Fanfic - SPN: Eager - Ch. 4 - Breathe
Title: Eager [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Four: Breathe
Dean looked up at his brother, but Sam had already turned back to the toy box. Then he looked down at his hands, bound by metal, and he threw a wet blanket on the fire of his panic. What choice did he have? The more he fought, the worse it got.
He breathed in, slow, and out again, slower, trying to prepare, if that was even possible, for the supposed 'fun' that would come next. He slid back on the bed and laid down, putting his hands over his head and trying not to imagine what would leave the box when Sam lifted his hands. Part of him wanted to let his eyes close, let him rest almost, but a bigger part of him wanted to have as much information as possible about what was going on around him. When Sam came around with a medical pack in tow, though, he nearly wished that he had closed his eyes.
"Sam? … What- …"
"Does it matter?" Sam quirked his head to the side. "I'm going to do it anyway, so … does it really matter what the plan is?"
Dean's eyes wandered some from Sam's as he chewed his teeth, then they turned back. "Just- … I know, but- … just tell me … please, Sam- sir."
Sam slid a knee onto the bed and set the med kit down, popping the two front latches while Dean watched. "We have lots of things to play with. I already told you that. Some of them are more unusual than others, but many are pretty common." He pulled out a wad of somethings wrapped in white and green. Then he let his fingers fall a little and the wad became a string … of individually prepackaged needles.
Dean's mouth suddenly felt as dry as the desert. "Sam … I don't- …"
"Understand?" Sam's brow was furrowed as he pulled out a shallow plastic box and pack of disinfectant wipes. "What's to understand, Dean? I said I would hurt you tonight, teach you a lesson." He shrugged. "This is how I decided to do that."
Dean was finding it difficult to breath, the air rushing in and out of him without actually providing his brain with any oxygen. "You're gonna … make me into a pincushion?"
Sam paused for a moment, seeming to puzzle over his words. "Not really, no. I mean … it'll be needle play, but all the piercings will be shallow, right under the skin. That's where most of your nerves are concentrated, though, so … don't worry." He smiled, almost gently. "I don't need to stab you through to give you all the pain that I want you to take."
Dean shivered at the rip of a disinfectant packet and shook his head, internally frantic. "No."
Sam barely looked up from his work, shaking the folds out of the wipe. "Do you want me to give you the four-poster treatment? Make sure you can't move even an inch more than I want you to?"
Dean's head stalled, knowing his current bindings were more than enough, and he flinched but didn't really move as Sam began to wipe over his skin, from the base of his neck to the bottom edge of his chest, before tossing the old wipe in a small plastic box from the med kit. It had a biohazard symbol and an oddly shaped top. Sam shook out another wipe, rubbing across and down Dean's abdomen as Dean swallowed, jutting his jaw at the labeled bin. "That's just for trash, right?"
He could hear the rolled eyes in Sam's snorted "yeah." Then Sam was tossing and wiping again, Dean's cock twitching at the play of Sam's fingers in and around his navel. "You like that?"
"No." Dean grumbled as he turned his head away, feeling the alcohol, or whatever it was, evaporate into the air and leave his skin cool.
"You gonna watch or what?"
Dean's head swiveled back to look at his brother, who had disposed of the last cleansing wipe and was popping open the first needle. Dean's eyes slid to the needle and hung there, his breath moving but unhelpful for the purposes of speech right then.
"I'm gonna do your abs first, alright? Just breathe deep and try to relax."
Dean's breath only sped faster as Sam moved so he could lean directly over his body. Sam was sturdy and focused, but Dean was seriously on the verge of freaking out. It wasn't just the one needle that was worrying him, though; that would only be one sadistic pinprick he couldn't escape. No, he was thinking about all the others still bunched together in their sterile little packaging. "Sam- … Sam, come on." There was a nervous flutter in his voice that didn't fit his vision of himself, but all he could see in his mind's eye was his body covered in needles, stuck through like he'd lost a fight with some metal alien cactus.
Sam didn't shift his concentration, though, reaching calmly to try and pinch a patch of skin on Dean's right abdomen, just below his pecs. The skin was pretty taut, stretched toughly over the muscle underneath, and Sam pursed his lips. "Well, that's unfortunate."
Dean had been working not to move, unsure if this would be like a bee sting - more and worse if he manifested his panic in fruitless attempts to flee. Now, however, he was entirely too anxious to contain himself. "What? What?!"
"Calm down. Just calm down and breathe deep."
He didn't calm down and he didn't breathe deep, but both of Sam's hands were next to his skin already and the pinch went a little deeper this time, a point that ached as he clenched his fists above his head. His grunt seemed long as the first needle pushed its way into his skin, like the digging of a woman's pointed nails intent to draw blood or, in this case, intent to get inside him, through him, and out the other side with a painful but inaudible pop.
Sam sat back on his knees to survey his handiwork. "One down, twenty-four to go."
"What?! No. No!" He could feel the strange mix of cool and warm as the metal sat under his skin and his body responded to the invader. The dull ache that the needle carried was bearable, really, but the entry and exit would leave him dazed after one dozen, let alone two. "No!"
Sam's power hit him like a slab of rock before he'd even had a chance to really struggle. "I said calm down!"
Tendrils of heat wrapped at his wrists and pressed them deeper into the pillows, heavy, like they were being sat on. He really couldn't move this time, paralyzed by Sam's will and Sam wasn't even looking at him. "Sam?"
"I don't want to hear you- …" His voice was soft, falling off mid-sentence without fading, but then he cleared his throat and lifted steely eyes. "If you were really a good whore, you wouldn't beg me to stop doing something that pleases me. You'd want to please me even if it hurt you."
There was something in Sam's eyes that wavered, that wasn't wholly committed, and Dean pulled at it, gentling his voice. "Is this what pleases you, Sam? Hurting me like this? Is this really what you want?"
The doubt fled in a blink and Sam's eyes flashed dangerously, the line of his lips hardening. "What I want is to not have to worry about you fucking up every time I'm not here to hold your hand and beat you black and blue. That's what I want … and this, yes, I want this."
"Okay." The word was soft and came slowly, a measure of consent that worried Dean some, but didn't completely surprise him. He wouldn't be able to get away from this if it was what Sam wanted anyway, but he was entirely sincere as if there was a choice, as if he'd decided to please Sam this way, because it felt like he had. He couldn't let that flicker of something more than darkness go unpursued.
"Okay?" Sam said the word slowly with one eyebrow tilted upwards.
Dean nodded slowly, watching his brother and remembering the words here, the way he was supposed to craft his speech as well as himself. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Sam was already back to business, already reaching for another needle, popping it out and leaning to pinch just under the left side of Dean's chest, but he paused with a huff of impatience. "Breathe, Dean."
Dean blinked, exhaled, and inhaled, not having realized that he'd been holding it. Then he was sucking the next breath in through his teeth as needle number two lanced through him.
"No more breaks." The third needle was in Sam's hand and Dean's skin was pinched on the right again, just south of the first.
Three. Dean grunted and found himself breathing hard, but he couldn't keep watching. His eyes found the sway of Sam's hair. "Fuck." Four. There was blood, a warm trickle over the edge of his left side. Five. He'd have holes, not bullet wounds or knife wounds but tiny needled holes. Six. The ache was building, evenly distributed on both sides of his abs. Seven. He wondered if this was ruining the muscle underneath, if he'd tear or something the next time he tried to do a sit-up while he waited for Sam. Eight. "Fuck!" It felt like a dull pain was rolling from his chest to his groin and back, peaking wherever the new needles went. Nine. Ten. How many of these had Sam said they were going to do?
"Five more in each of these rows … then we can do your nipples." Sam chuckled, smug, and grabbed Dean's left nipple, nearly lifting him off the bed with his pulling.
Dean arched upwards, wrists still weighted by Sam's power, and groaned deeply, its pitch changing as he felt the needles shift with his movement. "S- …" He would have pleaded with his brother, but he stopped, knowing that wasn't what Sam wanted to hear and that it wouldn't help anything. So he just clenched his fists and jaw tighter until the burning stretch of his brother's fingers on his nipple disappeared and he could drop back to the bed, breathing again and only a little worse for wear.
He turned his head to watch the wall, the windows, and the desk. Eleven through twenty went by faster than he'd thought they would, the leftover pain from his abused chest slipping down the front of his body, confusing his response to the continued dig, slide, and tear of needle after needle. When Sam stopped and let his fingers play down the parallel rows of flesh-piercing metal, Dean's breath caught, eyelids flipping shut as his cock wondered where these internal sensations came from, how something that wasn't dick or demonic powers had slid its way into his body. His eyes shifted open again, though, as Sam pulled his hand away and spoke.
"This is gonna hurt a hell of a lot more. You want something to bite?" Sam carried the conversation as if this situation was really one that Dean wanted to be in, as if Sam reaching for a new needle wasn't about Sam wanting him to hurt.
"You?" It wasn't exactly sarcastic, but the former sharpness in his voice had been whittled down as he'd gritted his teeth through the aching intrusion of the twenty needles already decorating his body.
Sam sighed, frustrated though it held the fading end of a laugh. "Nevermind."
"Wait- …"
"No." Sam's pinkie skimmed along beside Dean's left nipple as he handled the needle, holding it over its mark, lining it up so it would slide in whatever way he wanted.
For Dean, the first push of the needle into his skin hurt like a bullet instead of something half the size of a toothpick, but then it just kept going. He heard himself shouting but couldn't control it. There was some knife-like thing shoving its way into a too-sensitive area, shoving but not breaking skin for a moment, denting everything deeply inward before beginning to truly carve its way through. It should have been a relief to finally pierce the resistant flesh, but everything was wound so tight that getting the needle in didn't release the pressure or even speed up the process. It felt like it all had been going on forever before the needle finally pierced its way out the other side, Dean's trim nails nearly cutting into the skin of his palms. By then Dean's shout had faded and there was a haze on the horizon of his mind, born of accumulating pain. Sam didn't even speak before going for another needle and angling for the other nipple. Dean just clenched his eyes shut and groaned, denting deeper crescents into his hands as needle twenty-two pushed its way through.
"Mmmm. Vertical." The lustful sway of Sam's voice brought Dean's eyes back to him and his words forced Dean to find his own voice, scratchy with pain and tangled with confusion.
"Isn't that hor- horizontal? Or- …" Or am I really hurting that badly?
"No, no. We're going to do the vertical ones now."
"Not- ... You don't mean up here again, do you?"
Rather than answer, Sam just stared at him for a moment then reached for Dean's recently pierced left nipple, pinching and pulling it savagely until felt like all the tissue between his fingers and the needle had been stomped flat and stretched out like a tarp.
Dean screamed, legs scrambling as if he really could get away, and when Sam let go, he had to blink back the water in his eyes.
"Painful, right?"
Dean tried his damndest not to be a smartass and just nodded warily.
"And you need pain to learn lessons, right?"
He opened his mouth to reject that proposition, but didn't succeed, all too aware of Sam's fingers hovering just a flick away from his chest. "Yes, sir."
"Then you should be grateful that you can learn this now and avoid more pain later. Isn't that right?"
He knew the right answer but he paused anyway, watching how easy this was for his brother, how simple the equation seemed to him.
"Dean?"
"Yes, sir."
Sam nodded, barely taking his eyes off of Dean as he grabbed two more needles and freed one from its case. Dean couldn't watch the first needle or its comrade go in, but his enduring was colored by his brother's suggestion that this was the lesser of two evils. His clenched fists ached almost as much as his chest, but maybe this was better than whatever worse fate he would've faced otherwise. As the veritable arbitrator of that fate now, Sam was really the only one who knew the answer for sure, but Dean had yet to see him offer punishment kindly, so this probably was the lesser evil, no matter how much it hurt.
"Last one." Sam pulled back to rummage in the medkit before lifting his find into Dean's view. It was a long needle, at least twice the length of the ones that Sam had been using.
Dean just didn't really understand. "Won't that stick out too much?"
"No. It'll just run through a few times." The twitch in Sam's lips quickly became a grin and Dean felt his stomach jump, but then Sam's palm was pressing down on it, fingers stretching the needle over his navel, just above the skin. "The needle gets duller every time it goes through, so I need you to breathe deep for me, okay?"
"Duller? What does that have to- ..." His words morphed into a grunt as Sam pushed the needle partway up through a bit of flesh at the bottom of his navel, wiggling the metal enough to shake drips of blood loose before positioning the tip to shove through the top of the navel and out again. In this case, the duller point meant Dean was slamming his head back against the pillows and baring his teeth as the needle tore more than sliced through skin on its second pass. The third pass didn't complete, but it didn't hurt any less as Sam embedded the tip of the needle in his skin without pushing it out again. Dean let his eyes fall closed as his body shuddered in its work to handle the pain and it took him more than a minute but eventually his breathing slowed to something less labored and erratic.
"Beautiful."
The hunger in Sam's voice nearly made Dean jump, having almost forgotten his brother's presence beyond his own immediate pain. Sam didn't move to touch him, but Dean modulated his breathing anyway. He almost wanted to draw his knees up properly, spread them wide and get this over with, but he wasn't that gutsy right then, not with metal in his body and not with Sam all but drooling over the pain he'd caused, the blood he'd shed.
"Come here."
Dean felt the bed shift as the weight of Sam's power lifted from his arms and when he opened his eyes, Sam was standing by the bed and reaching out a hand to him. He only blinked at the hand for a moment before putting his hand in Sam's and maneuvering himself off the bed, his breath catching with every scratch, prick, and shift of the needles. The strange padlock on the metal cuffs fell away in Sam's hand without more than a moment's concentration as if keys were beneath him, then he pulled the cuffs open and set them on the nightstand with the soft clink of the short chain. Dean might've felt like he could breathe just then, but when he tried to drop his arms to his sides, Sam's hands tightly replaced the metal that had been wrapped around his wrists and it once again felt easier to look at Sam's clothes rather than his eyes.
"Removing the restraints doesn't free you from your true bindings. You know that, right?"
"Yeah." The soul-bond thing, the owned by a half-demon thing. It wasn't really something he'd forget.
"It doesn't sound like it." Sam squeezed until Dean's fingers began to twitch from the ache at his wrists. "You want me to double the needle count before we move on, whore?"
Jesus. "No, sir. I'm- I'm sorry. … I know you still … own me." His eyes shut and opened as he swallowed, hating the way the words sounded in his ears, the way they tasted in his mouth.
"Good." Both of Sam's hands dropped their captive wrists, but one shifted to Dean's upper arm, tugging him towards the standing mirror. "Come see."
Stepping up to the mirror, Dean surveyed the damage. His eyes squinted as he took in the twin rows of horizontal needles that were adorning his abdomen like the intricate stitching of an old-world military uniform, though it wasn't quite symmetrical since the needles ended with green caps on the left side of each row. The crown and base of the display glinted as well with two needles in each nipple like crosshairs aiming for pain and a striking, arrow-like needle that bridged up from the bottom through the top of his bellybutton and grounded itself in him, leaving metal exposed in the shadowed dent with only a glimmer peaking out above it. Really, it hurt, but … he was kind of fascinated by it.
Sam left his side for a moment only to return with a distracting spool of blue medical thread. "Turn."
Dean moved warily as directed until he was fully facing Sam with their profiles in the mirror. "Please tell me you're not sewing me up or something."
Sam just tipped his head off to the side with a subtle smile that said Dean was being ridiculous - maybe - then he pulled on the thread and measured off the length from Dean's neck to his waist, tripling and cutting it off on the spool's sharp nook. "Stand still."
When Sam shook out the thread, though, and approached him with it, Dean stepped back, heart pounding because he really couldn't fathom what the thread was for, but he did not want to find out.
Sam remained collected, reaching out a second time as he took a step towards Dean. "Let's try that again. Stand still or I'll end the game before it starts by holding you down and ripping all the needles out two at a time."
Sam's eyes were firm, calculated in their sincerity for this threat-turned-promise, and Dean fought to make his feet stand firm as the thread and Sam's hands connected with his skin again. His body shook even as the intensity of Sam's eyes dropped to watch the progress of his fingers, which were winding the thread from a center point on his chest out and around the needles in his nipples. Then, the parallel strands of the thread were crossed above the next horizontal pair of needles, wound around those needles, crossed below them, wound around the next pair, and so on and so forth until Sam almost had to crouch to thread both ends behind the exposed metal in Dean's navel before knotting the ends in front of it. It was like some strange shoelace tie or a design from one of those waist-cinching things that curvy girls wore sometimes. He could feel the tug of the string a little, but Sam really hadn't tied it that tightly and if he didn't know Sam, he might've thought it was really just for decoration. Sam was already measuring off more thread, though, several somewhat shorter lengths, and Dean tried to come up with a way they might be used, but his brain just wasn't wired for that kind of twisted creativity. Whatever it was had to be better than the needle-ripping option, though, right? Right? "Are you going to let me in on the rest of the plan or … is it a surprise or something?"
Armed with a dozen or so pieces of thread, Sam ignored him, meticulously tying one new thread to each of the crossing points down the center, then one at the top and two on the string stretched on either side of his navel. The fall of the threads was almost like a shredded curtain over his stomach for a moment, but then Sam was gathering them up in one hand and stepping back to straighten them out before wrapping all the ends into one knot. With Sam concentrating so hard on his task, Dean was caught off-guard when he finally flashed a grin and tugged on his new homemade reins.
Dean's breath hissed, his body moving awkwardly and instinctively to follow the needle-bound leash as his eyes widened with horror, marveling at his brother's ingenuity for torture and control. "God, you're a sadistic fuck."
Sam just pulled him closer and Dean heard himself cry out as needles threatened to tear through skin, new blood trickling down and tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to wrap his arms around his abdomen in protection, even knowing the needles would stick him, but Sam only yanked harder, catching his defensive movement before it completed. "Hands at your sides."
Dean squeezed his fingers into fists and tried not to pull away when Sam set a finger to his lips with a soft "shhh" that pinged something in the back of his brain and quieted his internal cursing. This wasn't something that he wanted to do, but he had to, so he could- … something. The thought slipped away from him.
"It's for your own good. You want to win back my favor, don't you, whore?"
If being out of Sam's favor meant things like this, then yeah, he really did. "Yes, sir."
"Alright. Well, since you like to play games, you can earn the removal of needles depending on how eager you seem, how well you do your job, and if there are any needles left when I'm through with you, then you'll go without orgasm for that many days and you'll owe ten times that number of strokes with the whip. Hell, if you're really horrible, then I may have to get you something more than needles to help with that. Know what I mean?"
"Yes, sir." Of course he knew. He could almost smell the musky-sweet stench of the drug from all the times Sam rubbed his metaphorical nose in the threat of it.
"Okay then. The current count is twenty-five needles. How about we dive right in, huh?"
Dean followed closely as Sam led him back to the bed by his leash then dropped it, the weight of it making Dean blink as it tapped against his right thigh. He already felt like he was in over his head and they hadn't even really started yet.
Sam shook out his shoulders, angling his chin up regally though his voice was almost gruff. "Undress me."
Dean just breathed for a moment, looking at his brother but not moving, as if he didn't quite understand, even though he did. The processing of everything took time, though: the swing of thread rocking the needles in their Sam-made burrows under his skin, the expectant air of entitlement radiating from his brother, the way his own status had shifted in only days from equal partner to valet, victim, and toy. Was he just supposed to be able to turn off who he'd been or make himself into something new in a blink just because he was told to do so? He didn't think he knew how to do that.
"Now." Sam raised an eyebrow, impatience settling in with his lowered voice and Dean dropped his eyes.
The situation didn't make any sense, but it didn't have to make sense for Sam to make him hurt for it and Sam had already let go of the leash for the moment, so this was a good thing, a respite from something harsher. The thought made Dean's fingers find the buttons of Sam's shirt, making quick work of the top two before Sam cooed "slowly" like Dean was a nervous virgin on his wedding night. He slowed his movements accordingly, carefully working through the rest of the buttons before helping the fabric spread and slip from Sam's shoulders. There was an intimacy in this that he hadn't expected, a closeness not born of sex so much as just … sharing air and heat, peeling away the fabric between them. He pushed at the shirt, intent to struggle it down over Sam's thick arms, but his brother snapped his arms further out.
"No. … Pull from the cuffs."
Dean let go and reached for the bottom edge of his brother's right sleeve, musing about when Sam had gotten this particular about his clothes or if he was just being picky because he wasn't doing the work himself. As he unbuttoned and tugged at Sam's cuffs, however, his hands brushed over his brother's and he could feel Sam breathe, his own body responding, subtly shifting even in its aching. There was even a heartbeat that seemed to sit just beyond his hearing like the distant drip of water and- … He held his breath because he didn't have a word for what he was feeling, but it reminded him of those long seconds of aiming and pulling, the soft click of gun mechanisms waking to an existence that always ended with an amazing explosion.
His eyes refocused and he realized that he had a shirt in hand that he didn't know quite what to do with. He scoffed internally when his first thought was to open his mouth and ask Sam what he'd like done with it. That would help him avoid getting yelled at or getting his skin torn up with more tugging, though, wouldn't it? He turned his head away slightly as he spoke, words stumbling even though he was supposed to be 'eager', an in-service robot, 'grateful' to assist his master and be used by him. "What do you want me to- … to do with your clothes … sir?"
Sam's hand on his face nearly made him gasp, the feel of that hand crashing into him being too close to the surface of his mind. He kept his position, though, even as that hand skimmed down to tweak one already well-tortured nipple, making him grunt and drop his head lower, his breath speeding as he wondered if he'd done something wrong or- … Maybe he should've shut up or- … He couldn't stop the whiny bit of noise that bubbled up as Sam pinched that nipple, compressing everything against the center of the plus-sign of needles and pulling until Dean was leaning forward enough to pant over his brother's shoulder.
"You're so fucking hot like this, Dean: tending to me, deferring to me, hurting and whimpering for me." Sam twisted the nipple one way then the other, the angle harsher with each turn until Dean emitted a sound at a satisfactory level as if his chest were a radio and that riotously red peak, a dial for the volume. Then Sam let go and Dean struggled not to tip either forward or backward, finding his center of gravity again. "I should've done this years ago."
Dean shook his head, his belly grumbling like an old volcano, but the words were out of his mouth before he'd finished the thought. "Sam never would've- …"
The slap came out of nowhere, heavy enough to upset Dean's balance again, forcing him to suddenly lunge in the direction of the momentum, needle points digging their way to new blood. "I am Sam … and you can put the clothes on the bed, whore. We'll deal with them later. And don't you dare fucking bleed on my shit."
Dean straightened very slowly, holding his jaw too tightly and exhaling too many times before he could properly get out the words "yes, sir." He held Sam's shirt away from his body, keeping it blood-free as he laid it gingerly on the nearest pillow, only narrowly reining in his anger before returning to help Sam out of his t-shirt.
"I try to give you a fucking compliment and you decide to lecture me about what I would and wouldn't do? … God, we have so much fucking work ahead of us. You- …" Dean went for Sam's fly, but Sam shoved him down to his knees with unkind hands on his shoulders. "Use your head, Dean. When you do the bottom half, start from the base and work your way up. Boots first."
Dean felt like his head was spinning, like the room was spinning. His brother's handprint was smeared, angry and red against his face, there was metal stuck in his abdomen, and he was on the floor, untying and loosening the laces of his brother's- his owner's boots before holding and angling them as Sam stepped out. He set the boots aside, but knew better than to try to get up, his hands fiddling to open the fly of Sam's jeans, bringing down cool denim and warm cotton as he pulled, revealing Sam's semi-hard cock. The socks were last and then Sam was reaching down to pick up his discarded jeans and briefs, tossing them over the shirts on the bed. When Sam sat with a sigh, though, and beckoned Dean closer with a crook of his fingers, Dean knew he wouldn't be getting up for a while.
"Suck me off."
Dean crawled forward, keeping his hands on his thighs as he kneeled up and leaned in, intent to tug Sam's cock into his mouth with his lips. No hands. He remembered.
Sam caught him by the hair, though, and directed his mouth to the side and down, his nose twitching as his face met Sam's sac. "Start here."
Hair scraped Dean's tongue as he pressed it towards skin, but he kept it moving anyway, swiping up and down, wet but tentative rather than firm. Sam barely gave him more than half a minute to warm up, though, before he put a hand on the back of Dean's head and pushed him deeper into his crotch, his cock sliding warm against the side of Dean's face.
"Suck."
The only air coming into Dean was full of musk and sweat and he cringed as he shifted, working his way slowly down to the base of Sam's balls to suck one smooth orb into his mouth and roll it over his tongue. Sam's breath caught and Dean massaged his lips over rough hair and soft skin until Sam hummed his approval. Dean pulled back after an extended moment filled with his brother's moans, but he was never fully out of contact, merely shifting his position, his head and nose nudging Sam's cock skyward as he licked at the tender flesh in the center of his sac before moving to capture the other side in his mouth, working the small globe over like he'd done with the first. He tried to play up his actions by being gentle and slow, as if that would translate as him being careful and attentive in his oral caresses, but, underneath it all, he could feel the mechanical basis for his movements. That distance and distaste was even further revealed by the way his breath shuddered with cautious relief when Sam pushed his head away and began to fist his own cock.
He watched his brother's hand move for what seemed like a long while, trying not to remember the feel of being painted with his come only just the day before. There was a part of him that was almost surprised, though, confused by the way he'd been disconnected from Sam in the middle of his work like that, and he spared a glance upwards, immediately thrown by the expectation in Sam's eyes and the harsh fingers yanking on his hair to keep him from looking away.
"You want my cock, whore?"
"I- …" He stopped because he knew the answer couldn't be 'no' because that would upset Sam, but it shouldn't be 'yes' because he didn't want it, not like this.
"Beg for what you want, whore. That's what eager little sluts do and you want to be my eager little slut, right? All the rewards, none of the punishments?"
It took him a minute, but he didn't know what other answer there could be. The question was designed to elicit the proper response from a whore in training. "Yes, sir."
"Then beg for what you want."
What he wanted was supposed to be what he would've wanted before he'd been a whore and what his owner wanted now, so … "May I- …" His tongue dragged against the roof of his mouth like there was peanut butter there, delaying the inevitable. "May I … please … suck your cock … sir?"
Sam smirked as he let Dean go. "I suppose."
Dean's head dropped from Sam's fingers and he was once again facing dick more than anything else. He only looked off for a minute, wishing that- … but he just shook his head and got to work, sucking the head into his mouth and working his way down and up the shaft as he cleared his mind of thought and just moved.
"Whore …"
Dean pulled back, intent to let Sam's cock slip from his mouth so he could reply, but Sam's hand was harsh in his hair, holding him there.
"I didn't say you could take your mouth off my dick. It's still in use. You are still in use. But you're not having a good time. I can tell. And we talked about this."
Sam pulled Dean's head a little closer, his cock filling up Dean's mouth and throat until Dean thought he'd choke.
"Do you want over three weeks of frustration and two hundred and fifty strokes of the whip?"
Sam held Dean down even more, breathing steadily as he impaled Dean's throat, refusing to rush even as Dean's eyes began to blink rapidly and his chest began to shake, lungs seeking air they had no access to. Then Sam's hand was yanking him back and off his cock, and Dean heaved in air, sputtering and coughing as spit flew down just as fast as oxygen.
"Try again, whore. And this time, I want enthusiasm. I want to feel it, and see it, and hear it. I don't mind messy or noisy, but I know you like sucking my cock, so give me the best little blowjob you can handle. Understand?"
Dean coughed again, softly, but nodded as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt the heavy swell of his lips and knew their size would double if Sam kept making him take it in so forcefully. He already knew what it was like to have his mouth fucked until his throat was sore, that had been yesterday's lesson, so he knew he should take his brother up on this offer to have even the tiniest bit of control here. That would mean thinking about this situation, however, thinking about what he was doing and really paying attention to Sam's responses. He could do that, though. He just had to breathe for a moment and then set his mouth to his brother's cock like he had ages ago, before all this.
Dean closed his eyes and listened and felt, breathing over Sam's cock before letting his tongue explore, from the base to the crown, his lips pressing wet kisses and massaging over the sensitive paths of winding veins. Rolling the tip into his mouth, he could taste the pulse that he'd sensed earlier and didn't allow himself to miss a beat even when Sam's threaded breaths and soft moans became deep groans and whispered commands.
"All the way down, whore. Fuck. All the way down."
He gagged as he worked his way down, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop. If he did, Sam would just- … He didn't think about it. He just moved, just swallowed around Sam's cock, bobbing up and down a little faster as if this would be over even one minute before Sam wanted it to be. The motions of his throat and lips and tongue became a repeating combination of lick, suck, and swallow, tender and quick in all the right ways, until he fell into a rhythm that felt endless, timeless, trying not to torture himself by interpreting Sam's sounds as indications of eventual release.
Dean couldn't get away from the sounds or the sensations, though. They were reverberating through his mind and through his body, parts of him responding as spit-wet cock slipped in and out over his lips and his brother made those little gasps and moans all because Dean did that thing with his tongue right there. It was fucked and he knew it, but his cock was getting heavy with blood, stiff, and he wanted to wrap his hand around it and jerk. Was it wrong that he could still want to come when he'd been stuck with needles like this, forced to his knees like this, made to strain his mouth and throat like this, even knowing that he and every part of this scene was making Sam fall to pieces like this? He groaned an echo of Sam's and he could feel Sam's hold in his hair shift, from fingers twisted in tightly, ready to yank and rein him in, to a wash of caresses, shaking like his voice with the Dean-made pleasure rushing through his system. "Fuck. Dean. J- Jack off while you suck me."
Dean couldn't help moaning as he took his own cock in hand, working it slowly as he sucked on Sam's cock harder, massaging in all the spots that made them both shudder. The vigor of his movements increased with his pleasure-fed enthusiasm until Sam's moans were interrupting each other, his thighs tensing around Dean's head. Then Dean was almost knocked back as Sam pulled his cock free, nearly shoving Dean's head away in order to stroke his own cock, hard and fast, words stuttered.
"Oh- … Fuck- … Open your mouth. Yeah. … Yeah."
It was all Sam could get out as his body shook its way into orgasm and Dean's lips widened, his eyes flickering between his brother's rapturous expression and his straining red cock. He jerked instinctively without really moving away as the first splash of come hit his upper lip and he closed his eyes, opening his mouth wider to catch the rest of the warmth pumping from Sam's cock. The thick mixture felt heavy on his tongue and he started to close his mouth and swallow, but Sam groaned what sounded like 'don't' as he worked to catch his breath.
"Let me see that mouth full of come before you swallow it, whore."
Dean winced, trying not to think about what all this meant, but he tipped his head up further to show Sam the strings of come collected on the pink of his tongue.
"Good boy. Go ahead and swallow your treat."
He closed his mouth, blinking numbly as he swallowed a wad of come mixed with a quiet sort of horror. Things had been almost okay for a minute, he'd been making Sam feel good and Sam had let him work towards feeling good too, but it had ended the way everything seemed to end here. There was a snap somewhere that he couldn't hear and he was back to being nothing again and having nothing, not even getting a chance to hold onto something that felt halfway decent for longer than the span of a breath.
He worked not to pull away when Sam gripped his chin and the darkness in his eyes seemed to swallow the last of the sunlight.
"What do you say, whore?"
There was just breath for a moment, his and his brother's, but then Dean nodded slowly and spoke softly, hesitant and despairing but knowing his place here. "… Thank you, sir."
One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Four: Breathe
Dean looked up at his brother, but Sam had already turned back to the toy box. Then he looked down at his hands, bound by metal, and he threw a wet blanket on the fire of his panic. What choice did he have? The more he fought, the worse it got.
He breathed in, slow, and out again, slower, trying to prepare, if that was even possible, for the supposed 'fun' that would come next. He slid back on the bed and laid down, putting his hands over his head and trying not to imagine what would leave the box when Sam lifted his hands. Part of him wanted to let his eyes close, let him rest almost, but a bigger part of him wanted to have as much information as possible about what was going on around him. When Sam came around with a medical pack in tow, though, he nearly wished that he had closed his eyes.
"Sam? … What- …"
"Does it matter?" Sam quirked his head to the side. "I'm going to do it anyway, so … does it really matter what the plan is?"
Dean's eyes wandered some from Sam's as he chewed his teeth, then they turned back. "Just- … I know, but- … just tell me … please, Sam- sir."
Sam slid a knee onto the bed and set the med kit down, popping the two front latches while Dean watched. "We have lots of things to play with. I already told you that. Some of them are more unusual than others, but many are pretty common." He pulled out a wad of somethings wrapped in white and green. Then he let his fingers fall a little and the wad became a string … of individually prepackaged needles.
Dean's mouth suddenly felt as dry as the desert. "Sam … I don't- …"
"Understand?" Sam's brow was furrowed as he pulled out a shallow plastic box and pack of disinfectant wipes. "What's to understand, Dean? I said I would hurt you tonight, teach you a lesson." He shrugged. "This is how I decided to do that."
Dean was finding it difficult to breath, the air rushing in and out of him without actually providing his brain with any oxygen. "You're gonna … make me into a pincushion?"
Sam paused for a moment, seeming to puzzle over his words. "Not really, no. I mean … it'll be needle play, but all the piercings will be shallow, right under the skin. That's where most of your nerves are concentrated, though, so … don't worry." He smiled, almost gently. "I don't need to stab you through to give you all the pain that I want you to take."
Dean shivered at the rip of a disinfectant packet and shook his head, internally frantic. "No."
Sam barely looked up from his work, shaking the folds out of the wipe. "Do you want me to give you the four-poster treatment? Make sure you can't move even an inch more than I want you to?"
Dean's head stalled, knowing his current bindings were more than enough, and he flinched but didn't really move as Sam began to wipe over his skin, from the base of his neck to the bottom edge of his chest, before tossing the old wipe in a small plastic box from the med kit. It had a biohazard symbol and an oddly shaped top. Sam shook out another wipe, rubbing across and down Dean's abdomen as Dean swallowed, jutting his jaw at the labeled bin. "That's just for trash, right?"
He could hear the rolled eyes in Sam's snorted "yeah." Then Sam was tossing and wiping again, Dean's cock twitching at the play of Sam's fingers in and around his navel. "You like that?"
"No." Dean grumbled as he turned his head away, feeling the alcohol, or whatever it was, evaporate into the air and leave his skin cool.
"You gonna watch or what?"
Dean's head swiveled back to look at his brother, who had disposed of the last cleansing wipe and was popping open the first needle. Dean's eyes slid to the needle and hung there, his breath moving but unhelpful for the purposes of speech right then.
"I'm gonna do your abs first, alright? Just breathe deep and try to relax."
Dean's breath only sped faster as Sam moved so he could lean directly over his body. Sam was sturdy and focused, but Dean was seriously on the verge of freaking out. It wasn't just the one needle that was worrying him, though; that would only be one sadistic pinprick he couldn't escape. No, he was thinking about all the others still bunched together in their sterile little packaging. "Sam- … Sam, come on." There was a nervous flutter in his voice that didn't fit his vision of himself, but all he could see in his mind's eye was his body covered in needles, stuck through like he'd lost a fight with some metal alien cactus.
Sam didn't shift his concentration, though, reaching calmly to try and pinch a patch of skin on Dean's right abdomen, just below his pecs. The skin was pretty taut, stretched toughly over the muscle underneath, and Sam pursed his lips. "Well, that's unfortunate."
Dean had been working not to move, unsure if this would be like a bee sting - more and worse if he manifested his panic in fruitless attempts to flee. Now, however, he was entirely too anxious to contain himself. "What? What?!"
"Calm down. Just calm down and breathe deep."
He didn't calm down and he didn't breathe deep, but both of Sam's hands were next to his skin already and the pinch went a little deeper this time, a point that ached as he clenched his fists above his head. His grunt seemed long as the first needle pushed its way into his skin, like the digging of a woman's pointed nails intent to draw blood or, in this case, intent to get inside him, through him, and out the other side with a painful but inaudible pop.
Sam sat back on his knees to survey his handiwork. "One down, twenty-four to go."
"What?! No. No!" He could feel the strange mix of cool and warm as the metal sat under his skin and his body responded to the invader. The dull ache that the needle carried was bearable, really, but the entry and exit would leave him dazed after one dozen, let alone two. "No!"
Sam's power hit him like a slab of rock before he'd even had a chance to really struggle. "I said calm down!"
Tendrils of heat wrapped at his wrists and pressed them deeper into the pillows, heavy, like they were being sat on. He really couldn't move this time, paralyzed by Sam's will and Sam wasn't even looking at him. "Sam?"
"I don't want to hear you- …" His voice was soft, falling off mid-sentence without fading, but then he cleared his throat and lifted steely eyes. "If you were really a good whore, you wouldn't beg me to stop doing something that pleases me. You'd want to please me even if it hurt you."
There was something in Sam's eyes that wavered, that wasn't wholly committed, and Dean pulled at it, gentling his voice. "Is this what pleases you, Sam? Hurting me like this? Is this really what you want?"
The doubt fled in a blink and Sam's eyes flashed dangerously, the line of his lips hardening. "What I want is to not have to worry about you fucking up every time I'm not here to hold your hand and beat you black and blue. That's what I want … and this, yes, I want this."
"Okay." The word was soft and came slowly, a measure of consent that worried Dean some, but didn't completely surprise him. He wouldn't be able to get away from this if it was what Sam wanted anyway, but he was entirely sincere as if there was a choice, as if he'd decided to please Sam this way, because it felt like he had. He couldn't let that flicker of something more than darkness go unpursued.
"Okay?" Sam said the word slowly with one eyebrow tilted upwards.
Dean nodded slowly, watching his brother and remembering the words here, the way he was supposed to craft his speech as well as himself. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Sam was already back to business, already reaching for another needle, popping it out and leaning to pinch just under the left side of Dean's chest, but he paused with a huff of impatience. "Breathe, Dean."
Dean blinked, exhaled, and inhaled, not having realized that he'd been holding it. Then he was sucking the next breath in through his teeth as needle number two lanced through him.
"No more breaks." The third needle was in Sam's hand and Dean's skin was pinched on the right again, just south of the first.
Three. Dean grunted and found himself breathing hard, but he couldn't keep watching. His eyes found the sway of Sam's hair. "Fuck." Four. There was blood, a warm trickle over the edge of his left side. Five. He'd have holes, not bullet wounds or knife wounds but tiny needled holes. Six. The ache was building, evenly distributed on both sides of his abs. Seven. He wondered if this was ruining the muscle underneath, if he'd tear or something the next time he tried to do a sit-up while he waited for Sam. Eight. "Fuck!" It felt like a dull pain was rolling from his chest to his groin and back, peaking wherever the new needles went. Nine. Ten. How many of these had Sam said they were going to do?
"Five more in each of these rows … then we can do your nipples." Sam chuckled, smug, and grabbed Dean's left nipple, nearly lifting him off the bed with his pulling.
Dean arched upwards, wrists still weighted by Sam's power, and groaned deeply, its pitch changing as he felt the needles shift with his movement. "S- …" He would have pleaded with his brother, but he stopped, knowing that wasn't what Sam wanted to hear and that it wouldn't help anything. So he just clenched his fists and jaw tighter until the burning stretch of his brother's fingers on his nipple disappeared and he could drop back to the bed, breathing again and only a little worse for wear.
He turned his head to watch the wall, the windows, and the desk. Eleven through twenty went by faster than he'd thought they would, the leftover pain from his abused chest slipping down the front of his body, confusing his response to the continued dig, slide, and tear of needle after needle. When Sam stopped and let his fingers play down the parallel rows of flesh-piercing metal, Dean's breath caught, eyelids flipping shut as his cock wondered where these internal sensations came from, how something that wasn't dick or demonic powers had slid its way into his body. His eyes shifted open again, though, as Sam pulled his hand away and spoke.
"This is gonna hurt a hell of a lot more. You want something to bite?" Sam carried the conversation as if this situation was really one that Dean wanted to be in, as if Sam reaching for a new needle wasn't about Sam wanting him to hurt.
"You?" It wasn't exactly sarcastic, but the former sharpness in his voice had been whittled down as he'd gritted his teeth through the aching intrusion of the twenty needles already decorating his body.
Sam sighed, frustrated though it held the fading end of a laugh. "Nevermind."
"Wait- …"
"No." Sam's pinkie skimmed along beside Dean's left nipple as he handled the needle, holding it over its mark, lining it up so it would slide in whatever way he wanted.
For Dean, the first push of the needle into his skin hurt like a bullet instead of something half the size of a toothpick, but then it just kept going. He heard himself shouting but couldn't control it. There was some knife-like thing shoving its way into a too-sensitive area, shoving but not breaking skin for a moment, denting everything deeply inward before beginning to truly carve its way through. It should have been a relief to finally pierce the resistant flesh, but everything was wound so tight that getting the needle in didn't release the pressure or even speed up the process. It felt like it all had been going on forever before the needle finally pierced its way out the other side, Dean's trim nails nearly cutting into the skin of his palms. By then Dean's shout had faded and there was a haze on the horizon of his mind, born of accumulating pain. Sam didn't even speak before going for another needle and angling for the other nipple. Dean just clenched his eyes shut and groaned, denting deeper crescents into his hands as needle twenty-two pushed its way through.
"Mmmm. Vertical." The lustful sway of Sam's voice brought Dean's eyes back to him and his words forced Dean to find his own voice, scratchy with pain and tangled with confusion.
"Isn't that hor- horizontal? Or- …" Or am I really hurting that badly?
"No, no. We're going to do the vertical ones now."
"Not- ... You don't mean up here again, do you?"
Rather than answer, Sam just stared at him for a moment then reached for Dean's recently pierced left nipple, pinching and pulling it savagely until felt like all the tissue between his fingers and the needle had been stomped flat and stretched out like a tarp.
Dean screamed, legs scrambling as if he really could get away, and when Sam let go, he had to blink back the water in his eyes.
"Painful, right?"
Dean tried his damndest not to be a smartass and just nodded warily.
"And you need pain to learn lessons, right?"
He opened his mouth to reject that proposition, but didn't succeed, all too aware of Sam's fingers hovering just a flick away from his chest. "Yes, sir."
"Then you should be grateful that you can learn this now and avoid more pain later. Isn't that right?"
He knew the right answer but he paused anyway, watching how easy this was for his brother, how simple the equation seemed to him.
"Dean?"
"Yes, sir."
Sam nodded, barely taking his eyes off of Dean as he grabbed two more needles and freed one from its case. Dean couldn't watch the first needle or its comrade go in, but his enduring was colored by his brother's suggestion that this was the lesser of two evils. His clenched fists ached almost as much as his chest, but maybe this was better than whatever worse fate he would've faced otherwise. As the veritable arbitrator of that fate now, Sam was really the only one who knew the answer for sure, but Dean had yet to see him offer punishment kindly, so this probably was the lesser evil, no matter how much it hurt.
"Last one." Sam pulled back to rummage in the medkit before lifting his find into Dean's view. It was a long needle, at least twice the length of the ones that Sam had been using.
Dean just didn't really understand. "Won't that stick out too much?"
"No. It'll just run through a few times." The twitch in Sam's lips quickly became a grin and Dean felt his stomach jump, but then Sam's palm was pressing down on it, fingers stretching the needle over his navel, just above the skin. "The needle gets duller every time it goes through, so I need you to breathe deep for me, okay?"
"Duller? What does that have to- ..." His words morphed into a grunt as Sam pushed the needle partway up through a bit of flesh at the bottom of his navel, wiggling the metal enough to shake drips of blood loose before positioning the tip to shove through the top of the navel and out again. In this case, the duller point meant Dean was slamming his head back against the pillows and baring his teeth as the needle tore more than sliced through skin on its second pass. The third pass didn't complete, but it didn't hurt any less as Sam embedded the tip of the needle in his skin without pushing it out again. Dean let his eyes fall closed as his body shuddered in its work to handle the pain and it took him more than a minute but eventually his breathing slowed to something less labored and erratic.
"Beautiful."
The hunger in Sam's voice nearly made Dean jump, having almost forgotten his brother's presence beyond his own immediate pain. Sam didn't move to touch him, but Dean modulated his breathing anyway. He almost wanted to draw his knees up properly, spread them wide and get this over with, but he wasn't that gutsy right then, not with metal in his body and not with Sam all but drooling over the pain he'd caused, the blood he'd shed.
"Come here."
Dean felt the bed shift as the weight of Sam's power lifted from his arms and when he opened his eyes, Sam was standing by the bed and reaching out a hand to him. He only blinked at the hand for a moment before putting his hand in Sam's and maneuvering himself off the bed, his breath catching with every scratch, prick, and shift of the needles. The strange padlock on the metal cuffs fell away in Sam's hand without more than a moment's concentration as if keys were beneath him, then he pulled the cuffs open and set them on the nightstand with the soft clink of the short chain. Dean might've felt like he could breathe just then, but when he tried to drop his arms to his sides, Sam's hands tightly replaced the metal that had been wrapped around his wrists and it once again felt easier to look at Sam's clothes rather than his eyes.
"Removing the restraints doesn't free you from your true bindings. You know that, right?"
"Yeah." The soul-bond thing, the owned by a half-demon thing. It wasn't really something he'd forget.
"It doesn't sound like it." Sam squeezed until Dean's fingers began to twitch from the ache at his wrists. "You want me to double the needle count before we move on, whore?"
Jesus. "No, sir. I'm- I'm sorry. … I know you still … own me." His eyes shut and opened as he swallowed, hating the way the words sounded in his ears, the way they tasted in his mouth.
"Good." Both of Sam's hands dropped their captive wrists, but one shifted to Dean's upper arm, tugging him towards the standing mirror. "Come see."
Stepping up to the mirror, Dean surveyed the damage. His eyes squinted as he took in the twin rows of horizontal needles that were adorning his abdomen like the intricate stitching of an old-world military uniform, though it wasn't quite symmetrical since the needles ended with green caps on the left side of each row. The crown and base of the display glinted as well with two needles in each nipple like crosshairs aiming for pain and a striking, arrow-like needle that bridged up from the bottom through the top of his bellybutton and grounded itself in him, leaving metal exposed in the shadowed dent with only a glimmer peaking out above it. Really, it hurt, but … he was kind of fascinated by it.
Sam left his side for a moment only to return with a distracting spool of blue medical thread. "Turn."
Dean moved warily as directed until he was fully facing Sam with their profiles in the mirror. "Please tell me you're not sewing me up or something."
Sam just tipped his head off to the side with a subtle smile that said Dean was being ridiculous - maybe - then he pulled on the thread and measured off the length from Dean's neck to his waist, tripling and cutting it off on the spool's sharp nook. "Stand still."
When Sam shook out the thread, though, and approached him with it, Dean stepped back, heart pounding because he really couldn't fathom what the thread was for, but he did not want to find out.
Sam remained collected, reaching out a second time as he took a step towards Dean. "Let's try that again. Stand still or I'll end the game before it starts by holding you down and ripping all the needles out two at a time."
Sam's eyes were firm, calculated in their sincerity for this threat-turned-promise, and Dean fought to make his feet stand firm as the thread and Sam's hands connected with his skin again. His body shook even as the intensity of Sam's eyes dropped to watch the progress of his fingers, which were winding the thread from a center point on his chest out and around the needles in his nipples. Then, the parallel strands of the thread were crossed above the next horizontal pair of needles, wound around those needles, crossed below them, wound around the next pair, and so on and so forth until Sam almost had to crouch to thread both ends behind the exposed metal in Dean's navel before knotting the ends in front of it. It was like some strange shoelace tie or a design from one of those waist-cinching things that curvy girls wore sometimes. He could feel the tug of the string a little, but Sam really hadn't tied it that tightly and if he didn't know Sam, he might've thought it was really just for decoration. Sam was already measuring off more thread, though, several somewhat shorter lengths, and Dean tried to come up with a way they might be used, but his brain just wasn't wired for that kind of twisted creativity. Whatever it was had to be better than the needle-ripping option, though, right? Right? "Are you going to let me in on the rest of the plan or … is it a surprise or something?"
Armed with a dozen or so pieces of thread, Sam ignored him, meticulously tying one new thread to each of the crossing points down the center, then one at the top and two on the string stretched on either side of his navel. The fall of the threads was almost like a shredded curtain over his stomach for a moment, but then Sam was gathering them up in one hand and stepping back to straighten them out before wrapping all the ends into one knot. With Sam concentrating so hard on his task, Dean was caught off-guard when he finally flashed a grin and tugged on his new homemade reins.
Dean's breath hissed, his body moving awkwardly and instinctively to follow the needle-bound leash as his eyes widened with horror, marveling at his brother's ingenuity for torture and control. "God, you're a sadistic fuck."
Sam just pulled him closer and Dean heard himself cry out as needles threatened to tear through skin, new blood trickling down and tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to wrap his arms around his abdomen in protection, even knowing the needles would stick him, but Sam only yanked harder, catching his defensive movement before it completed. "Hands at your sides."
Dean squeezed his fingers into fists and tried not to pull away when Sam set a finger to his lips with a soft "shhh" that pinged something in the back of his brain and quieted his internal cursing. This wasn't something that he wanted to do, but he had to, so he could- … something. The thought slipped away from him.
"It's for your own good. You want to win back my favor, don't you, whore?"
If being out of Sam's favor meant things like this, then yeah, he really did. "Yes, sir."
"Alright. Well, since you like to play games, you can earn the removal of needles depending on how eager you seem, how well you do your job, and if there are any needles left when I'm through with you, then you'll go without orgasm for that many days and you'll owe ten times that number of strokes with the whip. Hell, if you're really horrible, then I may have to get you something more than needles to help with that. Know what I mean?"
"Yes, sir." Of course he knew. He could almost smell the musky-sweet stench of the drug from all the times Sam rubbed his metaphorical nose in the threat of it.
"Okay then. The current count is twenty-five needles. How about we dive right in, huh?"
Dean followed closely as Sam led him back to the bed by his leash then dropped it, the weight of it making Dean blink as it tapped against his right thigh. He already felt like he was in over his head and they hadn't even really started yet.
Sam shook out his shoulders, angling his chin up regally though his voice was almost gruff. "Undress me."
Dean just breathed for a moment, looking at his brother but not moving, as if he didn't quite understand, even though he did. The processing of everything took time, though: the swing of thread rocking the needles in their Sam-made burrows under his skin, the expectant air of entitlement radiating from his brother, the way his own status had shifted in only days from equal partner to valet, victim, and toy. Was he just supposed to be able to turn off who he'd been or make himself into something new in a blink just because he was told to do so? He didn't think he knew how to do that.
"Now." Sam raised an eyebrow, impatience settling in with his lowered voice and Dean dropped his eyes.
The situation didn't make any sense, but it didn't have to make sense for Sam to make him hurt for it and Sam had already let go of the leash for the moment, so this was a good thing, a respite from something harsher. The thought made Dean's fingers find the buttons of Sam's shirt, making quick work of the top two before Sam cooed "slowly" like Dean was a nervous virgin on his wedding night. He slowed his movements accordingly, carefully working through the rest of the buttons before helping the fabric spread and slip from Sam's shoulders. There was an intimacy in this that he hadn't expected, a closeness not born of sex so much as just … sharing air and heat, peeling away the fabric between them. He pushed at the shirt, intent to struggle it down over Sam's thick arms, but his brother snapped his arms further out.
"No. … Pull from the cuffs."
Dean let go and reached for the bottom edge of his brother's right sleeve, musing about when Sam had gotten this particular about his clothes or if he was just being picky because he wasn't doing the work himself. As he unbuttoned and tugged at Sam's cuffs, however, his hands brushed over his brother's and he could feel Sam breathe, his own body responding, subtly shifting even in its aching. There was even a heartbeat that seemed to sit just beyond his hearing like the distant drip of water and- … He held his breath because he didn't have a word for what he was feeling, but it reminded him of those long seconds of aiming and pulling, the soft click of gun mechanisms waking to an existence that always ended with an amazing explosion.
His eyes refocused and he realized that he had a shirt in hand that he didn't know quite what to do with. He scoffed internally when his first thought was to open his mouth and ask Sam what he'd like done with it. That would help him avoid getting yelled at or getting his skin torn up with more tugging, though, wouldn't it? He turned his head away slightly as he spoke, words stumbling even though he was supposed to be 'eager', an in-service robot, 'grateful' to assist his master and be used by him. "What do you want me to- … to do with your clothes … sir?"
Sam's hand on his face nearly made him gasp, the feel of that hand crashing into him being too close to the surface of his mind. He kept his position, though, even as that hand skimmed down to tweak one already well-tortured nipple, making him grunt and drop his head lower, his breath speeding as he wondered if he'd done something wrong or- … Maybe he should've shut up or- … He couldn't stop the whiny bit of noise that bubbled up as Sam pinched that nipple, compressing everything against the center of the plus-sign of needles and pulling until Dean was leaning forward enough to pant over his brother's shoulder.
"You're so fucking hot like this, Dean: tending to me, deferring to me, hurting and whimpering for me." Sam twisted the nipple one way then the other, the angle harsher with each turn until Dean emitted a sound at a satisfactory level as if his chest were a radio and that riotously red peak, a dial for the volume. Then Sam let go and Dean struggled not to tip either forward or backward, finding his center of gravity again. "I should've done this years ago."
Dean shook his head, his belly grumbling like an old volcano, but the words were out of his mouth before he'd finished the thought. "Sam never would've- …"
The slap came out of nowhere, heavy enough to upset Dean's balance again, forcing him to suddenly lunge in the direction of the momentum, needle points digging their way to new blood. "I am Sam … and you can put the clothes on the bed, whore. We'll deal with them later. And don't you dare fucking bleed on my shit."
Dean straightened very slowly, holding his jaw too tightly and exhaling too many times before he could properly get out the words "yes, sir." He held Sam's shirt away from his body, keeping it blood-free as he laid it gingerly on the nearest pillow, only narrowly reining in his anger before returning to help Sam out of his t-shirt.
"I try to give you a fucking compliment and you decide to lecture me about what I would and wouldn't do? … God, we have so much fucking work ahead of us. You- …" Dean went for Sam's fly, but Sam shoved him down to his knees with unkind hands on his shoulders. "Use your head, Dean. When you do the bottom half, start from the base and work your way up. Boots first."
Dean felt like his head was spinning, like the room was spinning. His brother's handprint was smeared, angry and red against his face, there was metal stuck in his abdomen, and he was on the floor, untying and loosening the laces of his brother's- his owner's boots before holding and angling them as Sam stepped out. He set the boots aside, but knew better than to try to get up, his hands fiddling to open the fly of Sam's jeans, bringing down cool denim and warm cotton as he pulled, revealing Sam's semi-hard cock. The socks were last and then Sam was reaching down to pick up his discarded jeans and briefs, tossing them over the shirts on the bed. When Sam sat with a sigh, though, and beckoned Dean closer with a crook of his fingers, Dean knew he wouldn't be getting up for a while.
"Suck me off."
Dean crawled forward, keeping his hands on his thighs as he kneeled up and leaned in, intent to tug Sam's cock into his mouth with his lips. No hands. He remembered.
Sam caught him by the hair, though, and directed his mouth to the side and down, his nose twitching as his face met Sam's sac. "Start here."
Hair scraped Dean's tongue as he pressed it towards skin, but he kept it moving anyway, swiping up and down, wet but tentative rather than firm. Sam barely gave him more than half a minute to warm up, though, before he put a hand on the back of Dean's head and pushed him deeper into his crotch, his cock sliding warm against the side of Dean's face.
"Suck."
The only air coming into Dean was full of musk and sweat and he cringed as he shifted, working his way slowly down to the base of Sam's balls to suck one smooth orb into his mouth and roll it over his tongue. Sam's breath caught and Dean massaged his lips over rough hair and soft skin until Sam hummed his approval. Dean pulled back after an extended moment filled with his brother's moans, but he was never fully out of contact, merely shifting his position, his head and nose nudging Sam's cock skyward as he licked at the tender flesh in the center of his sac before moving to capture the other side in his mouth, working the small globe over like he'd done with the first. He tried to play up his actions by being gentle and slow, as if that would translate as him being careful and attentive in his oral caresses, but, underneath it all, he could feel the mechanical basis for his movements. That distance and distaste was even further revealed by the way his breath shuddered with cautious relief when Sam pushed his head away and began to fist his own cock.
He watched his brother's hand move for what seemed like a long while, trying not to remember the feel of being painted with his come only just the day before. There was a part of him that was almost surprised, though, confused by the way he'd been disconnected from Sam in the middle of his work like that, and he spared a glance upwards, immediately thrown by the expectation in Sam's eyes and the harsh fingers yanking on his hair to keep him from looking away.
"You want my cock, whore?"
"I- …" He stopped because he knew the answer couldn't be 'no' because that would upset Sam, but it shouldn't be 'yes' because he didn't want it, not like this.
"Beg for what you want, whore. That's what eager little sluts do and you want to be my eager little slut, right? All the rewards, none of the punishments?"
It took him a minute, but he didn't know what other answer there could be. The question was designed to elicit the proper response from a whore in training. "Yes, sir."
"Then beg for what you want."
What he wanted was supposed to be what he would've wanted before he'd been a whore and what his owner wanted now, so … "May I- …" His tongue dragged against the roof of his mouth like there was peanut butter there, delaying the inevitable. "May I … please … suck your cock … sir?"
Sam smirked as he let Dean go. "I suppose."
Dean's head dropped from Sam's fingers and he was once again facing dick more than anything else. He only looked off for a minute, wishing that- … but he just shook his head and got to work, sucking the head into his mouth and working his way down and up the shaft as he cleared his mind of thought and just moved.
"Whore …"
Dean pulled back, intent to let Sam's cock slip from his mouth so he could reply, but Sam's hand was harsh in his hair, holding him there.
"I didn't say you could take your mouth off my dick. It's still in use. You are still in use. But you're not having a good time. I can tell. And we talked about this."
Sam pulled Dean's head a little closer, his cock filling up Dean's mouth and throat until Dean thought he'd choke.
"Do you want over three weeks of frustration and two hundred and fifty strokes of the whip?"
Sam held Dean down even more, breathing steadily as he impaled Dean's throat, refusing to rush even as Dean's eyes began to blink rapidly and his chest began to shake, lungs seeking air they had no access to. Then Sam's hand was yanking him back and off his cock, and Dean heaved in air, sputtering and coughing as spit flew down just as fast as oxygen.
"Try again, whore. And this time, I want enthusiasm. I want to feel it, and see it, and hear it. I don't mind messy or noisy, but I know you like sucking my cock, so give me the best little blowjob you can handle. Understand?"
Dean coughed again, softly, but nodded as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt the heavy swell of his lips and knew their size would double if Sam kept making him take it in so forcefully. He already knew what it was like to have his mouth fucked until his throat was sore, that had been yesterday's lesson, so he knew he should take his brother up on this offer to have even the tiniest bit of control here. That would mean thinking about this situation, however, thinking about what he was doing and really paying attention to Sam's responses. He could do that, though. He just had to breathe for a moment and then set his mouth to his brother's cock like he had ages ago, before all this.
Dean closed his eyes and listened and felt, breathing over Sam's cock before letting his tongue explore, from the base to the crown, his lips pressing wet kisses and massaging over the sensitive paths of winding veins. Rolling the tip into his mouth, he could taste the pulse that he'd sensed earlier and didn't allow himself to miss a beat even when Sam's threaded breaths and soft moans became deep groans and whispered commands.
"All the way down, whore. Fuck. All the way down."
He gagged as he worked his way down, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop. If he did, Sam would just- … He didn't think about it. He just moved, just swallowed around Sam's cock, bobbing up and down a little faster as if this would be over even one minute before Sam wanted it to be. The motions of his throat and lips and tongue became a repeating combination of lick, suck, and swallow, tender and quick in all the right ways, until he fell into a rhythm that felt endless, timeless, trying not to torture himself by interpreting Sam's sounds as indications of eventual release.
Dean couldn't get away from the sounds or the sensations, though. They were reverberating through his mind and through his body, parts of him responding as spit-wet cock slipped in and out over his lips and his brother made those little gasps and moans all because Dean did that thing with his tongue right there. It was fucked and he knew it, but his cock was getting heavy with blood, stiff, and he wanted to wrap his hand around it and jerk. Was it wrong that he could still want to come when he'd been stuck with needles like this, forced to his knees like this, made to strain his mouth and throat like this, even knowing that he and every part of this scene was making Sam fall to pieces like this? He groaned an echo of Sam's and he could feel Sam's hold in his hair shift, from fingers twisted in tightly, ready to yank and rein him in, to a wash of caresses, shaking like his voice with the Dean-made pleasure rushing through his system. "Fuck. Dean. J- Jack off while you suck me."
Dean couldn't help moaning as he took his own cock in hand, working it slowly as he sucked on Sam's cock harder, massaging in all the spots that made them both shudder. The vigor of his movements increased with his pleasure-fed enthusiasm until Sam's moans were interrupting each other, his thighs tensing around Dean's head. Then Dean was almost knocked back as Sam pulled his cock free, nearly shoving Dean's head away in order to stroke his own cock, hard and fast, words stuttered.
"Oh- … Fuck- … Open your mouth. Yeah. … Yeah."
It was all Sam could get out as his body shook its way into orgasm and Dean's lips widened, his eyes flickering between his brother's rapturous expression and his straining red cock. He jerked instinctively without really moving away as the first splash of come hit his upper lip and he closed his eyes, opening his mouth wider to catch the rest of the warmth pumping from Sam's cock. The thick mixture felt heavy on his tongue and he started to close his mouth and swallow, but Sam groaned what sounded like 'don't' as he worked to catch his breath.
"Let me see that mouth full of come before you swallow it, whore."
Dean winced, trying not to think about what all this meant, but he tipped his head up further to show Sam the strings of come collected on the pink of his tongue.
"Good boy. Go ahead and swallow your treat."
He closed his mouth, blinking numbly as he swallowed a wad of come mixed with a quiet sort of horror. Things had been almost okay for a minute, he'd been making Sam feel good and Sam had let him work towards feeling good too, but it had ended the way everything seemed to end here. There was a snap somewhere that he couldn't hear and he was back to being nothing again and having nothing, not even getting a chance to hold onto something that felt halfway decent for longer than the span of a breath.
He worked not to pull away when Sam gripped his chin and the darkness in his eyes seemed to swallow the last of the sunlight.
"What do you say, whore?"
There was just breath for a moment, his and his brother's, but then Dean nodded slowly and spoke softly, hesitant and despairing but knowing his place here. "… Thank you, sir."
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