Give You What You Need

Sam stroked the braided leather handle of the last toy on the table. The one that Dean had stared at, transfixed, when Sam took him to the leather shop in San Francisco. Couldn't take his eyes off it. Sam knew his Dean had to have it. And Sam always gave Dean what he wanted.

And there it was. 24 thin leather tails, each with three wicked little knots, attached to the handle.

"Dean. You're sure you're ready."

Dean wiped his hand across his lips. "Yeah."

Sam ran the tips of his fingers through Dean's short hair. "You want me to warm you up first with the heavy flogger?"

The heavy flogger had a satisfying heavy thump, but very little sting. It was very like receiving a percussive massage, if Sam didn't put his whole strength into each strike. It practically put Dean into a trance. A good technique to get the endorphins flowing for harsher play.

But Dean shook his head no.

"Alright. Gotta gag you again, though. This one? This one's gonna get you real loud."

Dean swallowed hard.

Sam gagged Dean again. "Look so good like that. Fuck." Sam nipped lightly at Dean's lower lip. He took up the knotty cat and let it swing in an arc, ending with the knots smacking the palm of his hand. Dean's mouth twitched.

Sam led Dean to the back of the motel room. "Hands on the wall." Dean complied, leaning forward. Sam smoothed his palm over Dean's back, then leaned in and whispered in his ear. "You know what they call this one? 'A thousand points of pain.'"

Dean moaned through the gag.

"See, this type of flogger stings. Every little knot. The pain… it's sharp. Not dull and heavy like the other one." Sam brushed his lips over the back of Dean's neck. "It's nothing you've ever felt before." He traced his fingertips lightly over Dean's spine, down the thick muscles of his back, so lightly it barely registered—and with Dean's heightened senses, it made him shiver and writhe. Sam's lips ghosted over the curve of Dean's ear. "Gonna make you scream so pretty for me, Dean. Just like you need."

Sam stepped back, and swung the leather tails lightly against Dean's ass. He flinched, then breathed, relaxing. Sam brushed the knotty cat against the back of Dean's thighs, between his legs, along his back, letting him feel the thin leather cords.

"Keep your hands on the wall. Show me how much you can take for me." And with that, Sam stepped back and swung the flogger, flipping the leather tails with an overhand flick of the wrist, aiming precisely with his thumb as guide.

The tails flared out into a wide pattern. Dean hissed at the bite of it, recoiling from the sting.

"I warned you. Sure you still want this?"

Dean nodded his head furiously.

"Ok. Here goes."

Sam went to work, laying down stroke after stroke, pausing in between each one to let the effect of each reverberate through Dean's body. As the leather bit, Dean gasped, then as the pain kicked in on a slight delay, made a little sound through the gag. Another stroke… another sound punched out of Dean that sounded like, "Fuck."

"Wish I had something for you to hang on to. Pull against. When we settle down, I'm putting in something like that for you."

Sam stopped to smooth his hand over Dean's back. Dean was shaking, tears oozing from the corners of his eyes. "Doing so good, Dean. Can you take a little more for me?"

Dean pushed back towards Sam, wordlessly asking for more.

And Sam gave it to him. He lashed Dean faster, not pausing between strokes, letting the pain overlay and amplify, each kiss of the flogger leaving 72 sharp, vicious points of pain on Dean's back.

Dean cried out, balled his hands into fists, bowed his back, rose up on his toes, writhing under the cat, panting through the gag. After a particularly fierce stroke, he lifted his right hand from the wall.

Sam stepped close, kissed Dean through the gag, stroked Dean's achingly hard cock until Dean was arching into it, shuddering and gasping. "This is what you want, Dean. Begged me for it. Let me give it to you." Sam's breath was coming hard and fast too. "Know what you need. Let me. Just let me."

Dean shivered against Sam…then nodded and put his hand back on the wall, giving himself over to Sam completely.

Sam brought the knotty cat down sharp and fierce. The pain of it was exquisite, driving all thoughts out of Dean's mind other than pain and Sam and need. Drove out the thousand groping hands trying to pull him down, the memory of the light fading from the eyes of monsters, friends, fellow hunters, the memory of people he didn't save, people he failed. Drove out the guilt and fear and everything. Brought him into the present, inescapably in the right fucking now, anchored him here where the past couldn't hurt him and the future couldn't frighten him. Just now. With Sam. Giving him what he needed. Like Sam always did. His Sam. His Sammy.


Sharp, agonizing pain.

Hoarse cry driven from his throat.

Answering moan from Sam.

Over. And over.

It was all too much. More than he could take. He knew it. Knew he'd found his hard limit. He took a deep shuddering breath, trembling hands lifting from the wall in supplication.

Sam stopped immediately and placed his hand on Dean's hip, rubbing it gently. Waiting. Knowing Dean was hovering on the edge of I can't.

Dean knew Sam was waiting. To see if Dean would give him just a little bit more.

He put his hands flat on the wall once again. Anything for Sam.

Sam blew out a breath, as if he couldn't believe it, and gave Dean more.

The leather scraped against already-howling flesh, bit down over and over. A thousand points of pain. Yes. Dean's cries grew louder, rougher, until he threw his head back and screamed, screamed from the very depths of his soul.

Sam dropped the knotty cat and spun Dean around, ripping off the gag and seizing his wet mouth in a desperate, claiming kiss. He pressed Dean against the wall, the hard surface against his bleeding back driving out a high-pitched wail, as Dean screamed into Sam's mouth.

This drove Sam into an absolutely frenzy. He pulled Dean's arms around his neck, wrapped his legs around Sam's waist, and drove his cock inside Dean's still-slick ass in one smooth thrust—then simply picked Dean up like he weighed nothing.

Dean almost forgot to breathe at the immense power of his little brother, melted under the force of it, dissolving and coming undone, letting Sam spread him wide and fuck up into him. Taking it. Taking it all.

Sam just stood in place in a rock-solid stance, gripping Dean's ass in both hands, and bounced him up and down on his cock, fucking him deeper than he'd ever done before. Dean, helpless and glorying in it, just had to take it. He screamed again, this time with the searing pleasure of it, riding his little brother's cock, so full, so pliant, so HIS.

"Sam," he choked out. "Sam. Sam. Yours."

Sam stared into Dean's face, bright red with pleasure, tears rolling down his face, shuddering and sobbing. "Fuck. Dean. Fuck. Come for me." Sam's hips stuttered as he started to come, pulsing deep inside Dean, crying out with the almost unbearable joy of it.

And Dean broke. Broke apart for Sam, releasing everything in an explosion of pleasure so incandescent it had to have woken all the angels and roused God himself from his slumber. The scream he uttered seemed to go on forever, body spasming so violently that Sam fell back onto the bed, still joined, Dean still coming, and still coming, and still coming.

Sam held Dean as he trembled and writhed, helpless, wracked by the ferocity of his orgasm, face upturned like he was begging God to make it stop.

Sam held Dean as he dissolved into sobs, ripped from the core of his being, stroked his hair and murmured, "Beautiful. So good, Dean. You took so much for me. So proud of you."

Dean cried harder at Sam's praise.

Sam rolled Dean onto his side, slipping out of him, positioned them on the pillows and held Dean for a very, very long time as he trembled and sobbed. "I love you, Dean. Christ. Love you so much."

Dean lay in his arms, exhausted, incoherent, making wordless sounds. Sam reached for the supplies he'd placed on the bedside table before the scene ever got started.

"Here. Eat this." Dean stared in confusion at the square of dark chocolate in Sam's hand. "Trust me. You need it." Dean opened his mouth and let Sam slip the chocolate onto his tongue.

Sam fed him seven squares of chocolate, praising him each time he swallowed. Then he gently rolled Dean onto his stomach, Dean complying like a sleepy child, and carefully cleaned between Dean's legs with a damp cloth, eliciting soft moans.

"Good boy."

Dean made a sound that sounded for all the world like a purr.

"Gonna use that cream now. That last bit kinda tore up your back." Sam started on the less-tender areas first, smoothing the thick cream into Dean's reddened ass and inner thighs. Dean parted his legs, giving Sam complete access, denying him no part of himself.

Sam smeared the soothing cream between Dean's legs, gently working it up inside Dean with the little finger of his left hand. Then with infinite delicacy, he painted it across Dean's back with his right hand, barely touching him.

The care Sam took not to hurt Dean now brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"You ok? Too sore?" Sam stopped at once. Dean just took Sam's hand in his and pressed it to his cheek, still too incoherent to formulate words.

"Ok to finish?"

Dean murmured a sound of assent.

Sam finished working the cream into Dean's skin. The redness began subsiding almost immediately. Sam wouldn't tell Dean where he got the stuff, but by its effects, Dean knew it wasn't civilian-made, and had a few supernatural properties.

Dean stirred.

Sam knew. "I got you." He got Dean standing, put his arm under Dean's shoulder and brought him stumbling into the bathroom. He kept him steady on his feet as Dean urinated, held a glass to Dean's kiss-swollen lips and made him take a nice long drink, then picked him up outright and carried him back to bed.

He settled Dean into bed under the blankets, on his side until the cream had a chance to heal him enough to bear the feel of fabric on his back, and crawled in facing him. Dean snuggled into Sam's arms without a whimper of protest or blowhard talk meant to preserve his manly dignity. Completely stripped of his hundred-layer thick wall of defenses, he nestled in Sam's embrace, utterly lax, completely purged.

Eventually, words returned to Dean. "Sam?"


"Thank you." Dean burrowed his face into Sam's chest. "Thank you."

Sam shivered. After a moment, he sniffled.

"You crying?" Dean peered up at Sam.

And Sam, also completely stripped of defenses, answered without hesitation or shame. "Yeah. I'm crying."

Part of what Dean loved—needed—about the whole BDSM thing he and Sam had was how Sam was with him for weeks afterward.

In a nutshell, Sam treated Dean like a war hero. He held doors open for Dean. Snuck out while Dean was napping and brought him back pie. Touched him constantly, brushing his fingertips over his thigh over breakfast, putting a hand on his shoulder as they drove. Stared at him reverently, not even bothering to try to conceal it in public. He made it shockingly clear to anyone within range how much he worshipped Dean. If there was a restaurant known for its steaks anywhere within a 100-mile radius, Sam sniffed it out, and made sure they stopped there. If laundry needed to be done, Sam did it, folded it, and put it away. He brought Dean the best whiskey he could ferret out. He massaged his shoulders during interviews. And if anything or anyone threatened Dean, he was ten times as vigilant about stepping in front of Dean, and taking out the threat with frightening speed and violence. Sometimes he even cleared entire nests by himself, not letting Dean get in so much as a single thrust of a stake.

Dean basked in the light and heat of Sam's overt adoration and pride, thirsty for it.

And every day, Sam would undress Dean like a child unwrapping the biggest and best present waiting for him under the Christmas tree, slowly removing layers until Dean was naked, then touching every inch of him with his fingertips, so lightly, then repeating it with his soft mouth and warm breath, all the while looking at Dean with so much love it caused a physical ache in Dean's chest. "You took so much for me, Dean. Can't believe it." He would gently coax Dean's thighs apart, kneel between them like he was praying, lick Dean open, taking his time because Dean loved the feel of Sam's tongue in his ass so very much, moaning against his flesh, murmuring that he could do this forever. After a long time, he would take Dean in his mouth, soft and wet, and suck him while he worked a finger inside him, just the way he loved it, until Dean was shivering and arching his back and coming into Sam's mouth. And Sam swallowed every drop and licked Dean clean.

And if Dean spread his legs and asked Sam to take him, Sam would shiver like he was caught in a rainstorm and enter Dean with breathless moans, hands shaking, in a way that Dean never saw him do except after times when Dean asked for Sam to top him.

After the first time this happened, Dean laughed a little nervously and said, "Dude. The way you just… it's like you're in church, and I'm something holy."

Sam rubbed his thumb over Dean's jaw, his other hand curled over the nape of Dean's neck, eyes gleaming. "That's because you are."