Fic: Got Me In A Stranglehold, Baby. SPN. Sam/Dean. NC-17.
It’s Dean’s 30th birthday and I thought he would like some porn. *g*
Title: Got Me In a Stranglehold, Baby
Author: felisblanco
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Let’s say NC-17, to be sure
Word count: 1816 words
Warning: Asphyxiation
Summary: Pissed off Sam and turned on Dean. Sam’s fed up with the “Sammy’s getting choked, must be Thursday” rule. (And still he slams Dean into a wall to get that point across. Seriously, these guys need therapy. Lol)
Author’s note: I found this half-finished ficlet on my hard drive this week and wrapped it up with some extra 1000 words. Beta’d by winchesterxgirl but I made a few changes since so all and any mistakes are mine.
Later Dean thinks he should have seen it coming. Not like he doesn’t know his brother. Knows him like the back of his hand, like the curves of his knuckles and the cut-off lines of his palms. He knows every expression that’s ever floated across his brother’s face, can interpret every sigh and read every ache from the way Sam moves his body. And still this, this one move, it takes him completely by surprise.
Splinters edge in under his skin as his back is pressed against the rough wood and he thinks he can feel blood trickling down the back of his neck from where his head hit the wall. His heels kick uselessly, feet dangling three inches above the floor. He’s got his fingers wrapped around Sam’s wrists but his hold is slipping along with his chances of getting loose. Everything’s slipping away, his vision tunneling until all he sees are Sam’s eyes, narrow with fury. That’s what he holds on to, the size of Sam’s pupils, tiny dots in a sea of hazel. Not huge and black and terrifying.
Angry Sam he’s used to. Angry Sam he can handle. Angry Sam… is slowly choking him to death.
“Sa-amm-y…” his voice isn’t even a whisper, just a wheezed out whistle of what feels like his last breath.
“No. You lied to me. You told me you had it covered. You promised you wouldn’t do something this stupid again. And what happened? This happened.”
Dean’s brain rattles in his skull as his head is slammed into the wall, once, twice, long fingers tightening even further around his throat.
“To me. Again!”
“Sssorryy…”
“You think I enjoy having the life choked out of me?” Sam continues, as if he doesn’t even hear him. “You think I find it funny that every time, every single time, I’m the one being squeezed to fucking death? You think this turns me on?”
Dean can’t help it. His eyes, already at the bursting point, widen even further, the wall bruising his hips as they jerk forward and slam back. Even through the haze of near unconsciousness he can clearly see the moment realization hits Sam. The angry words forming on his tongue are sucked back in through a sharp intake of breath and he blinks slowly.
Dean is sure that this is it, this is where Sam up and leaves. This is the moment Dean’s always known would come and has dreaded his whole life. The moment where he fucks up so badly that nothing he says or does will ever make them okay again.
But seconds tick by and Sam is still there, fingers wrapped around Dean’s throat, warm breath brushing his face.
“This turns you on,” he finally says and it’s not a question. He looks slightly dazed but the anger is gone from his eyes, replaced with something Dean doesn’t know how to interpret. “Fingers around your throat, choking you.” He seems to catch the denial in Dean’s frantic struggle to breathe because he shakes his head slowly and corrects himself. “No, not fingers, my fingers. Me, doing this, turns you on.”
Dean closes his eyes. The pressure is fading away from inside his skull, making way for the kind of lightheadedness that precedes losing consciousness. Just as he’s slipping away the grip eases around his throat and he draws in a raspy breath, wheezing in air through his bruised windpipe. Sam doesn’t let him go though and it’s slowly dawning on Dean that even with all of Sam’s ridiculous upper strength he shouldn’t be able to hold Dean up like this, not this long. A fact that should scare him but he’s way past scared. He’s way past thinking of anything but Sam’s fingers crushing his throat, Sam’s breath sneaking into his mouth and Sam’s warmth burning his skin.
“I could kill you, so easily,” Sam whispers, so close Dean can taste his breath. “Is that what you want?”
Dean’s eyes snap open and he blinks repeatedly, frantic. “Nhgh…”
Sam nods. He’s looking calm now, almost calculating, and again Dean seeks his eyes for the black tar of a demon. There’s nothing. Just Sam, watching Dean like he’s a puzzle Sam wants to solve. Like he’s slowly figuring something out that was always there but he just couldn’t see it. It has Dean panicking in the small part of his brain that isn’t smothered by lust, need or lack of oxygen.
Sam steps closer, bringing them hip to hip, belly to belly, and there’s no way for Dean to hide it anymore. He whimpers when his cock rubs against the rough seam of his jeans, hard and unyielding and pressing into Sam.
“This is what you want,” Sam says, shifts his hips and just like that Dean can feel it, the length of Sam’s mirroring hardness pushing into his thigh. “You want me to fuck you, that it?”
Dean groans deep in his chest, his hands flapping uselessly by his sides.
“Dean, do you want me to fuck you?”
He closes his eyes, one long moment, and then opens them, staring into Sam’s and blinks slowly, once, twice.
“Yes. That is what you want,” Sam says and smiles. “For me to fuck you while I have my fingers wrapped around your throat. To fuck you. While I slowly. And certainly. Choke you. To death.”
The fingers tighten with every punctuation until they’re strangling him just as tightly as before and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head. He’s jerking, his body dancing like a string puppet, fighting for air but above that fighting for friction, for Sam to just fucking do something.
“Look at you. So desperate. So needy. So goddamn hungry for it.” Sam chuckles, low and hoarse, his cock twitching against Dean’s thigh. “Bet if I told you to, you’d fucking beg for it. Cry like the little bitch you are.”
He eases his grip a little, enough for Dean to regain focus and glare at his brother. “Fuck you,” is what he tries to say but it comes out like a strangled groan that has Sam smirking, the evil bastard.
“Yeah?” he says, like he got it anyway and then suddenly he steps back, letting go of Dean as abruptly as he’d first grabbed him. Dean falls down to his knees, hands to his throat. He’s gasping for breath but at the same time his fingers itch to close around his throat, to get that sweet pressure back. He looks up at Sam through bloodshot eyes, not sure what exactly he’s playing at. Sam looks back, his lips slightly parted as he slowly flexes his fingers. Waiting.
Dean closes his eyes for a second, ignoring the tears that brim over at the corners. They both know they’re from the pressure and lack of air, nothing else. He sucks in a raspy breath then slowly lowers his hands, resting them on his thighs before looking up. “Please.”
Sam tilts his head. “What was that?”
“Please,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. “I want you to…” He stops, the words stuck in his bruised throat. He blinks, swallows painfully, then looks up and whispers, “Sammy.”
He’s on his back before he has time to think of what he’s begging for, Sam’s fingers back at his throat, squeezing it so hard he sees stars. There are fingers fumbling at his waist, popping open the buttons on his jeans and then tugging them forcefully down. He has some fleeting thought about condoms and slick but then there are fingers wrapped around his cock, tugging and stroking him hard and fast while Sam’s other hand tightens around his throat and that’s it, he’s done.
He comes so hard his back lifts from the floor, his boots kicking at the dirty linoleum and hands flapping at his sides. He can feel his own come hit his chin and then Sam’s leaning over, hand pressing further down on his throat. There’s hot breath on his skin and then an even hotter tongue licking the wet splatter off his skin and then… nothing.
When he comes to he’s lying on the bed, stripped, covered and cleaned, with a cold wet towel draped over his throat. It hurts when he breathes and when he opens his eyes it takes him a moment to gather his vision.
“Dean?” A big shaggy head eclipses the yellow light and Dean blinks slowly, trying to focus. “Hey, you ok?” says Sam’s voice all hesitant and worried.
“Hey,” Dean croaks out, taking a moment to remember what happened. Then instantly tensing when he does. “Fuck,” he says and Sam pulls hastily back.
“Christ, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so damn sorry. God.” He covers his eyes with one shaky hand. “I almost killed you.”
“Sam…” Dean tries but has to stop, his throat refusing to cooperate.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Sam whispers. “I couldn’t stop. I just… I couldn’t stop.”
“‘S’ok,” Dean more mouths than utters. “Sammy…”
“No. No, it’s not. You stopped breathing. You… I had to do CPR, Dean.”
He moves to stand up but Dean grabs his wrist, stopping him. “Sammy,” he repeats because it seems to be the only word he can say that actually means something. “Sammy.” And he pulls Sam’s hand closer, up his chest, fumbling to pull the towel away before laying Sam’s shaky fingers upon his throat. He pulls in a raspy breath, eyes locked with Sam’s, and then he nods.
“Dean,” Sam sighs, sounding guilty and scared but underneath that Dean can detect lust and want. “No,” Sam says but he doesn’t move away. “I can’t. We shouldn’t.”
Dean closes his eyes. He feels drained and sore and like he might never be able to swallow another cheeseburger in his life. He’s thirsty and tired and ok, maybe a little freaked that he just got jerked off while being choked by his brother, but what he does feel above everything else is relieved. And aching to do it all over again, this time with Sam pounding him into the mattress.
He opens his eyes and gazes up at Sam, feeling his face flush hot as his pupils widen. “You said,” he whispers, “you’d fuck me.” He coughs then adds with a smirk. “Pussy.”
Sam stares at him. Dean can feel Sam’s pulse racing under his fingertips where he still holds Sam’s hand against his throat. Time seems to stand still but then suddenly Sam breathes out and the fear in his eyes disappears.
“Think you can take me?” he asks in a low teasing voice, only a little unsteady. “Think you can take my cock, Dean? You know how big it is.”
“Bring it on,” Dean challenges him, his own dick already growing hard against his thigh.
He smiles when Sam’s fingers slowly but surely curl around his throat.
fin
And now I'm going to celebrate hubby's 36th birthday with some other form of porn. Probably cake and kissing. *g*
Title: Got Me In a Stranglehold, Baby
Author: felisblanco
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Let’s say NC-17, to be sure
Word count: 1816 words
Warning: Asphyxiation
Summary: Pissed off Sam and turned on Dean. Sam’s fed up with the “Sammy’s getting choked, must be Thursday” rule. (And still he slams Dean into a wall to get that point across. Seriously, these guys need therapy. Lol)
Author’s note: I found this half-finished ficlet on my hard drive this week and wrapped it up with some extra 1000 words. Beta’d by winchesterxgirl but I made a few changes since so all and any mistakes are mine.
Later Dean thinks he should have seen it coming. Not like he doesn’t know his brother. Knows him like the back of his hand, like the curves of his knuckles and the cut-off lines of his palms. He knows every expression that’s ever floated across his brother’s face, can interpret every sigh and read every ache from the way Sam moves his body. And still this, this one move, it takes him completely by surprise.
Splinters edge in under his skin as his back is pressed against the rough wood and he thinks he can feel blood trickling down the back of his neck from where his head hit the wall. His heels kick uselessly, feet dangling three inches above the floor. He’s got his fingers wrapped around Sam’s wrists but his hold is slipping along with his chances of getting loose. Everything’s slipping away, his vision tunneling until all he sees are Sam’s eyes, narrow with fury. That’s what he holds on to, the size of Sam’s pupils, tiny dots in a sea of hazel. Not huge and black and terrifying.
Angry Sam he’s used to. Angry Sam he can handle. Angry Sam… is slowly choking him to death.
“Sa-amm-y…” his voice isn’t even a whisper, just a wheezed out whistle of what feels like his last breath.
“No. You lied to me. You told me you had it covered. You promised you wouldn’t do something this stupid again. And what happened? This happened.”
Dean’s brain rattles in his skull as his head is slammed into the wall, once, twice, long fingers tightening even further around his throat.
“To me. Again!”
“Sssorryy…”
“You think I enjoy having the life choked out of me?” Sam continues, as if he doesn’t even hear him. “You think I find it funny that every time, every single time, I’m the one being squeezed to fucking death? You think this turns me on?”
Dean can’t help it. His eyes, already at the bursting point, widen even further, the wall bruising his hips as they jerk forward and slam back. Even through the haze of near unconsciousness he can clearly see the moment realization hits Sam. The angry words forming on his tongue are sucked back in through a sharp intake of breath and he blinks slowly.
Dean is sure that this is it, this is where Sam up and leaves. This is the moment Dean’s always known would come and has dreaded his whole life. The moment where he fucks up so badly that nothing he says or does will ever make them okay again.
But seconds tick by and Sam is still there, fingers wrapped around Dean’s throat, warm breath brushing his face.
“This turns you on,” he finally says and it’s not a question. He looks slightly dazed but the anger is gone from his eyes, replaced with something Dean doesn’t know how to interpret. “Fingers around your throat, choking you.” He seems to catch the denial in Dean’s frantic struggle to breathe because he shakes his head slowly and corrects himself. “No, not fingers, my fingers. Me, doing this, turns you on.”
Dean closes his eyes. The pressure is fading away from inside his skull, making way for the kind of lightheadedness that precedes losing consciousness. Just as he’s slipping away the grip eases around his throat and he draws in a raspy breath, wheezing in air through his bruised windpipe. Sam doesn’t let him go though and it’s slowly dawning on Dean that even with all of Sam’s ridiculous upper strength he shouldn’t be able to hold Dean up like this, not this long. A fact that should scare him but he’s way past scared. He’s way past thinking of anything but Sam’s fingers crushing his throat, Sam’s breath sneaking into his mouth and Sam’s warmth burning his skin.
“I could kill you, so easily,” Sam whispers, so close Dean can taste his breath. “Is that what you want?”
Dean’s eyes snap open and he blinks repeatedly, frantic. “Nhgh…”
Sam nods. He’s looking calm now, almost calculating, and again Dean seeks his eyes for the black tar of a demon. There’s nothing. Just Sam, watching Dean like he’s a puzzle Sam wants to solve. Like he’s slowly figuring something out that was always there but he just couldn’t see it. It has Dean panicking in the small part of his brain that isn’t smothered by lust, need or lack of oxygen.
Sam steps closer, bringing them hip to hip, belly to belly, and there’s no way for Dean to hide it anymore. He whimpers when his cock rubs against the rough seam of his jeans, hard and unyielding and pressing into Sam.
“This is what you want,” Sam says, shifts his hips and just like that Dean can feel it, the length of Sam’s mirroring hardness pushing into his thigh. “You want me to fuck you, that it?”
Dean groans deep in his chest, his hands flapping uselessly by his sides.
“Dean, do you want me to fuck you?”
He closes his eyes, one long moment, and then opens them, staring into Sam’s and blinks slowly, once, twice.
“Yes. That is what you want,” Sam says and smiles. “For me to fuck you while I have my fingers wrapped around your throat. To fuck you. While I slowly. And certainly. Choke you. To death.”
The fingers tighten with every punctuation until they’re strangling him just as tightly as before and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head. He’s jerking, his body dancing like a string puppet, fighting for air but above that fighting for friction, for Sam to just fucking do something.
“Look at you. So desperate. So needy. So goddamn hungry for it.” Sam chuckles, low and hoarse, his cock twitching against Dean’s thigh. “Bet if I told you to, you’d fucking beg for it. Cry like the little bitch you are.”
He eases his grip a little, enough for Dean to regain focus and glare at his brother. “Fuck you,” is what he tries to say but it comes out like a strangled groan that has Sam smirking, the evil bastard.
“Yeah?” he says, like he got it anyway and then suddenly he steps back, letting go of Dean as abruptly as he’d first grabbed him. Dean falls down to his knees, hands to his throat. He’s gasping for breath but at the same time his fingers itch to close around his throat, to get that sweet pressure back. He looks up at Sam through bloodshot eyes, not sure what exactly he’s playing at. Sam looks back, his lips slightly parted as he slowly flexes his fingers. Waiting.
Dean closes his eyes for a second, ignoring the tears that brim over at the corners. They both know they’re from the pressure and lack of air, nothing else. He sucks in a raspy breath then slowly lowers his hands, resting them on his thighs before looking up. “Please.”
Sam tilts his head. “What was that?”
“Please,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. “I want you to…” He stops, the words stuck in his bruised throat. He blinks, swallows painfully, then looks up and whispers, “Sammy.”
He’s on his back before he has time to think of what he’s begging for, Sam’s fingers back at his throat, squeezing it so hard he sees stars. There are fingers fumbling at his waist, popping open the buttons on his jeans and then tugging them forcefully down. He has some fleeting thought about condoms and slick but then there are fingers wrapped around his cock, tugging and stroking him hard and fast while Sam’s other hand tightens around his throat and that’s it, he’s done.
He comes so hard his back lifts from the floor, his boots kicking at the dirty linoleum and hands flapping at his sides. He can feel his own come hit his chin and then Sam’s leaning over, hand pressing further down on his throat. There’s hot breath on his skin and then an even hotter tongue licking the wet splatter off his skin and then… nothing.
When he comes to he’s lying on the bed, stripped, covered and cleaned, with a cold wet towel draped over his throat. It hurts when he breathes and when he opens his eyes it takes him a moment to gather his vision.
“Dean?” A big shaggy head eclipses the yellow light and Dean blinks slowly, trying to focus. “Hey, you ok?” says Sam’s voice all hesitant and worried.
“Hey,” Dean croaks out, taking a moment to remember what happened. Then instantly tensing when he does. “Fuck,” he says and Sam pulls hastily back.
“Christ, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so damn sorry. God.” He covers his eyes with one shaky hand. “I almost killed you.”
“Sam…” Dean tries but has to stop, his throat refusing to cooperate.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Sam whispers. “I couldn’t stop. I just… I couldn’t stop.”
“‘S’ok,” Dean more mouths than utters. “Sammy…”
“No. No, it’s not. You stopped breathing. You… I had to do CPR, Dean.”
He moves to stand up but Dean grabs his wrist, stopping him. “Sammy,” he repeats because it seems to be the only word he can say that actually means something. “Sammy.” And he pulls Sam’s hand closer, up his chest, fumbling to pull the towel away before laying Sam’s shaky fingers upon his throat. He pulls in a raspy breath, eyes locked with Sam’s, and then he nods.
“Dean,” Sam sighs, sounding guilty and scared but underneath that Dean can detect lust and want. “No,” Sam says but he doesn’t move away. “I can’t. We shouldn’t.”
Dean closes his eyes. He feels drained and sore and like he might never be able to swallow another cheeseburger in his life. He’s thirsty and tired and ok, maybe a little freaked that he just got jerked off while being choked by his brother, but what he does feel above everything else is relieved. And aching to do it all over again, this time with Sam pounding him into the mattress.
He opens his eyes and gazes up at Sam, feeling his face flush hot as his pupils widen. “You said,” he whispers, “you’d fuck me.” He coughs then adds with a smirk. “Pussy.”
Sam stares at him. Dean can feel Sam’s pulse racing under his fingertips where he still holds Sam’s hand against his throat. Time seems to stand still but then suddenly Sam breathes out and the fear in his eyes disappears.
“Think you can take me?” he asks in a low teasing voice, only a little unsteady. “Think you can take my cock, Dean? You know how big it is.”
“Bring it on,” Dean challenges him, his own dick already growing hard against his thigh.
He smiles when Sam’s fingers slowly but surely curl around his throat.
fin
And now I'm going to celebrate hubby's 36th birthday with some other form of porn. Probably cake and kissing. *g*