|I Always Have
Author: storyofeden PM
Trust was vital if they were to build a relationship such as the one craved by both parties...Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - Dean W. & Sam W. - Words: 2,583 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 15 - Follows: 2 - Published: 02-21-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7859354
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The first paragraph is not mine. A friend wrote it to get me started.
The rest, of course, is all mine.
Trust was vital if they were to build a relationship such as the one craved by both parties, and although Sam had also been rather trusting by nature, he now found it harder to achieve as his eyes lingered on the utensils adorning the dark, cold walls surrounding them. Excitement and fear warred inside him, constricting his throat enough to make speaking virtually impossible, but the desire to please his master pushed him to clear the path and get rid of the lump in his throat, before Dean could notice. As his eyes lowered to the floor -which was expected from him- his gaze rested upon the other's boots and his mind went back to that faithful day that inadvertently led them here.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy!" Dean practically screamed when Sam entered their apartment, a wicked-looking black eye adorning his face. "What the hell happened?"
Sam kept his gaze on his socked feet, which, for some reason, felt like the exactly right thing to do.
Dean growled low in his throat, crossing the distance between them and tilted Sam's face up to meet his gaze. There was no mistaking the sheer wrath and possessiveness swimming around Dean's eyes and the thought made Sam shiver. "I asked you a question. And I can see that it's not just your eye. Your neck is bruised as fuck. What the hell happened?"
It was all Sam could do not the roll his eyes. "It's nothing, alright? I…I…" He had enough trouble admitting it to himself, let alone his headstrong, less-than-understanding, macho big brother. "Asked for it. I asked for it."
"Wait, like Fight Club?"
"No, Dean," Sam lowered his eyes once more. "It was…during sex. I asked him to be rough. He took it too far."
Dean visibly stiffened, as if a Syfy-worthy cold front as gone through and frozen him solid. "Oh," was all he gave Sam before he turned on his heal and walked out of the living room area, slamming the door behind him with a loud crack.
Neither man spoke for the next few days; both brothers opting instead to ignore each other and pretend nothing from the other night had taken place. Not surprisingly, Dean began to pay more attention to him once his black eye was gone, and bruises on his neck almost gone, but it was different, the way they interacted. He was still very much the manly, macho big brother he had always been, but there was suddenly a…gentleness to him. Had it been any other change, Sam would have called bullshit and they would have gone on like usual. Dean had him fetching beers, as usual, and cooking dinner, and Dean still took the only real chair in the room, but instead of forcing Sam to perch on the bar stool or deal with the lumpy hand-me-down bean bag chair, he had him sit directly in front of the recliner. When they watched Family Guy, Dean laughed along with Sam, who could feel the vibration running through his legs, and after a few weeks, it had progressed to Dean slowly running his fingers through Sam's hair.
Sam felt pampered. Sure, there were things that he was expected to do, things he'd had to do since Dean was old enough to boss him around, but it was different. It was, and as much as Dean treated him like a crappy little brother, he always made it up to him by massaging his scalp or rubbing his shoulders. Then, Sam finally realized what was going on.
Dean was seducing him.
It was a ridiculous conclusion to come to for any "normal", "well-adjusted" member of society, but Sam was convinced. Dean was acting like a true Dom, treating Sam as his submissive in a way that few people could understand.
Even the most hardcore of persons, who had been living the lifestyle for years, often didn't understand what it truly meant to be a Dom or a sub. It wasn't about power, as most people assumed. In fact, it was the opposite. It is trust and love and security, things that the brothers had always had with each other. So, when Dean comes home from work one day, sits at the table, and tells Sam to kneel before him, he complies with out a second thought.
He'd brought home baked ziti from Luigi's, Sam's favorite. After opening the container, and blowing on a forkful of noodles before holding it out for Sam.
"Open," he murmured, and Sam did, taking the hot food into his mouth. His eyes never left Dean's face as he chewed, swallowed, and opened for more. When they were done, both full and content, Dean looked down and caressed Sam's cheek. "One day, Sammy. From right now, you have twenty four hours to change your mind." Dean walked off.
On the table, Sam found a note that told him a place and time.
Twenty-four hours later, Sam was there. Excitement and apprehension whirred around his middle like a hurricane.
"Strip," Dean spoke calmly, much more calmly than Sam felt. It was crazy, really. He trusted Dean. Dean would never hurt him. He was safe. Still, his hands shook as he took off his shoes and socks first, then his shirt, and finally his jeans, leaving him in only his boxers. A deep blush had already saturated his cheeks.
"Everything, Sam. Off."
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam obeyed. He stepped out of his underwear and stood before Dean, hands conveniently hiding his intimate parts. Dean strode toward him.
"Look at me." His voice was soft and Sam automatically looked up. "You are beautiful don't you understand that? There is no need to hide from me. Ever."
If the words hadn't been enough, the sheer amount of love in his eyes would have done it all.
"Kneel," Dean spoke again.
Sam knelt at the command, placing his knees shoulder-width apart, his hands behind his back. It was a position Sam had practice many times alone in his room, knowing how important it was for a sub to perfect the gesture. There was a rustle of clothing, and when Dean's hands tilted Sam's face up, he could see that Dean was naked.
His big brother was beautiful; that was the only way to describe a man who was as lean Adonis and as strong as Atlas. The lump in Sam's throat thickened. This was the trust test. Dean could make him or break him, so to speak.
"Open," he commanded and Sam immediately parted his lips, opening wide. Dean entered him in one long, smooth motion, not even pausing to stop until Sam's nose was pressed against Dean's stomach. Sam hardened even more at the thought of his brother balls deep in his mouth. Dean drew back, then thrust forward with a fair amount of force, his fingers roughly grasping Sam's hair. Trying not to choke, Sam started to move his hands up to his big brothers thigh, but a tsk-ing sound stopped him.
"No way, little one. Hands behind your back. Only hold a single hand up if you need me to stop, understood?"
Sam replied with a "yes", muffled around Dean, who began to fuck his mouth with earnest. It was degrading, humiliating, and it hurt, but Sam was reveling in it. The sounds coming from Dean only made him want to try harder for his brother, his Dom.
"Oh Sammy," Dean strangled out as he came, semen hitting the back of Sam's throat. Everything was too much. He could see the image they created in his head. He knew how Dean tasted, could smell the musky scent of him. Sam came. His dick hadn't even been touched, yet he'd exploded as he tasted Dean and milked him for more.
When Dean pulled back, he looked disappointed, "I thought you knew better than that, baby boy. I never gave you permission to come. You know I have to punish you, right?" Sam nodded. "There." Dean pointed to one of the pieces of furniture in the room, if it could count as furniture.
The kneeler table, made of industrial black plastic and black leather, was facing an entirely mirrored wall. Sam's knees barely hit the bottom bench before Dean pushed his torso onto the top one which, thankfully, supported his whole chest. His hands were shackled to legs of the kneeler, as well as his knees, and suddenly, he was completely spread open—for Dean. A look in the mirrored wall showed him everything he'd ever fantasized about, his arms and legs rendered completely immobile, his ass slightly higher in the air than his head and shoulders, and Dean standing at his side, slowly stroking his back. Sam shivered, the restraints refusing to give more than the teeniest movement.
"You look so pretty, Sammy," Dean murmured and moved to kneel in front of him, looking him directly in the eyes. "If I do anything, and I mean anything, that you don't like or aren't comfortable with, I want you to tell me. We're here for enjoyment, not pain, so I need you to be honest with me, alright? If I hurt you, truly hurt you, you say no. Safe words are messy and ridiculous. No means no." He paused and pressed a kiss to Sam's forehead. "Okay, little one?"
"Yes, sir," Sam spoke quietly, causing a heat to return to Dean's face.
"Good boy." And then Dean was behind him, something gripped tight in his hands. "This is a flogger, Sammy. There are many different kinds, but I'm sure you know it all already." Dean winked and held the flogger up for Sam to see in the mirror. It was smaller than most he'd seen in his research, brown with leather tassels on the end. "This on is my favorite."
And suddenly, Dean was using it, hitting Sam's ass with both the thick strap and the leather fringe. The slaps were in rapid succession, one right after the other, until his ass felt as though it was on fire.
Dean stopped and palmed his ass, "Nice and red…So pretty…" He feathered the leather fringe over Sam's entrance.
"Please," Sam begged, which was a mistake, earning him another hard swat.
"I told you not to speak until spoken to, little one." Smack. "You have to listen to me."
Sam bit his lip and nodded, trying like hell not to make a sound. The spanking continued for what seemed like hours, but Sam just zoned out. He'd read about how submissives often go into a trance-like state where pain goes straight to pleasure and time is drawn out. So, it wasn't until Dean's thick fingers, slick with cool lube, teased his entrance that Sam came back to reality.
"Shh," Dean said when Sam tensed. "I'm going to prep you this time, baby boy." He leaned in close to Sam's ear. "Next time, I might not be so gentle."
Sam nearly lost it right there, not because two of Dean's fingers were currently stretching him open, not because of the position or the restraints. No, Sam was too busy focusing on the fact that there would be a next time. He would be in this position again. He would be at Dean's mercy, again.
"Sammy, I'm gonna fuck you now," Dean's voice was low and strained. "If you're going to say now, I need you to say it now because I may not be able to stop once I get inside that sweet ass of yours." Their eyes locked in the mirror; Sam nodded silently. "That's my boy."
For the second time that night, he entered Sam with one swift thrust, ending balls deep inside him. His hole burned, struggling to accommodate Dean's girth.
"Fuck," Dean ground out between clenched teeth, one hand gripping Sam's hip. The other snaked its way up to Sam's hair and pulled slightly, as if testing to see how far he could go. At the feel of Sam clenching around him, Dean pulled harder which caused Sam to cry out. He smacked Sam's ass one last time before pulling out carefully, and slamming right back in. Both men moaned loudly.
"No coming till I say so, little one." Dean murmured calmly. He bent closer, the hand in his hair moving around to grip the front of Sam's neck. "I saw the bruises on your neck. I know what you want, Sammy. I'm going to give you what you want."
Dean began to thrust in earnest, skillfully hitting the spot that made Sam gasp and squirm in pleasure. His hand tightened around Sam's throat. Either he'd been practicing, or he'd done this before, because Dean's technique was perfect, limiting the air supply without actually risking choking Sam.
If it was at all possible, Sam got harder, which made it really difficult to not come each time Dean hit his prostate. Thankfully, just as Sam new he was going to break the rule, Dean cried out, "Come now."
And they came together, Dean collapsing on top of Sam, letting go of his neck. Sam tried to draw in a deep breath, which was hard with Dean crushing him, but Sam didn't want him to move. The closeness won out over breathing properly. That is, until Dean finally pulled out and stood up, allowing Sam's chest to expand with the air he hadn't known he'd needed so badly. It was a little scary that Dean had just won out over a basic human instinct, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered now, except for Dean.
Sam looked up, into the mirror, and found that Dean had cleaned himself up and was now redressing, not even sparing a glance in his direction. A moment of doubt flooded his mind. Would Dean go too far? Would he leave Sam there, helpless and alone?
Thankfully, the niggle of worry was stupid, because Dean walked over with a warm washcloth and carefully rid Sam of jizz, sweat, and lube. He unlatched all the restraints, and made Sam sit on the kneeler facing him, then gingerly kissed each bruise forming at his knees and wrists. Sam closed his eyes in pleasure, reveling in the way Dean took care of him.
"Look at me, Sammy." Dean said. Sam did. "If we're gonna do this, you have to listen to me. You have to trust me to know what's best for you, because I'm not just kinky in the bedroom. I'm a Dom in all aspects of life. I expect you to cater to me, but much of what I enjoy includes taking care of you. I need you to let me in, in all areas of your life. I need for you to trust me."
Sam paused, unsure if he should speak. His eyes must have given him away because Dean nodded his permission. Sam took a deep breath. "I always have."