From What I've Tasted of Desire (SPN fic)
From What I've Tasted of Desire
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Warning: This story contains explicit sex between Sam and Dean, also elements of dubious consent and bondage.
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"A little water, Sammy," said Dean, cradling Sam’s big head in his blunt hands. "C’mon, now, just a taste." He wet Sam’s lips with the edge of a glass and Sam managed to take in a sip. "There you go, s’good, huh?" asked Dean, his voice gruff and familiar, pushing back Sam’s hair from his face. "Have a little more. Drink, Sam."
Sam felt like an animal, the rough touch of Dean’s hands the only thing that made any sense, the necessity of water and shelter and Dean. "That’s good," said Dean, coaxing more liquid down his throat. "Gotta keep you hydrated, the way you’re sweating."
He was sitting in the back seat of the Impala, Sam realized, sideways in the doorframe with his feet resting on the ground. Dean was half-crouched in front of him with that scrunchy look on his face, the one that meant he was in for a full-on big brothering.
And he was so hot. What had happened? A hunt - had they been on a hunt?
"D’n," he slurred, hoping it would capture the essence of all his questions.
"You’re alright, just a little screwed up at the moment, Sammy," said Dean, "but you’ll be okay. The spirit’s gone. We got it. You just didn’t duck fast enough."
Duck? He was hurt? He didn’t feel hurt, just hot. There was some kind of itching burn in his stomach, but it wasn't terrible. He felt around for a wound and couldn't find one.
He did notice that his silver knife was gone from his belt. He didn't think he had dropped it. The shotgun was out of sight too - had Dean taken it?
Dean was reaching for his wrists, checking his pulse. With his other hand, he rummaged in the battered med kit that was sitting open on the seat. “I want you to relax,” he said, “try and get some sleep. I’m going to give you something to help, okay?”
He pulled something out of the box that he kept hidden in his hand. Instinctively Sam tried to flinch away, but Dean hadn’t let go of Sam’s wrists, gently pinning his arms out straight in front of him. “Chill Sammy, little pinch.”
Sam grunted as the needle sunk into the crook of his elbow, even though Dean was being careful. “There we go,” said Dean, withdrawing the empty syringe, his thumb rubbing a little circle over the place it had gone in. “Feeling okay, Sammy? Feeling sleepy yet?”
Sam let his head drop back, dopey.
“That’s good,” said Dean, “go with that.” He hauled Sam to his feet, keeping a good grip on his upper arms as he guided him to the front of the car. Then he stuffed him through the door and folded him back over the seat.
Sam watched, blearily, as Dean leaned over him, holding a thin leather thong, the one they used to keep the wooden stakes bunched together.
“You gonna let me tie your hands?” Dean asked.
Sam didn’t understand, but he trusted Dean, so he shrugged and didn’t protest as Dean held his wrists together and looped the leather around them. He knew how to tie good knots: Sam tugged on the bonds and they didn’t give.
“There.” Dean patted Sam’s foot. "Gonna get you a hooker, Sammy," he said, licking his lips. "That sound good? You think you can hold out?"
Something about that sentence should have concerned Sam, he was sure, but with everything so fuzzy, he couldn’t quite work himself up to care. Dumbly, he nodded.
“Good,” said Dean. The edges of Sam’s vision blurred to white. “Go to sleep. You’re alright. You’re fine.”
It would have been more reassuring, except that Dean had said you're fine when Sam had been stabbed in the back, too, and that time he'd died.
***
"Jesus Bobby, he’s burning up."
Dean was driving one handed, with the phone on speaker on the dashboard. Sam realized he was lying across the seat, his head in Dean’s lap, and Dean’s hand was anxiously skating over his face. He tried to turn away from the touch, which was sparking something dark and itchy in his stomach, but found that he couldn’t move, still paralyzed by the effects of the drugs or whatever had attacked him.
"How far out," asked Bobby, voice tinny through the line.
"Another hour, maybe,” said Dean, glancing at the clock. "We’re just outside of Reno now. So far the kid's still asleep. He just needs to get his dick wet and he’ll be fine, right?"
They had been in the Sierra Nevadas, Sam recollected vaguely, hunting some Washoe spirit that was causing hikers to tear each other apart. They had obviously found it, but something must have gone wrong - he just couldn’t remember the details … there was something, just on the edge of his mind, but he couldn’t reach for it …
"He ain’t gonna make it," said Bobby.
"What do you mean he won’t make it? He’ll make it!"
The skeptical silence was audible through the phone line. "Drive fast," said Bobby.
Dean cursed and Sam felt the car accelerate. That terrible burning was still inside of him, like something with claws was trapped in his stomach; he could feel it twisting and scratching and trying to get out. Sam wanted to moan, but barely managed a grunt through his dry throat.
“Shit,” said Bobby.
“What? Shit what?”
“I just found the spell. You can’t set him on a hooker the way he’s gonna be in an hour,” said Bobby, “he’ll tear her apart.”
Just like those hikers did to each other, thought Sam. Sweat was dripping down his face, and he wiped it on Dean’s jeans.
Dean ground his teeth together, then reached for the phone and took it off speaker. “Talk to me.” Whatever Bobby was saying, it made Dean tighten his grasp on Sam’s cheek, pressing his face even closer into the meat of his thigh. Sam had a sudden, irrational urge to open his mouth and bite down, hard, into that soft flesh.
He wanted that hooker now. Was sure Dean would pick out a good one for him.
“I got this, Bobby,” said Dean, his hand still on Sam’s face, brushing over his lax, slightly drooling lips. “It’s not going to be a problem, don’t worry.”
He heard the crackle of Bobby’s reply, and when he answered Dean’s voice was hard and flat. “I said I’ll take care of it. He’s gonna be fine. I gotta go.” Dean hung up one-handed and Sam felt the car changing directions, slowing down before taking a wide curve.
“Gonna be alright, Sammy,” said Dean.
He sounded terrified.
Sam passed out again.
***
He awoke as the car slowed to a stop, recognizing the texture of gravel under the tires. He still couldn’t move much, but there was progress: his fingers twitched.
The door opened, but he couldn’t turn his head to look. “How’s it going, Sleeping Beauty,” asked Dean in a voice that mean he wasn’t expecting a reply.
His hands gripped Sam’s shoulders and heaved him up, Sam’s head hanging limply from his neck until Dean cupped it to rest on his brother’s shoulder.
“Gotta weigh a frigging ton of course, not like I’ve got back problems these days from hauling your sorry ass everywhere,” Dean grumbled, grunting as he pulled Sam’s unresponsive body against him. “Stiff legs, Sam, c’mon - I can’t carry you, Gigantor.”
Sam couldn’t do much to help, but eventually Dean got the two of them out of the car and propped Sam against the doorframe. “You with me?” he asked, leaning back to see his face.
For a second Sam remembered everything clearly: the spirit throwing some kind of powder in his face; Dean, holding the flaming scalp. But then the heat rose up in him again and swept all such thoughts out of his mind. He was burning, he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stop himself from making a low, repetitive noise, like a whine, in the back of his throat. “Dean,” he gasped, dizzy and disoriented, “Dean, what ..?”
“It’s alright, Sammy, it’s alright, I gotcha, I gotcha.” Dean’s hands were back, on his shoulder and his upper arm, dragging him in close. Fingers slid up his neck and into his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling Sam’s head against Dean’s chest, pressing him possessively in. “Shh, Sam, it’s alright. Gonna be alright, Sammy.”
Sam knew it had to be really bad for Dean to be gentle with him; otherwise he wouldn’t be touching Sam at all, wouldn’t be clutching him so tight. He turned his face into Dean’s shoulder, muffling a sob.
But then the red wave washed over him again, and he sank his teeth down into the bone, until Dean cracked him across the temple until he slumped, dazed, against the roof of the car.
***
Sam woke up on his belly, just as Dean pulled down his shorts. He grunted as the air hit his bare ass, squirming.
“Sh, Sammy,” said Dean. “Shh. Lay still.”
“No,” said Sam. “Why are you - what - ”
His hands were still tied, Sam realized, looped tight to the headboard of the bed. He pulled on them futilely, but there was no give in the ropes. “Dean,” he bleated again.
They were in a hotel room, nicer than one of their usual stops; Dean had stripped the covers off the bed and set them up on the top sheet. Sam looked around for something to free himself, and found nothing.
“Come up on your knees,” directed Dean. He tugged Sam back by his hips, but the ropes binding his hands pulled Sam forward, stretching him out.
He could still feel the red wave of the curse, pounding at his temples, and in his dick, which was full and throbbing. He wanted to tear something apart, pound into something as hard as he could. Mindlessly, he humped against the mattress cover, wishing he could reach better. It felt good, relieving the ache that had built up in his balls, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
“Dean, man, wanna fuck you,” he said, and Jesus, that didn’t even sound like his voice, cracking and husky with need.
“Easy, Sam. It's alright, I'm here.”
He should have known something was wrong, because Dean didn’t even seem freaked out by the concept of them fucking, and there was no way that had come up in normal conversation. But then again, he wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
“Please, Dean, I’ll make you feel good,” he begged. “Open you up with my fingers and my tongue, put my mouth on your cock, you want that big brother? Want me to suck you down?”
He would do anything, anything, to push himself inside his brother’s body.
“You’re not fucking anybody, Sammy,” said Dean, “that’s what it wants, okay? It wants you to spread this around, but you’re not going to do it.”
“You can get a girl if you want,” he bargained. “You fuck her and I’ll fuck you, okay?”
“No, no, buddy, we’re not gonna do that. We’re gonna cure you. I’ve got a loophole, so just spread your legs a little, okay?”
Sam whimpered, not moving. His body liked Dean’s hands on him, sliding up over his sides, but he wanted to fuck, not lay still under Dean’s touch. He hissed, confused and overwhelmed.
“Steady, Sammy, here we go.” Dean settled one of his hands on each of Sam’s thighs, and with gentle pressure, he pulled them apart, wide as they could go with the jeans still half-on. He felt Dean's knee slide between his own, holding him open. Then a slick finger nudged between his cheeks, resting at the dimple of his anus.
That wasn't what the curse wanted. “No,” said Sam, trying to wiggle away up the bed, but Dean moved with him. “Please, Dean, just let me fuck you.”
“Easy, Sam,” said Dean, as he began to move the finger moved in a slow circle. Sam was so sensitive from the curse that just that touch sparked heat all through his stomach.
But he wanted to get free, flip Dean over onto his back, settle on top of him, and crush him into the mattress.
"Please, big brother, please, just - untie my hands."
Dean just pressed his finger gently forward, breaching the very outer rim of Sam’s hole. The pressure there was - strange, and the curse was still roiling in his dick. He forced himself to concentrate.
“No,” Sam begged shamelessly. “Please.” He was sure Dean wouldn't refuse him, couldn't ever deny Sam what he really needed.
Dean withdrew, and for a second Sam believed that he’d won, and that everything would be wonderful. Then he came back to the bed, leaning over Sam with what looked like a pillowcase in his hand.
“Sh, Sam, it’s going to be over soon,” Dean promised, his voice low. “Open for me.” Sam tried to twist his face away, but there was nowhere to go. Dean caught his chin held his jaw open, forcing the cloth into his mouth.
Sam flailed away, pushing at the fabric with his tongue, but it was wedged too tight to come out easily. He sobbed as Dean hauled him back into position, the sound trapped in his throat. His dick was so hard it was burning, and Dean wouldn’t let him fuck anybody, and he was going to die tied to this bed.
“Settle down, Sam,” said Dean. "Shshsh.”
He didn't waste any more time, spreading Sam's cheeks and holding him open. "Deep breath," he muttered, "let it out." Then he pressed his finger firmly past the fluttering ring of muscle and into Sam's asshole.
Sam groaned, muffled by the cloth in his mouth. Clearly Dean had gotten hold of some lube, and was using it generously, but it still felt weird, that long slippery slide right up his rectum. And it didn’t satisfy the demands of the curse.
Dean was silent as he worked the finger in and out, adding lube as necessary. Then he brought two fingers to rest at Sam’s entrance, and paused.
“You ever had anything in you before, Sammy?” he asked, sounding casual. “Fingers up your ass?”
Unable to speak, Sam shook his head no.
Dean hummed, sounding almost pleased. “Gonna be real careful,” he promised gruffly. “Try to make it good for you.”
He drew the fingers back and slopped a little more slick up there, massaging Sam's hole. The area felt almost as sensitive as his dick, and Sam grunted as he slid the first finger back in. He could feel himself clenching down around the intrusion, not quite pulling away.
Then Dean pushed in the tip of the second, scissoring them gently, stretching out the rim.
Sam moaned at the burn and tried to shift, held in place by Dean's knees wedged between his own on the bed. It hurt, kind of, but not … not bad. There was something to it, something that almost reached that itch inside of him. He wasn't sure if he should be trying to get closer or further away.
He felt Dean pull the pants off his legs, then hook a hand under his knee to spread him open wider. The part of his brain that was still rational was embarrassed at the thought of his brother seeing him this way. "You're fine, Sam," Dean soothed. He spread his fingers apart, easing them in further, rubbing lube around the edge with his other hand. "Just getting you ready for me."
Dean withdrew, and Sam felt his anus clenching down around nothing. He blew out a breath in an effort to stay calm, and held himself still, waiting to see what would happen, his heart pounding, every limb trembling in anticipation.
He felt Dean spread his cheeks and then his dick pressed, wet and slippery, against his asshole. Sam couldn’t seem to move away. Dean slid a hand underneath his belly and lifted his hips up higher.
“You gonna be good for me now?” he asked, cautiously.
Sam had a moment of clarity in which he realized how inane this was, before the heat rose up in him again and swept all such thoughts out of his mind. He just needed the heat of his brother’s touch, like he needed oxygen.
He felt the probing nudge, and his asshole stung as it was pushed open. The ache was sharp, back behind his balls. Something was making its way up inside him, as Dean kept his ass tipped up to make things easier.
He cried out as Dean pressed forward, his weight pushing Sam down and the pressure inside growing almost unbearable. His arms were stretched forward by the rope. Sam was choking on the pillowcase, groaning in protest, but his kicking legs just drove Dean deeper.
"Sh, Sam, almost, almost there," said Dean.
Sam might have screamed but the sound was caught in his gritted teeth. Dean drove steadily in as Sam strained against the invasion - deeper and deeper, as Sam mashed his face into the mattress, whimpering. His legs were pushed wide apart by the bulk of his brother's body, and Dean was still shouldering his way in. He hadn’t taken any clothes off, Sam realized - just unzipped his jeans and shoved things out of the way. The rasp of the denim was like sandpaper on the super-sensitive skin of his ass.
"Gotta relax," said Dean, rubbing at the stretched rim of Sam's asshole. "Push back against me. Okay? Can you do that for me?"
Sam tried, feebly, and felt Dean slide in another inch. He groaned, deep in his throat.
“Doin’ so good, Sammy,” Dean soothed, rubbing his side with a free hand. “Just relax, it'll get better in a minute.”
Sam abandoned any pretense at resistance and went limp, just letting his body swallow down his brother's dick - so deep, God - feeling it sink into him like a skewer, up through his stomach to his throat, like it would come out his mouth if it could.
Then finally, it stopped. Dean was draped over Sam’s back, as far in as he could go, and the stretch of Sam's hole settled into a dull throbbing between his legs.
“There you go,” Dean muttered, “that’s it, you got all of me now. S’it feel okay?”
Sam wouldn’t have known how to answer, if he could have. He could feel the whole length of Dean's shaft, buried inside of him. It seemed to be abnormally hot, like it might be scorching his guts.
He felt Dean nuzzling at his hair, and took a deep breath. Then he nodded, hesitantly.
"Gonna start moving now, nice and slow.” Dean backed out, and Sam felt himself close up. Then, from a different angle, Dean pushed in again, and Sam yelped. Dean shifted his angle and drove back in and out again, this time brushing over something that made Sam's body convulse.
He felt Dean chuckle against his shoulder, dark and knowing. “S'that the place?" he asked. His teeth skimmed Sam's ear.
He picked up a rhythm, sure to grind against the spot on each slick, dirty plunge. One of his hands was clamped around Sam’s hip, keeping him up on his knees and held steady, but with the other one he reached around to cup Sam's cock, letting him fuck into the circle of a palm with the force of Dean's thrusts.
“You like that?" asked Dean, quietly. Sam grunted. On the next stroke, he pushed back a little, taking it deeper. "Yeah, you like it,” said Dean. He squeezed a little harder, and sped up. “You gonna come for me, Sammy?"
Usually Sam would have tried to hold out, but with the curse riding him, demanding satisfaction, it was impossible. He braced against the headboard, pushing back against Dean's belly, which was a warm sweaty line against his spine. Strange noises were coming out of his mouth through the gag, whining little pleas and gasps of pleasure, muffled through fabric.
Dean tightened his fist, roughly jacking Sam’s cock up and down to the root. “Come on, Sammy. Let it happen. That’s it, just let it go.” Sam shuddered, fighting the ropes, as every muscle in his body tightened up. “That’s it, there you go, there you go, Sam.”
Sam gave it up, moaning into the pillowcase, and felt his hips thrusting over and over into the mattress top as he came. Dean fucked him through it, lifting his hips to jackhammer into him a few more times, and then followed, filling his ass up with come.
As his cock emptied, Sam felt the curse leaving him in a rush as well. He was light-headed and dizzy in its wake.
After a moment, Dean peeled himself off, dragging his dick out of Sam. They both gasped at the sensation, and then Sam rolled over onto his side, with his eyes closed.
Dean recovered first and helped him to flip all the way over, the give of the ropes enough to allow him to lie on his back.
“Sam? You good?” asked Dean, cupping his chin, helping him to spit out the wadded pillowcase. He used the silver knife, which was stashed in his ankle holster, to cut the leather binding his hands.
Sam flopped back, still panting and feeling week.
“Lemme take a look, Sammy,” said Dean, one hand under his tailbone, one hand lifting Sam’s leg up.
Sam supposed he should have been embarrassed, now that he wasn’t under the curse, to be on his back with his legs wide open, but someone he wasn’t. He was too tired and sore to protest, and really, this was only the tip of the iceberg of the things Dean had seen today
Dean was using the pillowcase to clean him up; his chest and his stomach where he’d iced himself (Dean soaked the cloth in holy water first, he noted). He disappeared for a minute, and Sam didn’t move - when he returned, he brought a washcloth down between Sam’s legs, right back to his asshole which, he realized, was dribbling out Dean’s come.
“Shsh,” Dean muttered, when Sam jerked at the feel of it. “S’alright, Sammy, gonna get that cleaned up. Shh. You just rest okay? You feeling better?”
Sam nodded, and groaned. “Jeez, Dean, you couldn’t have used a condom?” he protested, his voice cracking pitifully.
“I was afraid it would interfere with the curse,” said Dean, carefully pressing the cloth to Sam’s sore hole. He had warmed the water and it felt good.
“If you’ve given me VD I’m gonna punch you in the nose,” Sam managed to warn him.
“Well sorry Sam, but with you begging for my cock and all, I guess I just felt kind of rushed.”
Sam let his head drop back, smiling. It was kind of weird that they were teasing like this, like brothers, as Dean was cleaning his own come out of Sam’s ass - but it made Sam feel better, too, back on more familiar ground. Dean loved him, and this was just one more way he’d proven it, and maybe it didn’t have to change anything between them.
“Thanks, Dean,” he muttered, looking down at himself. Naked and spent, and thank God his cock didn’t even twitch when Dean carefully wiped it off.
“No problem,” said Dean, reaching for the blankets on the floor to cover him up. He hesitated by the side of the bed. “You want some more drugs, sleep this off? You wake up, this whole thing’ll just seem like a bad dream.”
Sam shook his head no, turning on his side.
“You sure?”
“Nah, s’alright,” said Sam drowsily, his eyes sliding themselves closed. “How `bout we just … add this to the list … of things we don’t talk about.”
Dean’s hand drifted over his forehead, pulled the blankets up around his neck. “Sounds good,” he said, turning out the light.
FIN
[posted to Bottom_Sammy]