![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Twenty Eight Days Later
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 812(yeah...I don't drabble well)
Summary: Over Here I posted a meme. People posted and I am writing their prompts as the muse strikes. This one is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
idiot4dean, who asked for 28 days after Twenty Eight Days, wondering if Dean was "behaving"...
A/Ns & Warnings: Basically this is nothing but a spanking fic. Yep. I'm a whore, I know.
Everything had slowed down when Sam had looked at him like that…he was…displeased…and Dean knew what that could mean. He didn’t try to explain…didn’t offer any excuses. Sam looked up from the chair in the corner and pinned Dean to the spot and Dean just stopped and waited.
There were things on the bed…waiting. Thick, black leather restraints, the paddle Sam had bought but never used…twenty eight days since the spanking…since Sam had taken him, owned him…twenty eight days of belonging to Sam.
He wanted to run a hand over the stitches above his eye, but knew better. Instead he shoved the keys of the Impala into his pocket and tossed the bag from the drug store onto the bed. He knew why Sam was angry, and it had everything to do with the stitches and the fight and the fact that Dean had let someone else stitch him up…let someone other than Sam touch him…
Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean dropped his gaze. “Those pain meds?”
Dean nodded, but didn’t say anything. “Take any?” Dean shook his head. “Are you in pain?”
Dean shook his head again. “The local hasn’t worn off.”
Sam nodded and folded his hands. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Dean sighed and put his hands in his pocket. “Some guy hit his girlfriend, I hit him, she hit me with a bottle. I went down, the bartender called an ambulance. Next thing I know I’m getting stitched up in the ER.”
“What were you doing in the bar?”
Dean shifted his weight. He’d been good, ever since Sam had made it clear Dean had to be faithful if he expected Sam to stick around. Since the wings. Since the spanking. Since Sam had said “No safe words, no stopping. You give me everything.”
“Working.” Dean said and Sam’s other eyebrow went up. “There’s a waitress there who knew our guy…before he went psycho.”
He couldn’t tell if Sam believed him…shifted his weight uncomfortably. He knew better than to keep talking. Sam’s eyes raked over him before coming back to his face. “Get undressed.”
When he was down to just boxers Sam was up and across the room. His hand glided over Dean’s skin, barely touching. “Mine.” He breathed the words over Dean’s lips and Dean nodded.
“Yours, Sam…always.”
“Not going to punish you for the stitches…for the fight…” Sam whispered. “You were working…” Dean relaxed a little. “But you let the hospital call me…you let some nurse at a hospital call me and tell me you were hurt.”
“They wouldn’t let me use the phone—“Dean stopped as Sam’s hand made contact with his back, sliding down his spine.
“Hands on the dresser.” Dean didn’t argue, let Sam arrange him there, in front of the mirror, his hands on the dresser. “Not a sound.” Sam whispered, kissing over Dean’s ear. He was gone for a minute, then the heat of him was hovering over Dean, making him feel small and weak…though he felt even smaller when Sam pulled his boxers down and let them puddle at his feet.
The first smack came without warning, cold leather against cold skin and Dean lurched forward, nearly smacking his head on the mirror. “No one but me, Dean.” Sam said as the second and third blows landed. Dean fought back the stinging tears, staring at himself in the mirror, at Sam…and god but it shouldn’t be as hot as it was, the blush from his ass sweeping through his whole body and coming back to pool in his dick.
He dropped his head for the next two blows, pressing his ass back toward Sam…more than letting it happen, asking for more. “Please Sam…” It was a plea for more…for him to stop…for him to love him, hold him…let him come…
The blows stopped, hot leather smoothing over the red, over sweaty skin and Sam was behind him, pressing his body into Dean’s. The paddle was dropped, forgotten as Sam’s hands caressed and cajoled, as his lips kissed trailed across Dean’s shoulders. “Look at me.” Sam said and Dean lifted his eyes to the reflection of Sam’s. “Mine.”
Sam’s hand closed around Dean’s hard cock, stroking hard and fast, pulling him quickly toward the white heat of orgasm. “Yours Sammy…only for you…only you…please…”
“Yeah, baby…let go…let me get you there…” Sam kissed his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark and Dean shuddered when he added teeth, bucking into Sam’s hand. “Mine…mine…”Sam murmured into his skin, holding Dean as his body tightened and he came hard.
Everything slowed down again when Sam’s body left his, still dressed…calm as he’d been when Dean had come back. “I’m going out for a bit. Dean?”
Dean straightened and turned looking at Sam and following his gaze to the bed…to the restraints. “Be ready for me when I come back.”
Title: Twenty Eight Days Later
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 812(yeah...I don't drabble well)
Summary: Over Here I posted a meme. People posted and I am writing their prompts as the muse strikes. This one is for
idiot4dean, who asked for 28 days after Twenty Eight Days, wondering if Dean was "behaving"...A/Ns & Warnings: Basically this is nothing but a spanking fic. Yep. I'm a whore, I know.
Everything had slowed down when Sam had looked at him like that…he was…displeased…and Dean knew what that could mean. He didn’t try to explain…didn’t offer any excuses. Sam looked up from the chair in the corner and pinned Dean to the spot and Dean just stopped and waited.
There were things on the bed…waiting. Thick, black leather restraints, the paddle Sam had bought but never used…twenty eight days since the spanking…since Sam had taken him, owned him…twenty eight days of belonging to Sam.
He wanted to run a hand over the stitches above his eye, but knew better. Instead he shoved the keys of the Impala into his pocket and tossed the bag from the drug store onto the bed. He knew why Sam was angry, and it had everything to do with the stitches and the fight and the fact that Dean had let someone else stitch him up…let someone other than Sam touch him…
Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean dropped his gaze. “Those pain meds?”
Dean nodded, but didn’t say anything. “Take any?” Dean shook his head. “Are you in pain?”
Dean shook his head again. “The local hasn’t worn off.”
Sam nodded and folded his hands. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Dean sighed and put his hands in his pocket. “Some guy hit his girlfriend, I hit him, she hit me with a bottle. I went down, the bartender called an ambulance. Next thing I know I’m getting stitched up in the ER.”
“What were you doing in the bar?”
Dean shifted his weight. He’d been good, ever since Sam had made it clear Dean had to be faithful if he expected Sam to stick around. Since the wings. Since the spanking. Since Sam had said “No safe words, no stopping. You give me everything.”
“Working.” Dean said and Sam’s other eyebrow went up. “There’s a waitress there who knew our guy…before he went psycho.”
He couldn’t tell if Sam believed him…shifted his weight uncomfortably. He knew better than to keep talking. Sam’s eyes raked over him before coming back to his face. “Get undressed.”
When he was down to just boxers Sam was up and across the room. His hand glided over Dean’s skin, barely touching. “Mine.” He breathed the words over Dean’s lips and Dean nodded.
“Yours, Sam…always.”
“Not going to punish you for the stitches…for the fight…” Sam whispered. “You were working…” Dean relaxed a little. “But you let the hospital call me…you let some nurse at a hospital call me and tell me you were hurt.”
“They wouldn’t let me use the phone—“Dean stopped as Sam’s hand made contact with his back, sliding down his spine.
“Hands on the dresser.” Dean didn’t argue, let Sam arrange him there, in front of the mirror, his hands on the dresser. “Not a sound.” Sam whispered, kissing over Dean’s ear. He was gone for a minute, then the heat of him was hovering over Dean, making him feel small and weak…though he felt even smaller when Sam pulled his boxers down and let them puddle at his feet.
The first smack came without warning, cold leather against cold skin and Dean lurched forward, nearly smacking his head on the mirror. “No one but me, Dean.” Sam said as the second and third blows landed. Dean fought back the stinging tears, staring at himself in the mirror, at Sam…and god but it shouldn’t be as hot as it was, the blush from his ass sweeping through his whole body and coming back to pool in his dick.
He dropped his head for the next two blows, pressing his ass back toward Sam…more than letting it happen, asking for more. “Please Sam…” It was a plea for more…for him to stop…for him to love him, hold him…let him come…
The blows stopped, hot leather smoothing over the red, over sweaty skin and Sam was behind him, pressing his body into Dean’s. The paddle was dropped, forgotten as Sam’s hands caressed and cajoled, as his lips kissed trailed across Dean’s shoulders. “Look at me.” Sam said and Dean lifted his eyes to the reflection of Sam’s. “Mine.”
Sam’s hand closed around Dean’s hard cock, stroking hard and fast, pulling him quickly toward the white heat of orgasm. “Yours Sammy…only for you…only you…please…”
“Yeah, baby…let go…let me get you there…” Sam kissed his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark and Dean shuddered when he added teeth, bucking into Sam’s hand. “Mine…mine…”Sam murmured into his skin, holding Dean as his body tightened and he came hard.
Everything slowed down again when Sam’s body left his, still dressed…calm as he’d been when Dean had come back. “I’m going out for a bit. Dean?”
Dean straightened and turned looking at Sam and following his gaze to the bed…to the restraints. “Be ready for me when I come back.”
