I don't own the boys, just a kinky and slightly overactive imagination.
x
"You know what would be hot, Sammy?"
Sam looks up at his brother in confusion as Dean settles himself down in the chair next to him.
"Being tied up."
"Dean, you get tied up all the time. It's not hot."
"No, idiot. I mean, like, by a lover. Y'know, bondage and all that stuff."
Sam makes a shocked sort of noise at the back of his throat, eyes widening and leaping back to the computer screen in front of him.
"That's disgusting."
"People do it all the time, Sam. Don't be such a prude."
"No, not the... bondage thing. I don't want to hear about your sexual fantasies, Dean. Go find some blonde slut to talk kinks to."
"Oh, come on. If I can't talk to my brother about these things, who can I talk to?"
Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and casts Sam a speculative glance.
"I'm being serious. I don't want to talk about it. You want some random chick to tie you up? Then go for it, I don't care. But please don't tell me about it."
There's silence for a moment, and Sam thinks maybe Dean's decided to drop the subject. But then his brother shifts in the chair and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'm being serious too, Sam. And I want to try it. But not with a stranger. I- I wouldn't be able to trust them enough."
"So?"
"So I'd need someone I do trust. Someone I feel safe with."
It takes a moment for the implications behind Dean's words to sink in, and then Sam's up and out of his chair, head shaking and arms outstretched.
"No. No way. Not a chance in Hell."
Dean rises too, reaching out a calming hand to Sam but pausing when his brother flinches away from the touch.
"I'm not... It's just sex, Sammy. No strings, I promise."
"Dean, we're brothers. We can't have sex. It's illegal."
"One time, Sam, that's all I'm asking. Just one time, just to try it. Please?"
Sam shakes his head again, shutting the laptop and picking it up, grabbing his keys as he walks over to the door.
"You need to... I don't know, sleep this off or something. You're tired. Or stressed, or something. You're not thinking straight," he pauses, eyes fixed to the floor, toes scrubbing against the threadbare carpet. "I'm going to the library. And I'm taking the car. Please, just sort this, whatever it is? Sort it out. Please."
And then he's outside, door slamming shut behind him. He lets himself slump back against the wood, head dropping down and eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"Too much," he mutters to himself, digging his nails into the palm of his hands. "Too fucking much."
They don't talk about it for the next couple of weeks. Dean doesn't offer any further explanation, and Sam avoids thinking about it, because thinking about the whole idea leads his mind down alleys he doesn't want to visit again.
It's like being fifteen all over again, and jerking off the sounds Dean makes when he brings a girl home. It's like being sixteen, denying the clench in his stomach when he sees Dean without a top or jeans, bandaging up a fresh wound. And he hates it.
Part of the reason he ran to Stanford was to escape the swirl of emotions that lurked in the corners of his mind. The lust, the want, the desire.
Wanting Dean was wrong. Is wrong. But Sam didn't know how to stop wanting Dean. He couldn't tell anyone, couldn't take the disgust that was sure to fill their faces, so he had to deal with it on his own. And the only way he could do that was by burying it, ignoring it, pretending it didn't exist.
It never really worked.
So the image of Dean, naked and bound to the bed by his wrists and his ankles, lingered on the back of Sam's eyelids. When he could catch a few moments of privacy, in the shower or while Dean was hustling, he'd close his eyes and stroke himself slow and steady, hearing in his mind the harsh, breathy sounds he'd memorised when he was a teenager.
And all the while, one question grew and grew in his mind, until he couldn't really think about anything else;
"Why?"
Dean glances up at him when the question slips out, not completely sure what Sam is talking about.
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to try it so badly? The bondage, I mean." He hardly stutters over the word; he's repeated it so many times in his head it feels natural now.
But the question throws Dean, it seems. The older Winchester blinks and looks down at the reports in front of him, brow furrowed slightly.
"I guess," he begins slowly, glancing up at Sam before returning his gaze to the papers, "I guess I want one night where I don't have to be in control. I just- I've been in charge my whole life, Sam. And I don't want that responsibility, I never wanted it. So giving it up, even if it's just for a quick fuck? It sounds pretty damn appealing to me."
He smiles ruefully and runs a hand down his face. Sam watches, notices for the first time just how tired his brother looks. It's a scary thing to see; Dean's always been so strong, so solid. Sam had never really considered the idea that his big brother could break too.
"That makes sense. I suppose," he concedes, leaning back and fixing his eyes on the ceiling. "But why me?"
"I told you," and there's a hint of amusement in Dean's voice now, which is good. It's familiar - it makes sense. "I can't just give up that control to anyone. I wouldn't be able to. It has to be someone I trust, someone who I know will keep me safe. And you're the only one who fits that bill."
Sam nods slowly but doesn't make a reply, and Dean gets the hint, goes back to his research.
And later that night, while they're watching some crappy horror movie with the lights down low, he glances over at Dean and feels his resolve snap at the tense set of his brother's shoulder, the tightness of his fist around his bottle of beer.
"I'll do it," he mutters into the room, avoiding Dean's gaze. "If you want me to, and you think it'll help, then I'll do it."
He's not sure what he's expecting as a response, but the soft thank you from Dean takes him by surprise, and he curses his gut for churning at the words.
Dean refuses to set a date on it, to plan it out, and Sam rolls his eyes and agrees because he really just wants this over. It's hard enough trying to ignore his feelings for Dean without the excitement at the idea of tying him down nagging at his mind and tugging at his stomach.
Still, it comes as a surprise when he walks into their rented rooms after a day spent pouring over old papers at the library and finds Dean naked by their bed, a sheepish smile on his face and two pairs of cuffs in one hand.
"This is still okay, right?" he asks, and Sam can see the worry shining in his eyes, and it strikes him again how tired Dean looks. And he knows he can't say no, not when this would get rid of the sadness shadowing Dean's eyes.
"Right," he replies, dropping the articles he'd checked out onto the desk and tugging off his shirt in one smooth movement.
There's no need to dress up their actions, he reminds himself; there's nothing romantic about what they're doing. Just tension-relief. Just an attempt to bring back Dean's smile.
He has to swallow and shut his eyes as he flicks open his fly anyway, Dean's gaze too hot on his skin. And then they're both naked, and it's not as awkward as he thinks it should be, and he doesn't know why not.
"I, uh, I figured you'd top. I mean, that's how I'd like it. Is that okay?" Dean swallows too, and Sam's gaze is drawn to the movement in his brother's neck, and he nods dumbly.
"Yeah," he rasps when he regains control of his vocals. "Yeah, that'd be okay. Good. Okay."
Dean smiles unsteadily, and Sam takes a step forward, placing a hand on Dean's chest.
"We can do this, yeah? We can," he murmurs, and Dean offers a slightly less shaky smile in return. Sam increases the pressure on Dean's chest and watches as his brother collapses back onto the bed.
It's easy to lower himself over Dean, legs spread over his hips and knees bent at his sides, groins pressed together. They're both hard already, and Sam doesn't quite know whether to be freaked out by that or not.
A voice in the back of his mind chants brothersbrothersbrothers as he leans forward, chest brushing Dean's, but he pushes it down and tries to ignore the blood they share. He takes one pair of cuffs from Dean's hands gently and reaches up, sliding the leather over Dean's wrists before pulling away to give Dean a chance to adjust.
Dean lifts each wrist in turn, studies the dark bands intently before stretching his arms out above his head. Sam's breath catches in his throat at the gesture, and his hands are shaking as he reaches up to slide the chain through the loop on one cuff, through the headboard of the bed, and back into the other cuff, tightening it until Dean can only move an inch in either direction.
He watches Dean give the chain a few experimental tugs, pretends he doesn't see the momentary panic in his brother's eyes.
"It's okay," he whispers reassuringly, though he's not entirely sure who he's reassuring. "It's okay, I'm here. I won't let anything happen."
He takes the other two leather bands from Dean as he speaks, leaning in so close their breath mixes between their mouths. And then he pulls back, sliding down Dean's body until his face is level with Dean's calves.
Sam lifts each leg slowly, tenderly, and slots the leather cuffs into place on each ankle, his fingers brushing gently over the arch of Dean's feet as he lets each one go. It's not at all sexual, but the simple gesture arouses them both, sending the blood racing fast and hot to Sam's cock.
It's easy to thread the chain through the cuffs and around one of the spokes at the end of the bed, securing Dean completely. Sam pulls back, kneels beside his brother as though in prayer, and studies Dean's body.
His brother is stretched out, muscles tense and shaking with the effort. His skin is flushed and coated in a thin layer of sweat, eyes shut and teeth pressing into his lower lip.
It's the most erotic thing Sam's ever seen.
"Blindfold," Dean mutters, and Sam scrambles to comply, catching a strip of material that was probably once a tie and fitting it over his brother's eyes. Dean opens his mouth, and Sam grabs another old tie, pressing it between Dean's teeth and knotting it behind his head.
And just like that, Dean is powerless beneath him. He can't see, can't speak, can't move - Sam is free to do whatever he wants.
He starts slow, sliding one hand delicately up Dean's inner thigh and pushing his legs apart gently. Dean obeys without thought, without hesitation, opening himself up for Sam, who presses an open-mouthed kiss to Dean's stomach as he traces his brother's entrance with the tip of one finger.
It takes a heartbeat or two to slick his fingers up, and then he's sliding one in, drawing back to watch it disappear inside his brother. Dean tenses at the intrusion, tries to jerk away but can't - he's held in place by the cuffs and the chains.
A low whine escapes from his throat as Sam crooks the finger, circling it slowly as he draws it out. Dean bares his teeth around the gag, biting down hard on the dark cloth, and Sam forces another finger in, watches the way Dean's body goes taut and hard before relaxing into the touch.
He thrusts shallowly, then deeper, pulling his fingers apart and bending them carefully until Dean stiffens again, his curses muffled by the gag.
Sam smirks and jabs his fingertips into the same spot again, massaging it slowly then faster and harder, until Dean's whimpering and moaning around the tie.
Dean's breathing hard when Sam pulls his fingers out, chest rising and falling wildly and body soaked in sweat. Sam litters his chest and stomach with soothing kisses, mumbling comforts into the skin as he slides a condom on and rubs some of the left-over lube into the rubber.
He strokes his hand across Dean's hips and closes his fist around Dean's cock as he lines himself at his brother's entrance. Dean's breathing is still heavy, arms straining against the restraints and hips trying desperately to grind down onto the warmth he wants so badly. His lips forms a word that looks suspiciously like please around the gag, and Sam pushes forward, thrusting through the barriers of muscle and tightness.
His brother feels incredible around him, and it's all he can do to keep from jerking in all the way and just burying himself in Dean, never coming out again. But Dean's trembling beneath him, and he leans forward to shush into his ear, placing gentle kisses into the flushed skin underneath his mouth. Slowly, slowly, Dean relaxes around him again, and when Sam presses further forward he writhes slightly, another moan bleeding through the cloth in his mouth.
Sam gasps tightly, breath choking in his throat, and pulls back before slamming forward again. His brother arcs up into him, pulled short by the chains holding him steady, and the reminder of the restraints drives Sam closer to the edge, until he's thrusting into Dean without thought, just wantneedwant. Dean groans and moans and pants like a whore beneath him, Sam's hands jerking him roughly until he shudders and comes with a harsh, muffled cry.
It leaves his body clenching around Sam's cock, and it only takes a few more thrusts before Sam is coming too, moaning out his brother's name weakly and collapsing on top of Dean.
He lies there for a few moments longer, savouring the feel of Dean's heartbeat against his skin, then rolls off and out, pulling off the condom with a quick movement. He ties it shut and tosses it into the bin before turning his attention back to Dean.
The ankle cuffs come off first, and Sam massages his brother's calves and feet until feeling returns and the skin is lightly flushed pink. Then he does the same for Dean's wrists, freeing his hands and arms from the binds and rubbing at them until Dean's stopped grimacing. The gag is next, and then the blindfold - which Sam hesitates on, afraid of what he'll see in Dean's eyes.
He's greeted with a warm, sleepy smile, and Dean draws him close, eyes closing and mouth opening in a yawn.
"Sleep, Sammy," he mutters, nuzzling his head contentedly into Sam's shoulder. "Stop thinking. We can think tomorrow, if you really want. For now, just sleep."
And Sam thinks of arguing, but Dean hasn't looked so peaceful in months, so he just shuts his eyes and his mouth and drifts off into a dreamless sleep.