't a submissive. He would give back as good as he got, maybe even more. Sex with him was always a little bit like fighting too, for domination, for assertion.

Except when the pain from the curse turned Dean into a weakling.

Watching a guy like him bowing down so completely hit Sam like a good quality drug every single time. Strong muscles, shiny with perspiration, trembling under Sam's hands... And Sam knew what those muscles were capable of. He knew their agility, their strength, the danger they inherently possessed.



When he entered Dean, using lots of lube but no prep, it was pure satisfaction. Sam leaned down on him for a moment, savoring the sensation; his weight crushing that—now blackish purple—cushion between his pelvis and Dean's delicious ass. He held one hand on Dean's neck, just touching, not squeezing yet...only to feel the vibrations of Dean's muffled screams when he ground on Dean's ass and balls.

Fuck! It didn't seem like Sam could last. This was just too good.

 

 

Even though Sam tried his best, he was ready to shoot in a matter of minutes. He was man enough to accept it as a fact. He pulled the black scarf from the headboard where it hung right in front of Dean's face throughout the sex, reminding him of the inevitable. Soft leather slid through his fingers when he wrapped it around Dean's neck.

"It's time," he whispered right into Dean's ear to ensure Dean could hear him through all that wheezing.

Sam wrapped the scarf around Dean's neck one more time; gradually increasing the pressure hence slowly restricting the airway. Watching Dean struggle with breathing while enduring Sam's torture brought the biggest rush Sam had ever experienced. Another wrap. Dean now was clearly trying to fight with his own defense mechanisms, hands shaking but still laying by his sides.



Dean, his beloved and clueless brother, had, of course, asked him to do it quicker. "Can't you just, you know, just fucking choke me," he had put so elegantly.

Sam had refused on the grounds of health risks; explaining this was the only way to keep it sustainable. "You might end up with a broken neck, crushed esophagus…. There are millions of risks involved, Dean."

It was a lie. The curse took care of it all; each time Dean's heart stopped, his body went back to its original condition. Everything related to the curse rewinded back. Simple really. Otherwise the curse couldn't continue. Everything turned back and hence, the curse as well. The only things that remained were the extra torture that Sam put him through. It was rather amusing that Dean hadn't figured that out yet.



Sam jizzed when Dean's heart stopped, when his asshole squeezed Sam's dick while he flipped like a fish out of water on the bed. Sam waited with his dick still inside Dean's ass, counting to twenty and keeping tempo to each number with a flick to Dean's balls. It was the strangest feeling; sensing the vibrations of each beat propagating through Dean's flesh, but no response from him whatsoever.




Dean's heartbeat was strong again under his fingers, pulling him back from death. Sam sighed out a long breath. Not because he was worried; the curse was reliable, inescapable like all curses were.  Sam was simply preparing himself for his role.

"Are you okay, Dean?" he asked as soon as his brother's eyes fluttered open; the suffering little brother mask secured in place, kneeling next to the bed, his face on level with Dean's.

"It hurts," Dean hissed, his hands fisting over the empty air around his nether regions.

"Of course," Sam hurried to untie the maroon colored balls. Watching Dean suffer while trying to keep his cool as blood rushed back into the tortured organs was delightful, even so soon after coming. Sam's dick twitched, already feeling ready for another go.

He would. Soon.

When he looked at Dean with just enough guilt and self-hatred, Dean used the only type of intimacy he had ever known to litigate those feelings. Because God forbid, his brother would never have a chick flick moment.

"Come here," Dean whispered, then gave Sam a small, almost chaste kiss.

"How could you still...?" Sam cut the sentence short, fake choking on the words. "After everything I did to you?" He looked at him through his hair, trying to force yet another teardrop.

"Would you shut up!" Dean rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to sitting position. "You did what needs to be done." He shrugged. "And I'm no longer in debilitating pain anymore. Thanks to you."

Dean, his loving and selfless brother, would shed his pain and make love to Sam. He would try his best to keep his grunts inside, to make sure his Sammy wouldn't know how much it hurt riding him. Desperate to convince Sam that he didn't blame him.

Soon Sam would shoot inside his brother once more. This time he would confess his love and adoration—all the while fantasizing about next time.

The end