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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: The Re-Possession of Sam Winchester
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2880
Summary: It's been almost four years since The Ownership of Sam, and Dean's been left behind for Stanford. When a hunt sends Dean to San Francisco, he plans to check up on his brother, but not before he's worked off some frustration and sexual tension. What Dean finds in a dark underground club changes his plans for the foreseeable future.
A/Ns & Warnings: For the incomprable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ash48 on the occassion of her birthday. It isn't exactly the prompt you asked for...but with your prompt and the original story in my head, this is what came out! I hope you like it. Warnings: BDSM, D/s particularly, slight humiliation, spanking, ownership, etc...
Dean is dripping icy salt water as he trudges to the car. Damn ocean. Damn selkie. A fucking selkie in fucking San Francisco. But it’s done, and it’s early and it’s San Francisco.
He heads back to the downtown dive hotel he checked into the day before, thinking he’ll maybe have a little fun since he’s alone and his father isn’t around to get in the way. There’s an underground club he hasn’t been to in a while, kind of wild and maybe he can find some pretty thing to help him burn off his frustration before he heads to Palo Alto in the morning to check up on Sam.
Of course, Sam would never know he’d been there.
As he steps out of the shower, Dean can already feel the hunt drain away, the adrenaline fading to a more steady energy, the pent up frustration of months without a good lay.
Not that he was having trouble getting laid. Just trouble finding time…or interest. Since the whole thing with Sam had come to a screeching halt, since Sam decided that he didn’t belong to his big brother anymore, the usual fun and games had been boring.
So, Dean figures a trip to a club specializing in something other than the usual fun and games might just get him where he wants to go. He dresses slowly, tight jeans, white wife beater under a black button down…boots. He’ll probably be the most underdressed in the club, but he doesn’t care, his attitude will carry him.
He heads out, walking, hoping he can still find the place. The last time he’d been there, he’d had Sam on his arm, more or less. The kid had been wide eyed and almost shy, until Dean had put him on display, put him over his knee.
He’s hard just thinking about it. The way Sam’s eyes burned, the way his cheeks flushed when he realized what Dean was about to do.
It had been three years…six months later Sam had left for school.
He spots the door and pauses, adjusting his cock inside his jeans. There’s three steps down to an unassuming black door, and a small plaque with the name of the joint. Beside it sits a big bald guy on a little stool.
He eyes Dean up and down as he approaches and grunts in greeting as Dean stops at the bottom of the stairs. “Cover’s twenty five. Pay inside.”
Dean nods and lets himself in, his eyes flicking around him. The lobby is well lit, littered with patrons checking in coats or preparing to leave. There’s a pretty girl on her knees in little more than a chain mail bikini and a collar. A dyke with a buzz cut held the other end of her leash, grinning at Dean when she catches him looking.
The tranny by the door into the club smilesat him, waving him over with impossibly long nails. “Hey sugar, you lost?”
Dean smirks at her. “Too vanilla for this joint?”
“Too pretty.” She leans in. “What’s your pleasure tonight, darling? You looking for a toy? Or to be toyed with?”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “A toy. I’m interested in playing rough tonight.”
The tranny sits back and regardes him. “You’re in luck, plenty of fine toys inside tonight.”
Dean pulls out his wallet and pays his cover. She stamps his hand and opens the door. One step inside and he pauses to let his eyes adjust. The place is mostly dark, with scattered black light and red neon. There’s a bar to his left, a good first stop.
He orders up a shot of tequila and a beer, downing the shot before he turns to take in the place. It hasn’t changed much in three years. The main dance floor is crowded, but he’s not here for dancing.
Back behind the dance floor there’s a group of people, so Dean wanders that way. That was where he spanked Sam before. He sips his beer and moves around to get a look at the goods.
There’s a handful of the obvious, wearing collars or wrist cuffs. Men, women…and some he wasn’t entirely sure were either. The pretty blond in the corner is looking promising. She feels his eyes and looks up, then shyly down at her toes. Very nice. He moves across the space, but before he reaches her a big man with tattoos closes in and puts a meaty hand on the back of her neck.
Dean shrugs and drops back, looking around him again. Across the room there’s a tall, bare back, muscular, tan. Dean finds himself staring. It’s obvious the boy is owned. There’s a black leather cuff on one wrist, leashed. Dean’s eyes follow the leash to the owner.
He was dressed in all leather, dark hair slicked back. He was clearly drunk, and arguing with some other guy.
Dean’s eyes went back to the bare back, sliding down over a leather clad ass. The boy was fine…at least as far as his ass went. Dean shakes his head and pulls his eyes away. No sense even day dreaming. He wasn’t going to hit on someone that was that clearly with someone else, even if the someone else was drunk.
He’d just keep looking.
Except, his cock apparently has decided already. Dean moves through the crowd, sipping at his beer, tries to convince his cock that the boy isn’t who it really wants.
He’s about to slip past them, when the leather guy yells, yanking on the leash. “I said KNEES!”
The tall kid is slow to move, dropping to his knees, his head down, his hair in his face. There’s the sound of skin on skin as the leather guy slaps him, and as his face snaps to the side, Dean freezes.
His eyes widen, then he turns away, his face flushing as Dean steps closer.
“What are you staring at?”
“A drunk guy abusing his boy.” Dean said dryly.
“Fuck off.”
Dean shakes his head lightly. “No.” He drops his beer on the nearest table, clenching his fists, then forcing them to relax.
“Dylan, we should just go.”
Leather guy yells again, grabbing a fistful of hair. “You don’t make demands, boy.”
They were staring to draw a crowd. “Tell you what? Why don’t we play for it?” Dean points to the stage in the corner with its giant dart board. Instead of numbers it had things like “butt plug” and “spanking” marking its perimeter. “First person to hit with three darts on one line gets the boy.”
Leather guy eyes him up and down, then tugs his handful of hair. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Dean leads them to the stage, the boy crawling behind Dylan. Most of the time the dartboard is part of some show, but it suits his purposes for the moment, and might lead to some interesting play once he’s beaten the drunk fool. He goes for the darts, offering three blue ones to Dylan.
He bends over, his leather creaking, to kiss his boy wetly. “When this is over I’m going to remind you who’s in charge boy.”
Dean rolls his eyes and stretches, gesturing to Dylan to take the first shot. Half the place was watching, crowding around the small stage. The first dart wobbles a bit, then thuds against the board, just inside the line under “caning”.
There is appreciative applause. Dean steps up, rolling his dart, feeling the weight of it. He eyes the board and chooses, letting the dart fly. It lands squarely under “Master’s Choice”.
Dean steps back and let’s Dylan ready his next shot. He spares a glance at the boy, but his eyes are on the ground. The blush from his face has spread to his shoulders and onto his chest.
Dylan’s second shot lands solidly beside the first. Maybe he isn’t as drunk as Dean assumes. Dean moves in and takes his next shot, landing it perfectly in line with his first.
Dylan’s face is a sneer as he steps up. Dean’s heart races a little. He doesn’t want to lose to this prick, but he doesn’t want it to show either. Dylan’s dart flounders, skidding off the board to the floor. “Fuck.”
Okay then. Dean’s got this in the bag. He steps up and lets fly, landing his third dart as neatly as the first two. The crowd was cheering, Dylan was scowling. “Now, why don’t you run along and sober up?” Dean says, stepping off the stage and gathering the leash. “I’ll take good care of the boy.”
“This isn’t over.” Dylan lunges at them, but misjudges the distance and falls off the stage.
Dean tugs on the leash. “Up.” He figures it’s safer to beat it out of there, enjoy his spoils in the safety of his room. He leads the way to the door, and the boy comes easily enough, not speaking until they’re outside.
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet, strained.
Dean turns to him and smirks. “Don’t thank me yet.” He gathers the leash, pulling him closer. “I haven’t decided what my choice is.”
He tugs more and keeps walking, very aware that he’s walking down the streets of San Francisco with a half dressed man on a leash.
They don’t speak again until they’re in his room, the door closed. Dark green eyes lift to his, a bit of a challenge in them. “Dean.”
Dean shakes his head. “You don’t talk. You know the rules, Sammy.”
Sam licks his lips and shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”
Dean pulls on the leash and Sam comes to him a little reluctantly. “Saving your ass from a beating, by the look of it. Now, I won. My choice. Get naked.”
“Dean.” There’s defiance and embarrassment warring in his eyes. Dean just stares until Sam looks away.
“Naked.” He moves to sit on the bed, watching as Sam shimmies his way out of the leather pants. “You remember how this goes.” Dean shifts, moving so that his legs are apart enough that Sam would almost fit there between them, puts his hands on his knees. The fire when their eyes meet melts any doubt he might have had that Sam is still his, still wants this.
Sam looks like he’s going to protest, shifting his weight before he’s across the room and breathing heavy as he kneels…just like he used to…on his knees, ankles crossed, hands at his sides. Sam drops his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Dean waits and for a moment he isn’t sure Sam knows why, then those eyes lift, blink, long eyelashes guarding the green depths. “I…want…”
He reaches for Sam, one hand on his shoulder. “Easy.”
Sam nods, but it’s shaky and uncertain. “Please, Dean…”
“Look at me.” His tone is dark, possessive, commanding. Sam hesitates, but looks up. “Say it to me, not the floor Sam.”
“I need you.”
It isn’t exactly what Dean wants, but it’s close and he nods to himself. He’s angry, but maybe not for the reasons Sam’s thinking.
“I’m going to spank you Sammy.” Dean says, his voice soft. “Like that first night in the club. I made you come in your pants.”
Sam groans, but doesn’t move, not until Dean gathers the leash again, pulling Sam in and lifting him up until his laying across Dean’s lap, naked ass upturned. Dean’s hand skims over his bare ass, lifts and returns with a resounding smack. He lifts it again, and slaps just as hard, then a third time. Once for each year Sam had been gone. He goes back to rubbing.
Sam’s hard against Dean’s leg, and just like that first night all those years before, Dean knows it won’t take much to push him over the edge.
“What were you thinking?” Dean asks, bringing his hand down again.
Sam lurches, grabbing at the bed to keep from falling. His head is shaking and his body quivers.
“Answer me.” Dean slaps his ass twice more, hard enough to spread the pink over the white skin. “What were you thinking, Sam, letting that dickhead treat you like that?”
Sam sobs, his body quaking, his cock banging against Dean’s leg. “Please.” Dean eases him back to his knees, rubs over his teary cheeks.
“Sam.” The anger has cooled some and Dean licks his lips, kissing over Sam’s cheeks and eyes.
“I wanted him to be you.” Sam closes his eyes and leans into his brother.
The anger bleeds away and Dean’s on his knees next to Sam, kissing him, owning his mouth like he used to. “Sam…” But he isn’t sure what to say to that.
“I missed you.” Sam licks his lips, his eyes closed, his face leaning in for more.
“Next time, pick up a phone.” Dean whispers in his ear.
Sam’s eyes opened as Dean took his hands. “Do you remember Sam? What I promised you?”
His little brother nods slowly.
“I told you that I would never hurt you without it feeling good. I would never let anyone else hurt you.” Dean kisses over his cheeks again. “Tonight I kept my promise.”
They are quiet, then Sam’s hands squeeze his. “I left you. I thought…”
Dean nods. “Say the words Sammy.”
Sam pulls in a deep breath and seems to steady. His eyes meet Dean’s, clear and filled with lust. “I want to belong to you…again.”
“And you promise me that you’ll obey and that you’ll follow the rules?”
Sam nods, his eyes wide. “I promise Dean. I promise.” His kiss is sweet and promising, his lips opening easily, his body melting to Dean’s.
“On the bed. I want to remind you who owns you.”
Sam rises up on his knees, kissing Dean passionately. “You Dean…only you.”
“Damn right.”
His own cock is hard and pressing to be released and Dean lets go of Sam only long enough to do just that, dropping his jeans on the floor and pulling off both shirts to crawl up the bed where Sam was spreading himself open, his hard cock curling up toward his belly.
Dean wastes little time, crawling over him and lowering his mouth over Sam’s cock, licking up the bottom and circling the top. His right hand moves under him, one finger working into his tight hole. “Drawer, lube.” Dean says and feels Sam shift. Some habits are hard to break. He’d started keeping lube handy back when this started.
He hears the snap of the bottle and Sam’s drizzling it over Dean’s outstretched hand. Dean smears it over his fingers and puts them back to Sam’s hole, shoving in two quickly and bringing in a third.
“Dean….please…” Sam is already dribbling steadily, Dean pokes at his prostate and Sam arches up, shoving his cock deeper into Dean’s throat. He responds by swallowing and Sam yells, coming hard.
Dean barely lets him settle back to the bed before he’s rising up, pushing his cock inside him…and it’s tight and the lube is already warm and Dean sets a blistering pace, hips snapping…because this is real…right….in all the fucked up wrong ways. “Mine, Sammy.” Dean’s mouth moves over his skin, biting down on the base of his neck, marking him. “I own you.”
Sam’s hands are holding his arms, his eyes shut as his mouth runs with yours and please and his cock is half hard again. Dean reaches for it, stroking it and Sam’s voice goes up a notch, desperation in the sound. Dean and fuck fall into the line up and Dean shifts hips, his cock finding that hot spot inside and Sam’s voice failed, though his mouth never stepped moving, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut.
Dean leans in again, abandoning Sam’s cock to nip at the spot on his neck, sucking, licking, biting again. By morning he’ll have left a bruise, Something to remind Sam.
Sam’s ass clenches around him as he bites, and Dean’s close…so close…he goes back to stroking his brother’s tender cock and Sam gasps. He shudders as Dean comes, flooding him with heat. Sam’s cock is red and angry looking, a small amount of fluid eking out.
Dean pulls back and Sam sags, sweaty and spent. He falls to the bed beside Sam, panting. “Mine.” He pulls Sam closer and Sam nods.
“Just don’t get any ideas about me calling you Master. Ain’t gonna happen.” Sam says, his eyes sparkling.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “What about Dylan? What did you call him?”
“Dickhead?” Sam chuckles and pulls away. “I need a shower.”
Dean lets him go, watching his red ass disappear into the bathroom. A long time ago he’d taken ownership of his brother. But, he’d let him go, let him leave.
He isn’t about to make the same mistake again. Dean reaches for his jeans, for his phone as the water comes on in the next room. He dials without looking, lifting the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad. I got the damn thing. But I need to deal with a possession…Nothing I can’t handle, but I’m going to be a while. Call me when you get back to Nevada.”
And maybe it was more of a re-possession, but what his father didn’t know so far hadn’t hurt any of them.
Title: The Re-Possession of Sam Winchester
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2880
Summary: It's been almost four years since The Ownership of Sam, and Dean's been left behind for Stanford. When a hunt sends Dean to San Francisco, he plans to check up on his brother, but not before he's worked off some frustration and sexual tension. What Dean finds in a dark underground club changes his plans for the foreseeable future.
A/Ns & Warnings: For the incomprable
ash48 on the occassion of her birthday. It isn't exactly the prompt you asked for...but with your prompt and the original story in my head, this is what came out! I hope you like it. Warnings: BDSM, D/s particularly, slight humiliation, spanking, ownership, etc...Dean is dripping icy salt water as he trudges to the car. Damn ocean. Damn selkie. A fucking selkie in fucking San Francisco. But it’s done, and it’s early and it’s San Francisco.
He heads back to the downtown dive hotel he checked into the day before, thinking he’ll maybe have a little fun since he’s alone and his father isn’t around to get in the way. There’s an underground club he hasn’t been to in a while, kind of wild and maybe he can find some pretty thing to help him burn off his frustration before he heads to Palo Alto in the morning to check up on Sam.
Of course, Sam would never know he’d been there.
As he steps out of the shower, Dean can already feel the hunt drain away, the adrenaline fading to a more steady energy, the pent up frustration of months without a good lay.
Not that he was having trouble getting laid. Just trouble finding time…or interest. Since the whole thing with Sam had come to a screeching halt, since Sam decided that he didn’t belong to his big brother anymore, the usual fun and games had been boring.
So, Dean figures a trip to a club specializing in something other than the usual fun and games might just get him where he wants to go. He dresses slowly, tight jeans, white wife beater under a black button down…boots. He’ll probably be the most underdressed in the club, but he doesn’t care, his attitude will carry him.
He heads out, walking, hoping he can still find the place. The last time he’d been there, he’d had Sam on his arm, more or less. The kid had been wide eyed and almost shy, until Dean had put him on display, put him over his knee.
He’s hard just thinking about it. The way Sam’s eyes burned, the way his cheeks flushed when he realized what Dean was about to do.
It had been three years…six months later Sam had left for school.
He spots the door and pauses, adjusting his cock inside his jeans. There’s three steps down to an unassuming black door, and a small plaque with the name of the joint. Beside it sits a big bald guy on a little stool.
He eyes Dean up and down as he approaches and grunts in greeting as Dean stops at the bottom of the stairs. “Cover’s twenty five. Pay inside.”
Dean nods and lets himself in, his eyes flicking around him. The lobby is well lit, littered with patrons checking in coats or preparing to leave. There’s a pretty girl on her knees in little more than a chain mail bikini and a collar. A dyke with a buzz cut held the other end of her leash, grinning at Dean when she catches him looking.
The tranny by the door into the club smilesat him, waving him over with impossibly long nails. “Hey sugar, you lost?”
Dean smirks at her. “Too vanilla for this joint?”
“Too pretty.” She leans in. “What’s your pleasure tonight, darling? You looking for a toy? Or to be toyed with?”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “A toy. I’m interested in playing rough tonight.”
The tranny sits back and regardes him. “You’re in luck, plenty of fine toys inside tonight.”
Dean pulls out his wallet and pays his cover. She stamps his hand and opens the door. One step inside and he pauses to let his eyes adjust. The place is mostly dark, with scattered black light and red neon. There’s a bar to his left, a good first stop.
He orders up a shot of tequila and a beer, downing the shot before he turns to take in the place. It hasn’t changed much in three years. The main dance floor is crowded, but he’s not here for dancing.
Back behind the dance floor there’s a group of people, so Dean wanders that way. That was where he spanked Sam before. He sips his beer and moves around to get a look at the goods.
There’s a handful of the obvious, wearing collars or wrist cuffs. Men, women…and some he wasn’t entirely sure were either. The pretty blond in the corner is looking promising. She feels his eyes and looks up, then shyly down at her toes. Very nice. He moves across the space, but before he reaches her a big man with tattoos closes in and puts a meaty hand on the back of her neck.
Dean shrugs and drops back, looking around him again. Across the room there’s a tall, bare back, muscular, tan. Dean finds himself staring. It’s obvious the boy is owned. There’s a black leather cuff on one wrist, leashed. Dean’s eyes follow the leash to the owner.
He was dressed in all leather, dark hair slicked back. He was clearly drunk, and arguing with some other guy.
Dean’s eyes went back to the bare back, sliding down over a leather clad ass. The boy was fine…at least as far as his ass went. Dean shakes his head and pulls his eyes away. No sense even day dreaming. He wasn’t going to hit on someone that was that clearly with someone else, even if the someone else was drunk.
He’d just keep looking.
Except, his cock apparently has decided already. Dean moves through the crowd, sipping at his beer, tries to convince his cock that the boy isn’t who it really wants.
He’s about to slip past them, when the leather guy yells, yanking on the leash. “I said KNEES!”
The tall kid is slow to move, dropping to his knees, his head down, his hair in his face. There’s the sound of skin on skin as the leather guy slaps him, and as his face snaps to the side, Dean freezes.
His eyes widen, then he turns away, his face flushing as Dean steps closer.
“What are you staring at?”
“A drunk guy abusing his boy.” Dean said dryly.
“Fuck off.”
Dean shakes his head lightly. “No.” He drops his beer on the nearest table, clenching his fists, then forcing them to relax.
“Dylan, we should just go.”
Leather guy yells again, grabbing a fistful of hair. “You don’t make demands, boy.”
They were staring to draw a crowd. “Tell you what? Why don’t we play for it?” Dean points to the stage in the corner with its giant dart board. Instead of numbers it had things like “butt plug” and “spanking” marking its perimeter. “First person to hit with three darts on one line gets the boy.”
Leather guy eyes him up and down, then tugs his handful of hair. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Dean leads them to the stage, the boy crawling behind Dylan. Most of the time the dartboard is part of some show, but it suits his purposes for the moment, and might lead to some interesting play once he’s beaten the drunk fool. He goes for the darts, offering three blue ones to Dylan.
He bends over, his leather creaking, to kiss his boy wetly. “When this is over I’m going to remind you who’s in charge boy.”
Dean rolls his eyes and stretches, gesturing to Dylan to take the first shot. Half the place was watching, crowding around the small stage. The first dart wobbles a bit, then thuds against the board, just inside the line under “caning”.
There is appreciative applause. Dean steps up, rolling his dart, feeling the weight of it. He eyes the board and chooses, letting the dart fly. It lands squarely under “Master’s Choice”.
Dean steps back and let’s Dylan ready his next shot. He spares a glance at the boy, but his eyes are on the ground. The blush from his face has spread to his shoulders and onto his chest.
Dylan’s second shot lands solidly beside the first. Maybe he isn’t as drunk as Dean assumes. Dean moves in and takes his next shot, landing it perfectly in line with his first.
Dylan’s face is a sneer as he steps up. Dean’s heart races a little. He doesn’t want to lose to this prick, but he doesn’t want it to show either. Dylan’s dart flounders, skidding off the board to the floor. “Fuck.”
Okay then. Dean’s got this in the bag. He steps up and lets fly, landing his third dart as neatly as the first two. The crowd was cheering, Dylan was scowling. “Now, why don’t you run along and sober up?” Dean says, stepping off the stage and gathering the leash. “I’ll take good care of the boy.”
“This isn’t over.” Dylan lunges at them, but misjudges the distance and falls off the stage.
Dean tugs on the leash. “Up.” He figures it’s safer to beat it out of there, enjoy his spoils in the safety of his room. He leads the way to the door, and the boy comes easily enough, not speaking until they’re outside.
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet, strained.
Dean turns to him and smirks. “Don’t thank me yet.” He gathers the leash, pulling him closer. “I haven’t decided what my choice is.”
He tugs more and keeps walking, very aware that he’s walking down the streets of San Francisco with a half dressed man on a leash.
They don’t speak again until they’re in his room, the door closed. Dark green eyes lift to his, a bit of a challenge in them. “Dean.”
Dean shakes his head. “You don’t talk. You know the rules, Sammy.”
Sam licks his lips and shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”
Dean pulls on the leash and Sam comes to him a little reluctantly. “Saving your ass from a beating, by the look of it. Now, I won. My choice. Get naked.”
“Dean.” There’s defiance and embarrassment warring in his eyes. Dean just stares until Sam looks away.
“Naked.” He moves to sit on the bed, watching as Sam shimmies his way out of the leather pants. “You remember how this goes.” Dean shifts, moving so that his legs are apart enough that Sam would almost fit there between them, puts his hands on his knees. The fire when their eyes meet melts any doubt he might have had that Sam is still his, still wants this.
Sam looks like he’s going to protest, shifting his weight before he’s across the room and breathing heavy as he kneels…just like he used to…on his knees, ankles crossed, hands at his sides. Sam drops his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Dean waits and for a moment he isn’t sure Sam knows why, then those eyes lift, blink, long eyelashes guarding the green depths. “I…want…”
He reaches for Sam, one hand on his shoulder. “Easy.”
Sam nods, but it’s shaky and uncertain. “Please, Dean…”
“Look at me.” His tone is dark, possessive, commanding. Sam hesitates, but looks up. “Say it to me, not the floor Sam.”
“I need you.”
It isn’t exactly what Dean wants, but it’s close and he nods to himself. He’s angry, but maybe not for the reasons Sam’s thinking.
“I’m going to spank you Sammy.” Dean says, his voice soft. “Like that first night in the club. I made you come in your pants.”
Sam groans, but doesn’t move, not until Dean gathers the leash again, pulling Sam in and lifting him up until his laying across Dean’s lap, naked ass upturned. Dean’s hand skims over his bare ass, lifts and returns with a resounding smack. He lifts it again, and slaps just as hard, then a third time. Once for each year Sam had been gone. He goes back to rubbing.
Sam’s hard against Dean’s leg, and just like that first night all those years before, Dean knows it won’t take much to push him over the edge.
“What were you thinking?” Dean asks, bringing his hand down again.
Sam lurches, grabbing at the bed to keep from falling. His head is shaking and his body quivers.
“Answer me.” Dean slaps his ass twice more, hard enough to spread the pink over the white skin. “What were you thinking, Sam, letting that dickhead treat you like that?”
Sam sobs, his body quaking, his cock banging against Dean’s leg. “Please.” Dean eases him back to his knees, rubs over his teary cheeks.
“Sam.” The anger has cooled some and Dean licks his lips, kissing over Sam’s cheeks and eyes.
“I wanted him to be you.” Sam closes his eyes and leans into his brother.
The anger bleeds away and Dean’s on his knees next to Sam, kissing him, owning his mouth like he used to. “Sam…” But he isn’t sure what to say to that.
“I missed you.” Sam licks his lips, his eyes closed, his face leaning in for more.
“Next time, pick up a phone.” Dean whispers in his ear.
Sam’s eyes opened as Dean took his hands. “Do you remember Sam? What I promised you?”
His little brother nods slowly.
“I told you that I would never hurt you without it feeling good. I would never let anyone else hurt you.” Dean kisses over his cheeks again. “Tonight I kept my promise.”
They are quiet, then Sam’s hands squeeze his. “I left you. I thought…”
Dean nods. “Say the words Sammy.”
Sam pulls in a deep breath and seems to steady. His eyes meet Dean’s, clear and filled with lust. “I want to belong to you…again.”
“And you promise me that you’ll obey and that you’ll follow the rules?”
Sam nods, his eyes wide. “I promise Dean. I promise.” His kiss is sweet and promising, his lips opening easily, his body melting to Dean’s.
“On the bed. I want to remind you who owns you.”
Sam rises up on his knees, kissing Dean passionately. “You Dean…only you.”
“Damn right.”
His own cock is hard and pressing to be released and Dean lets go of Sam only long enough to do just that, dropping his jeans on the floor and pulling off both shirts to crawl up the bed where Sam was spreading himself open, his hard cock curling up toward his belly.
Dean wastes little time, crawling over him and lowering his mouth over Sam’s cock, licking up the bottom and circling the top. His right hand moves under him, one finger working into his tight hole. “Drawer, lube.” Dean says and feels Sam shift. Some habits are hard to break. He’d started keeping lube handy back when this started.
He hears the snap of the bottle and Sam’s drizzling it over Dean’s outstretched hand. Dean smears it over his fingers and puts them back to Sam’s hole, shoving in two quickly and bringing in a third.
“Dean….please…” Sam is already dribbling steadily, Dean pokes at his prostate and Sam arches up, shoving his cock deeper into Dean’s throat. He responds by swallowing and Sam yells, coming hard.
Dean barely lets him settle back to the bed before he’s rising up, pushing his cock inside him…and it’s tight and the lube is already warm and Dean sets a blistering pace, hips snapping…because this is real…right….in all the fucked up wrong ways. “Mine, Sammy.” Dean’s mouth moves over his skin, biting down on the base of his neck, marking him. “I own you.”
Sam’s hands are holding his arms, his eyes shut as his mouth runs with yours and please and his cock is half hard again. Dean reaches for it, stroking it and Sam’s voice goes up a notch, desperation in the sound. Dean and fuck fall into the line up and Dean shifts hips, his cock finding that hot spot inside and Sam’s voice failed, though his mouth never stepped moving, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut.
Dean leans in again, abandoning Sam’s cock to nip at the spot on his neck, sucking, licking, biting again. By morning he’ll have left a bruise, Something to remind Sam.
Sam’s ass clenches around him as he bites, and Dean’s close…so close…he goes back to stroking his brother’s tender cock and Sam gasps. He shudders as Dean comes, flooding him with heat. Sam’s cock is red and angry looking, a small amount of fluid eking out.
Dean pulls back and Sam sags, sweaty and spent. He falls to the bed beside Sam, panting. “Mine.” He pulls Sam closer and Sam nods.
“Just don’t get any ideas about me calling you Master. Ain’t gonna happen.” Sam says, his eyes sparkling.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “What about Dylan? What did you call him?”
“Dickhead?” Sam chuckles and pulls away. “I need a shower.”
Dean lets him go, watching his red ass disappear into the bathroom. A long time ago he’d taken ownership of his brother. But, he’d let him go, let him leave.
He isn’t about to make the same mistake again. Dean reaches for his jeans, for his phone as the water comes on in the next room. He dials without looking, lifting the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad. I got the damn thing. But I need to deal with a possession…Nothing I can’t handle, but I’m going to be a while. Call me when you get back to Nevada.”
And maybe it was more of a re-possession, but what his father didn’t know so far hadn’t hurt any of them.
