"Sammy, baby, calm down, lemme—shit, just lemme get my shoes off before you—"
"Shut up," Sam growled against his brother's mouth, forcing him back onto the bed and pinning his wrists above his head. "Don't move."
Dean's eyes were blown wide, his breathing ragged and heavy when Sam pulled away from him. He nodded.
"Good boy. I'm gonna let go now. Don't touch. If you move, it's all over." Sam released Dean's wrists, sitting back on his heels for a second to take in the sight. "Take direction like a fucking soldier, don't you? God, look so hot like this."
"Sam—"
"Shhh. Don't. Don't talk." There was an unspoken understanding between them that when Sam dominated this way, there was a reason. He didn't just do this for fun, he needed it. It was only when something was twisted up enough inside his mind to make him feel demeaned and inferior that he insisted on so much authority.
So, Dean, always obedient to his baby brother, remained silent.
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched in appreciation—a physical 'thank you'—but he concealed it as quickly as it had appeared.
Dean wanted to reach out and touch him, run his fingers through that soft, chestnut hair, tell his Sammy to use him like a fucking toy if that would feel whatever was wrong. But he didn't. Because that would ruin Sam's whole game.
The whole process never took long, really, when Sam was like this. Getting Dean undressed and back into position lasted all of about five seconds. Opening him was a more lengthy task for fear of hurting Dean, but not by much at all. Slicking himself up and sliding inside his brother's tight heat varied, because it depended on the situation specifically. If Sam needed to feel everything, it was slower.
Tonight, Sam was like a jackhammer.
Dean took it all, whimpering, moaning, damn near screaming a couple of times, but never saying a word. Just waiting for the crash.
It came when Samcame, not waiting a moment later. It was almost as if a switch had flipped and the powerful, dominant young man calling all the shots was reduced to a sobbing, broken boy.
Dean held him through it, just like he always did, finally allowed to use his words. Because they were welcomed with open arms here in the After. After whatever put it into Sam's head that he was worthless. After the buildup. After the anger. After the crescendo. After the realization that there was no fight left. "It's okay, baby boy. You're okay. Can you—yeah, there you go. Let me hold you. I gotcha. Talk to me, Sammy, tell me what happened."
It took Sam a few minutes to collect himself, and once he did, he drew in slow, deep breaths before finally answering his brother. "On that hunt, the vamp, she… When she took you away, I didn't know where you were and I was so scared and I kept telling her how I was gonna find you and kill her when I did, and she said I couldn't save you. That I wasn't strong enough. Smart enough. Brave enough. And she was right. You got out of there and took her down by yourself, and I felt like I just stood by and watched. I didn't save you. And then I realized that I never really do. It's always the other way around, even in situations like that, you save yourself to make sure I'm okay, and I hate that you have to—"
"Okay, that's enough," Dean said softly. "Sammy, I want you to listen to me, okay? Listen real good. I was scared to death when she took me away from you. I didn't have a damn clue how I was gonna get out of that cellar. Hell, at that point I didn't even know I was in a cellar. I didn't know where I was. But that didn't matter. Do you know what got me out of there, Sam? I knew whether I could escape or not, you'd kill the bitch. And you would have. You were about to when you saw me. And when I realized that, I can't tell you how proud I was. You're so brave, baby. You were my motivation. I knew if you were half as scared as I'd be if the situation was reversed and you were still fighting, then it was the least I could do to get my sorry ass out of there and help you. So don't ever say you didn't save me. Because you did. You always do."