"Could you, uh… God, this is gonna sound a lot more sadistic out loud. But… could you… act like you don't want it? Kinda like you're scared?"
Sam's lips curled up into a small, wicked grin. "Anything for you, big brother." He receded into the corner, brows furrowing, eyes darting around, bottom lip worrying between his teeth. The collar around his neck wouldn't stay quiet.
"Christ," Dean breathed, reaching down to palm himself through his jeans, which were growing uncomfortably tight. "So good, Sammy. So good for me."
Sam whimpered, tugging on the clasp at the back of his neck with no real intentions of unhooking it. "C'mon, De. Let me take it off." His voice was weak, but obviously staged at the same time, letting Dean know without a doubt that all of this was perfectly okay.
The glint in Dean's eye told Sam he was doing a very good job. "You didn't even say please," Dean drawled. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want me to let you go. And if you can't remember your manners on your own... then I guess I'll just have to remind you."
Sam shivered when he saw the riding crop swinging from his brother's fingers, and it took every ounce of self-control in his body not to beg for it.