Warnings: bdsm, spanking, etc.

A/N: (08/08/12) Because of feedback, I've edited this chapter significantly in regards to clarity and characterization. I apologize for any inconveniences, but I believe the changes make this chapter easier to read, understand, and enjoy. So thanks for the feedback, guys; I appreciate it more than you can imagine =)


Right Beside You, Dear


The door closed, and Sam took a breath. The air was clean and cool and gave him something to concentrate on. He hoped Cas understood him, understood that he was more than okay with this. Though Cas could be obtuse and thick-skulled sometimes, he really did try. Sam didn't know if putting on a front for him was wise, but he seemed to need it.

"Sam, here," Dean said.

He fought a tired smile when Sam turned immediately and was kneeling before him an instant later. Sam's eyes were sharp and attentive on his face; he could do that, switch the object of his focus at a moment's notice like switching gears in a car. Sometimes it unnerved Dean, but those feelings never lasted because Sam was always so organically aware of him. When Dean called, Sam was all ears in a way that suggested whatever Dean had in mind would be a puzzle he relished solving. Whether it was a simple order to pick up a screw-driver or simply because Dean wanted Sam near him, Sam gave himself over to the task. Not completely, however, because, depending on what kind of mood Sam was in, there could be anything from the barest hint of gratitude, to overpowering desire in his eyes. Sure Sam loved giving himself over to Dean, pleasing Dean in any way he could, but he also thrived on the personal challenge and the knowledge that Dean needed him in a similar way that he needed Dean.

"Sam, do you understand why I'm punishing you?"

Sam looked away for an instant and then back up again.

"Yes; because I didn't recognize that Cas was taking me to a bar without your permission."

"That's right. And you understand that you and Cas were responsible for different things?"

"Yes..." Sam nodded slowly. It turned into a shake half way through. "No." He sounded agonized. "I mean, Dean, what's going on with you and Cas?" Sam looked suddenly, utterly confused, and Dean realized in that instant what an idiot he'd been. He'd skipped out on the one thing a good D/s relationship really needed: clarity. And why? Because he was just as new as Sam with the whole "threesome" thing? Because he didn't want to admit to himself that Sam and Cas were basically together anyway?

The problem was, Dean thought, in the last two years he and Sam had been together, it had obviously been just them. And so now that Dean saw the opportunities in adding one more member to their family, he didn't know how to go about it. And his protectiveness towards Sam was showing. But he didn't really want to protect Sam from Cas; he loved seeing them together. He did. Dean blinked at this realization, and suddenly knew what to say.

"Sam, we all screwed up on this. I didn't realize that before and I'm sorry. So let me say that from now on I'm going to give Cas a bit more freedom with you, and you with him, because if you two want to go… there… then I won't be the one to stop you. I see I was really just jealous of Cas… and I shouldn't be. Because I love seeing you with him, Sam, and if you want that, then I want that as well. You still messed up, and you're going to be sore for it too—" Dean flashed Sam a playful warning grin and was rewarded with a shy smile in return. He sobered quickly, however, and continued: "Because Cas really should have talked to me beforehand if he wanted to do that, and you should have as well. But if that's really what you two want then I'd be a dictator if I didn't give my blessing. So. There." Dean looked away, embarrassed.

"…Thank you, Sir," Sam said after a moment. "Me and Cas…" Sam smiled sheepishly. "Thanks."

"…As long as…" Sam turned to look at him. "In the future, you follow the rules. If you think something needs changing, you come to me. Understood?"

"Understood," Sam said with knowing weariness.

"Better be," Dean grinned at him and then stood with a roll of his shoulders. "Alright, then, up you get."

Sam grimaced as if he'd tasted bad medicine but rose fluidly to his feet, his head deferentially down, hands at the small of his back.

Dean barely attempted to hide an amused smile.

"Sam," Dean said, his smile waning to that of an encouraging one. Sam looked up, drawing his eyebrows together and giving him his full attention once again. "You can do this; we're doing it together or not at all."

It was impossible to miss the grateful flash of trust in Sam's eyes and the small smile.

"Okay, come on," Dean said with an impatient huff, and Sam's smile widened into a grin.

"Hey, I don't want to see your smirking face," Dean said over his shoulder. Playfully, but with a touch of caution. Sam hid his smile and followed Dean into their bedroom, resuming a cool submission.

Dean stopped him before their bed.

Their bed was simple to the average eye, but told vibrant stories to those who knew what to look for. The head and foot-rails were low to the mattress and made of sturdy cast iron. Two single bars supported the main frame on each rail, making for an unpretentious prison-bars effect.

"Shirt, pants, and socks off."

"Yes, Sir." Sam did as Dean asked with practiced ease and placed the pile by the closet.

When he returned to the foot of the bed, there was a pillow on the floor. Sam paused in happy surprise before kneeling. His knees wouldn't suffer, anyway, he thought, not sure if he would appreciate the irony as much in ten minutes. He folded his hands behind his back, taking a moment to calm his shrill heartbeat.

"Safeword?" Dean said from behind.

"Score."

Dean's mouth twitched into a faint smile. "I don't want you using that unless you absolutely need to, but don't be afraid, either. You got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then boxers down, hands on the rail."

Working to steady nervous jitters, Sam shimmied his boxers down to pool at his knees. Despite the tepidity of the room, he, being shirtless, was several degrees cooler than strictly comfortable. He twitched in the cold but reached out and took the cool metal. He clenched and unclenched his hands, a chasm seeming to open up between him and the footer.

"Shoulders back, Sam." Dean pressed a feather-light touch to Sam's lower back. Sam followed Dean's touch, pushing his shoulder blades together and curving his spine. He took a breath.

"No going into subspace, Sam, like always. You are going to appreciate this and you need to be alert and in the present to do that."

"Yes, Sir."

Satisfied, Dean straightened his own back and turned to the low oak chest by the wall. He lifted the lid and undid a cream cashmere bag, pulling out a wide leather belt. He folded the belt in on itself once and closed the chest with a muted thump. He mentally shifted with the leather in his hands. He went behind and just to the left of Sam.

"You're going to count for me, Sam."

"Yes, Sir." Sam shifted his hands on the metal frame and worked his teeth.

Dean detected a hint of fear in Sam's voice, and paused to gauge his mood. Thankfully, there was a firm set to Sam's brows indicating he was ready, or as ready as he would ever be.

Dean struck, once, hard.

Sam jumped and sucked in a breath. "One," he managed. Cherry-blossom pink bloomed like candy stripes on his ass. He curled his toes, arching his back and clenching.

"Hey," Dean said in a hard warning tone. "None of that. Relax, Sam."

Sam took a shivering breath but relaxed himself, just as Dean hit a second time. Sam flinched and bit his lip.

"T-two…"

"Louder."

"Two!"

Dean hit a third time. Sam grunted. "Three." He was clearer this time. His ass was now a bright red and he clenched without thinking.

"Sam…"

Sam relaxed, though his body still quivered.

The next four strikes came in quick succession, Dean giving Sam solid, stinging blows. Sam shook, trying to keep his shoulders back, though his head drooped as he attempted to keep tears at bay.

"You're doing great, Sam, just keep it up a little longer."

Sam nodded and bit his lip hard, hands white on the bar.

Dean hit again.

"E-Eight."

Another.

"Nine." Sam's voice had taken a crisp edge, though it took all his concentration to keep it that way.

"Back straight, Sam. It'll be over soon, I promise."

Dean took a breath and gave Sam another. Sam was silent and kept his posture.

"Ten," Sam said through his teeth.

Dean swung again, giving Sam no time to think.

"Eleven."

One last time, Dean hit, putting just enough force into the strike, so as to leave only a superficial sting. Sam's face contorted and Dean pulled the residually warm leather to his hand. Sam's ass was decorated with two inch-wide, crisscrossing marks.

"Twelve," Sam said tightly. He took a controlled breath and swallowed.

"Good boy, Sam," Dean said. He took Sam's shoulder and rubbed. Sam leaned into him and closed his eyes, not trusting his voice.

"That was awesome, Sam," Dean said, looking carefully at Sam's closed-off face. Now he would need to rest for a while. "Okay, we're done, careful when you stand."

Sam seemed to come back to himself and he glanced up at Dean before taking the rail and pulling his boxers up. He got shakily to his feet. He winced as the fabric chafed his rear.

While Sam moved around to the open side of the bed, Dean put the belt away and went to grab some cream for any inflammation the belt might have caused. He also pulled out a fresh shirt and pair of PJ bottoms from their dresser.

Sam sat obediently on the edge of the bed.

"Here." Dean sat on the bed and unfolded the soft cotton pants. "Out ya get."

Sam shuffled stiffly out of his sweats and fumbled to help when Dean held the PJ bottoms open for him.

"Sir, I can—"

"You're going to let me help whether you want to or not, Sam." Dean gave Sam a look and then jerked his head. "In."

Sam obeyed with a tired smile, lifting himself up with a hand braced against the mattress as Dean pulled the pants up the rest of the way.

"Arms."

Sam held his arms out so Dean could slip the shirt on.

"On your stomach, pants down again." Dean got up and grabbed a bottle from the en-suite bathroom. When he came back, Sam was bare-bottomed and lying with his head in his arms. His ass had bloomed an even brighter red and Dean couldn't help but smile. Sam watched as Dean sat down and squeezed a portion of the clear ointment onto the palm of his hand.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, you just don't realize how beautiful you are with your ass all pretty pink like that." Dean grinned as Sam buried his face in the covers and moaned. "You were brave, Sammy." Dean warmed the gel with his hands. "I appreciate that."

The silence was comfortable.

"This isn't going to sting, Sam. It's cooling. Just relax."

Sam nodded and Dean poured a dime-sized pool of the lotion onto Sam's red skin. Sam tensed.

"Relax, Sam."

Dean kneaded the gel into Sam's skin, covering every flushed inch. He pulled Sam's pants down or his shirt up as needed. Once it was all rubbed in, Dean put the cap back on the tube and went to rinse his hands. He came back and urged Sam's rump up so he could pull his pants back on. Sam turned over and slipped his legs over the side. Dean pulled back the covers and motioned him in. Sam winced but crawled under. He curled up as Dean drew the covers, and a chill raced up his spine at the cool sheets. He sunk down into the mattress. Dean slipped under the covers from behind and wrapped an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and then burying his nose into the crook of his neck. Dean inhaled deeply and kissed the soft skin just under his collar. Sam moaned and pushed back against Dean.

Dean laughed softly, and to Sam's surprise, then gently cajoled his arms out to grasp them at the dip of his back.

"Hold still," Dean said. Sam felt leather touch his wrists and knew Dean had grabbed the wide cuffs from the chest as well. By the time Dean had buckled them into place, Sam was hard and moaning.

"Easy," Dean said with a malicious smirk as he released the cuffs and put a hand on Sam's bucking hip. Sam could be such a little slut when he wanted. Sam shivered and rolled his shoulders, grinding wantonly into Dean. "Wait, turn over," Dean said in a rush, pulling on Sam's shoulder. Sam hesitated but obeyed, rolling over so they were facing each other. Dean ran a fiercely possessive hand through Sam's hair, soaking up his lust-blown eyes.

"You're mine." Dean's voice was rough.

Sam bowed instinctively into the energy of Dean's words. They were both breathing hard, both in the crushing, heated embrace of leather and limbs. Sam felt a forceful kiss press into the crown of his head. He breathed into the hollow of Dean's throat, that kiss pulsing through his veins. And then he twisted to peer up at Dean. The heavy-lidded gaze that met him almost prompted Sam to bite his lip.

Sam swallowed and dipped his head again, snuggling up against Dean's chest.

"Yours."


. to be continued .