Fanfic - He ain't heavy...
Title: He ain’t heavy…
Author: Zara-Zee
Total Words: 3,520
Genre(s: Slash
Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: m/m sex, over-used trope (fuck or die), dub con (cuz of the curse…)
Spoilers: Um…some references to Mystery Spot and Point of no return…
Disclaimer: I only wish I’d thought of them first. Sadly, that honour belongs to Eric Kripke
Summary: Dean flirts with the wrong Haitian-American barmaid and gets hit with a hoodoo curse. Porn of the Sam/Dean fuck-or-die variety ensues…
A/N: This was written as a birthday gift for my good friend and awesome beta-reader 9tiptoes...
It's unbeta'd because you can't have someone check over their own present! It's also my first foray into porn (soooo outta my comfort zone here!) but every girl deserves a little Dean/Sam action on her birthday, right?
The banner...I found the pictures searching the net (and was hugely inspired by them!) but couldn't figure out who had made them. So if anyone recognises the work, please let me know and I shall credit/take down according to the artist's wishes.
A/N 2: I tried to post this a few weeks ago, when it was actually T’s birthday but LJ wasn’t playing nice and it all got too hard (NB: LJ still isn't behaving itself - apologies if the cut stuffs up - but I think I'm learning how to work around it...grr) So...Happy Birthday again, T - thanks for letting me post your present and sorry it took so long to get posted!
:::
The first thing that Dean saw when he regained consciousness was Sam, sitting hunched against a wall with his freakishly long legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. Relief coursed through Dean’s veins; his little brother was safe, all was right with the world: so why hadn’t the ‘oh fuck, where am I? what’s going on?’ hammering of his heart calmed down, even a little? His heart was pounding against the wall of his chest like a heavy-weight boxer, his breathing was ragged, he could feel the sweat dripping from his chin onto his chest and he needed to get his hands in Sam’s pants like yesterday-
Whoa! What?
What the fuck? Where the hell did that come from?
Dean tried to sit up and discovered that he was tied down. To be precise, he was tied down to the bed in Bobby’s panic room.
‘Sam?’ His voice was sandpaper rough, as raspy as if it hadn’t been used in months.
Sam looked up and Dean was struck by the exhausted wariness in his brother’s eyes.
‘Hey, Dean.’ Sam tried for a smile and failed miserably.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Dean rattled at the chains securing his wrists to the bed.
‘You don’t remember.’
There was no inflection at the end of the sentence; a statement not a question, but Dean answered all the same.
‘Not really,’ he frowned. ‘We were down in New Orleans, right?’ he grinned suddenly. ‘Oh yeah, I remember; a bunch of free-lovin’ hippies were havin’ never ending public orgies! The mayor was gettin’ pretty hot under the collar, if I remember rightly.’ Dean sniggered. ‘Of course, that’s not the only place he was gettin’ hot!’
Dean’s groin twitched and really, next time Sammy tried to tell him that he was ruled by his dick, he was going to point out that up until that very moment he hadn’t even noticed that he was hard enough to pound nails. He squirmed a little, but the way he was trussed up, spread out on his back in the centre of the bed, a limb chained to each post, meant there was no way he could get any friction on his aching dick; no way he could take the relief he so desperately needed. He was completely helpless and the thought sent an unexpected spasm of lust straight to his cock. He would deny it ‘til his dying day, but he may even have whimpered a little.
‘Sam,’ he gasped, ‘what’s goin’ on? Why’m’I tied up?’
His dick throbbed again and he writhed uncomfortably.
‘Remember when we were in New Orleans?’ Sam said from the floor. ‘Remember that bar near the hotel?’
Dean frowned, and then nodded. ‘The one with the hot barmaid; legs up to her armpits and gorgeous, chocolate skin. You remember her, Sammy? She had that tattoo with the two snakes.’
Sam sighed. ‘Actually, it was a voodoo veve; the symbol for Damballah-Wedo, the voodoo God of peace, purity and harmony and his female partner in creation, Ayida-Wedo.’
Dean sniggered. ‘Man, you are such a walking encyclopaedia of Geek. Only you could see a hot chick with breasts like melons and get a hard-on for the 'mythological symbolism' of her tattoo!’
Sam scowled. ‘Yeah, well maybe you should try thinkin’ with your upstairs brain for a change, maybe then we wouldn’t be in this mess!’
Dean’s eyes narrowed. ‘Which brings me right back to: Why am I tied up, Sam?’
Sam climbed to his feet and leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed across his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles. The image made Dean’s balls tighten and he swallowed back his embarrassment and discomfort, because what the hell? That was his baby brother, right there!
‘You missed the all-important word before,’ Sam lectured.
Dean raised an eyebrow. ‘Uh…breasts? Female? Creation?’
‘Voodoo, Dean. Or, to be accurate, hoodoo.’
‘Sonovabitch! You’re saying some skeevy African witch cursed me?’
‘Actually she’s Haitian, and no, not specifically you. Seems she got sick of drunken ass-wipes hitting on the bar staff, so she put a general curse over the whole place. It was supposed to get tripped by anyone who was too persistent; made unwanted advances; wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
Dean’s mouth fell open. ‘I would never,’ he began, but Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand.
‘It was a little too hair trigger. You didn’t do anything particularly inappropriate.’
Dean realized that he was staring hard at Sam’s hand, imagining it wrapped around his cock, gripping it just right, stroking hard, just the way he liked it. Sam would flick his thumb over the slit, smear pre-come over the head, and then pull down hard, twisting his wrist right when Dean needed him to, bringing him-
‘Dean! Are you even listening?’
Dean groaned. ‘Sorry, Sammy.’
And he was apologizing more for his fantasy than for his lack of attention.
Sam looked pissed.
‘As I was saying, when Etienne realized-’
‘Etienne?’
‘The barmaid-come-Voodoo priestess. Focus, Dean! When she realized that you’d been affected just because of a little light flirting, she agreed to lift the curse from the bar. Too little, too late for you of course, you’d already been affected. But at least no-one else is gonna suffer now.’
Dean frowned. The curse obviously made you feel as horny as a thirteen-year-old boy at a convention for nudist super models; not to mention making you have inappropriate thoughts about your baby brother. But that didn’t really explain why he was tied up. There was something he was missing.
‘Have you talked to Cas?’ he asked.
Sam nodded. ‘He angel airlifted us out of New Orleans and dumped us here at Bobby’s.’
‘Cas couldn’t lift the curse with his mojo?’
Sam shook his head. ‘Etienne says it can’t be lifted, it’s just gotta play out. But don’t worry; Bobby’s been working day and night on it, looking for a loophole.’
And there it was; the missing piece; the one crucial bit of information that Sam had avoided giving him. Dean took a deep breath.
‘So how does this curse play out?’
Sam hugged himself tighter.
‘It’s a ‘taste of your own medicine’ type curse. The only way to break it is with unwanted sexual contact.’
Dean gaped at him. ‘Huh?’
Sam chewed on his bottom lip and Dean got a little lost imagining his brother’s lips wrapped around his cock.
‘The curse drives you to pursue sex with somebody who you really, really don’t want to have sex with. As in, you have to be completely horrified by the thought of having sex with the person. If they’re willing, and sex happens, the curse breaks.’
Dean heaved a sigh of relief.
‘So get me some chick who’s totally not my type.’
Sam ran a hand over his eyes.
‘We tried that in New Orleans. The problem is you really are a horn dog Dean. We actually couldn’t find anyone who you were too horrified to fuck.’
Dean frowned again.
‘Why don’t I remember any of this?’
Sam stared at him for a long moment and then sighed.
‘Because I had Cas wipe your memory.’
Dean’s stomach churned unpleasantly.
‘Why?’ he whispered, ‘what did I do?’
Sam slid down the wall and sat on the floor again, hugging himself tightly once more and staring off into the middle distance.
‘Because of the curse,’ he explained slowly, ‘you can now only get a hard-on when you’re with somebody who you really, really don’t want to have sex with. Once the curse has fixated on that person, you start to become aroused by them, despite your horror, and then you become more and more aggressive in your pursuit of sex with them.’
Dean swallowed. The only other person in the room was Sam, he had a raging hard-on, and he was having seriously kinky thoughts about his brother. Oh shit.
‘Did I…did I…’
Sam took a shuddering breath. ‘If you try to initiate sex with somebody who isn’t willing, the curse throws you across the room and knocks you out.’
A single tear welled up and rolled down Dean’s cheek. He had tried to rape his brother.
‘I am so sorry,’ he whispered.
Sam looked at him then, full in the face. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said firmly and Dean seriously wished his brother would use that commanding voice more often because it really did make him all tingly. He groaned and twisted on the bed, willing Sam to come closer and wrap his big, strong hands around Dean’s aching, weeping cock.
‘Sam,’ he managed to gasp, ‘what happens if we don’t break the curse?’
There was a horrible, ominous silence.
‘You’ll die,’ Sam choked out, before fleeing from the room.
:::
Sam watched his brother through the panic room’s peep hole and let his head thunk against the glass. Dean was writhing and moaning, straining against the chains so hard that his wrist and ankles were as raw as hamburger mince, and the bulge in the front of his jeans was more than obvious.
A hand slapped down on his back and Sam turned to face Bobby. The man’s weather-worn face was etched with concern and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. Which, you know, he hadn’t. They’d done nothing since Sam and Dean had arrived except pour over books of arcane lore, hit up every contact they knew-including angels, demons and spirits-and the strain and the fatigue was really starting to show.
‘He’s burning up,’ Sam said desolately. ‘Look at him. This can’t go on.’
Bobby took his cap off and scratched at his head.
‘I’ll keep lookin’, you know I will. If there’s anythin’ to find, I’ll find it.’
On the bed Dean arched his back and cried out.
‘It might not be soon enough,’ Sam whispered. ‘I can’t let him die, Bobby. I can’t. Not again.’
Bobby’s face collapsed and he looked sympathetically at the desperate young man standing before him.
‘It’s your call, son. I ain’t gonna judge.’
Dean went rigid and then began to thrash furiously.
‘Sammy! Oh God! Sammy!’
Sam choked back a sob and turned wet eyes to Bobby.
‘Maybe you could go out for a while?’ he said thickly.
Sam waited until he heard the front door slam shut before he trudged despondently up the stairs and retrieved the bag of supplies he’d bought earlier, just in case. And hadn't that been a fun shopping trip; red in the face and trying not to stammer as he'd explained to the sales assistant that he and his girlfriend were thinking about experimenting with anal sex and he just needed to get some stuff to make it easier.
Not for nothing was Sam the Winchesters’ research guru, and his google-fu had yielded its usual excellent results. Not that he’d ever thought he’d have any reason to research anal sex; it wasn’t something he was interested in and none of his girlfriends had been either. Well. There had been that time when Ruby had turned up with a strap-on and thrown him face first onto the bed; he'd actually had to start chanting an exorcism to get her to back off, but he'd repressed that. Mostly.
Sam took the small douching kit, the lube, the latex gloves and the graded butt plugs into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. He was organized and he was methodical, stepping systematically through the tasks with clinical detachment. It wasn’t until two thrusting fingers found his prostrate and his cock jumped to attention that the tears which had been threatening for some time finally started to fall. And that just made him laugh, remembering the time in the mystery spot’s diner when Dean had taunted him by saying ‘Sam Winchester cries his way through sex.’ Well, it looked like Dean was about to see that up close and personal.
Yeah, he might’ve been a little hysterical by this point.
Sam took a deep, centering breath and then calmly inserted a third finger. Okay, ouch, that burned. Also, his wrist was starting to go numb from being held at the one awkward angle for so long. Sam thrust and scissored his fingers a few times and then pulled them out, peeled off the latex glove and dumped it in the trash. He eyed the butt plugs speculatively. There were four of them, ranging in size from the width of his thumb to no-way-that’d-fit-up-my-ass. After the stretching he’d already done, one and two didn’t look like much of a challenge, so he reached for number three. He lubed it up generously and then hesitantly placed the tapered, translucent pink tip at his puckered entrance. It slipped inside surprising easily, with only minimal discomfort and burn. Sam thrust it in and out a few times and then accidentally jabbed his prostrate again. The sharp burst of pleasure helped him to relax; so he did it again. This wasn’t about getting off; this was about saving Dean’s life and he certainly wasn’t going to go chasing after an orgasm but that didn’t mean that the…act…had to be nothing but pain and humiliation. Sam thrust the plug in and out until he felt comfortably loose and stretched and then he withdrew it and dumped it in the sink before reaching for plug number four. Plug number four was long and thick and its light-hearted pinkness and-dear God, were those silver sparkles?-was a complete contrast to its ominous girth. Sam smothered the monster in lube, took a deep breath and lined it up with his stretched, pink hole. At first it went in easily, but then it was suddenly too tight and it hurt, like he was being split in two. He pumped it back and forth, getting it a little deeper with each thrust until finally it was sitting flush against his ass-cheeks. He pulled his boxers and jeans up awkwardly and took a couple calming breaths.
Mindful that a good hunter always cleans his weapons and puts them away when he’s finished with them, Sam washed butt plug number three and packed it back into its box. And then he picked up the lube and the box of condoms and headed downstairs to the panic room.
Dean was straining against the chains, trembling and whimpering, and the sight steeled Sam’s resolve. He approached his brother slowly, watching as Dean arched his back and bit his bottom lip, his face beaded with sweat and his shirt stained dark with perspiration. He was so out of it that he didn’t notice Sam’s approach until the younger man was standing with his shins pressed against the side of the bed.
‘Sammy!’ he gasped, ‘Please…just one hand…please. I won’t try…won’t touch you …just need…Oh God! Just untie one hand. I’m beggin’ you man!’
‘Shh, Dean. It’s okay.’
Sam reached out an unsteady hand and unbuttoned his brother’s jeans. Dean gasped and whimpered and pushed up into his touch, rutting against his brother’s hand even as he begged his forgiveness.
‘It’s alright,’ Sam soothed. ‘I’m gonna take care of you.’
He slid Dean’s zip down and his brother moaned and thrust up hard.
‘No,’ he rasped. ‘Can’t let you…’
Sam grasped the waistband of his brother’s jeans and tugged them down over his hips, leaving them resting just above his knees.
‘Please, Sammy! Please!’
Sam wasn’t sure whether his brother was begging him to stop or begging him to keep going. He wasn’t even sure that Dean knew which he was doing.
Sam cupped his brother’s straining dick through the silky fabric of his boxers and Dean came with a harsh cry.
‘It hurts,’ he whispered. ‘Oh God, it hurts.’
Sam pulled Dean’s boxers down. His cock was still rock hard, red-almost purple-and covered with cum. The inside of his boxers was sticky and gross and Sam frowned. If he was going to be sitting up there, he didn’t want his bare ass to come into contact with the cooling spend. Sam rifled through the baskets on the metal shelving unit until he found a bowie knife. Dean’s eyes widened in terror when he saw the knife and he started stammering something but Sam just ignored him and cut the sopping boxers from his body, noticing in the process that his brother’s skin was scorching hot. Sam ripped the buttons on Dean’s shirt open and then cut the shirt from his body.
‘Sammy? What are you doin’?’
‘It’s okay. Just relax.’
Sam toed off his boots, and stripped out of his jeans.
‘Sammy?’
‘It’s alright. I’ve got you.’
Dean gave a shaky laugh. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.’
Sam shucked off his boxers and Dean groaned.
‘Jesus Christ. You don’t…don’t…have to…do this...’
‘Can’t watch you die again, man,’ Sam said. ‘You’re my brother and I’d die for you, so don’t tell me I can’t do this.’
Sam eased the plug out of his ass and Dean’s cock twitched and spurted a thin trail of jizz up onto his stomach at the sight.
Sam straddled the bed quickly, grabbed his brother’s cock and rolled a condom onto it. He slicked it liberally with lube and Dean thrashed beneath him, tossing his head from side to side, and spurting cum into the sheath. Sam held his brother’s still turgid cock upright and nestled it against his stretched, wet opening before sinking slowly downwards.
‘Jesus fuck!’ Dean groaned. ‘Feels so fuckin’ amazing.’
Sam closed his eyes and let gravity take him down. About half way, his muscles locked up and pain spiked through his ass and up into his back and stomach. He held himself still and tried to force himself to relax.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ chanted Dean, thrusting his hips and driving his throbbing cock as deeply into Sam’s ass as he could. Sam took a deep breath and then bore down, impaling himself until Dean was balls deep in his ass.
Dean was now frantic, grunting, moaning and thrusting as though his life depended on it. Which, you know, it did. For a guy who was tied down, Dean was sure managing to buck and writhe a lot and he nearly threw Sam off a couple times, so Sam leaned forwards and rested his hands on his brother’s shoulders. Dean thrust again, hitting the sensitive nub of nerves inside Sam head on and Sam tried desperately to stifle his cry of pleasure. Dean’s wildly thrusting cock hit the gland again, and again, and again and Sam’s own cock, which had been hanging limp by his leg, suddenly began to sit up and take notice.
Dean was vocalising almost constantly now, a steady stream of moans, groans and whimpers that spoke of nothing but his overwhelming pleasure. Sam was getting turned on despite himself and at last, he guiltily took hold of his own cock and began to fist it in time with Dean’s thrusts.
‘Omigod, Sammy! Omigod! I’m gonna…I’m gonna….’ Dean slammed hard and deep into Sam’s ass, once, twice, and then stilled, his mouth frozen in a perfect O as he pumped load after load of cum into the condom.
‘Jesus fuck, Sammy,’ he groaned. The mumbled curse was Sam’s undoing and he came all over his brother’s chest, before collapsing on top of him, breathing heavily.
Sometime later Dean’s soft voice spoke from right next to Sam’s ear: ‘Dude. You’re heavy. Get the hell off me.’
Sam sat up, carefully avoided Dean’s eyes, and pulled himself off his brother’s cock. It hurt almost as much coming out as it had going in and even though he was studiously ignoring his brother, Sam still saw him flinch when Sam’s pain registered with him.
‘What the hell did you do, Sammy?’ Dean said quietly.
‘Saved your life,’ Sam snapped, ‘and if you want out of those chains any time soon, do not even think about starting with that Sam Winchester cries his way through sex crap again, alright?’
Dean didn’t respond, so Sam pulled on his clothes and then went and got the keys to the chains, unlocking his brother’s wrists first, and then his ankles.
‘Sam?’
‘What?’
‘Thank you.’
Sam huffed. ‘Don’t mention it.’
‘I-’
‘No seriously. Don’t mention it. Ever. Ever! And pull your damn pants up.’
‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Dean said, as he watched his brother make a speedy exit from the panic room, ‘Sam ‘emo’ Winchester doesn’t wanna talk about something. Huh. Must be a side effect of the curse.’
He laughed softly and shook his head. This freaky fucked-up curse shit-which hadn’t in any way, shape or form been the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had-was definitely something they were going to be burying deep. Burying deep, drowning in alcohol and then ruthlessly supressing forever.
That douche-bag Zachariah may or may not have told Adam that his older brothers were psychotically, irrationally, erotically co-dependent on each other-Dean’s pretty sure Adam misheard the last bit-but one thing is for certain: they’d do anything, anything, for each other.
-Fin-