Submit To Me (Sam/Dean), NC17

[runedgirl]

Art Title: Submit To Me
Prompt Number: S2002
Artist: jdl71

Fic Title: Submit To Me
Author:  runedgirl
Fandom/Genre:  SPN
Pairing(s): Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Rating:  NC17
Word Count: 4440
Warnings:  BDSM, dominant Sam, submissive Dean, whips, handcuffs
Summary:  Sam gets suspicious when Dean keeps disappearing at night, coming back with bruises and vague explanations. He follows Dean to a club where he finds his brother offering himself to any man willing to dominate him -- Sam offers to take over, but only if Dean agrees to submit to only him. For the spn_reversebang and the great art prompts!

Art Link: LJ




It's not until the fourth time that Sam gets suspicious. They’ve always had a rhythm to their relationship, ever since they hit the road together and left Stanford in the Impala’s rear view mirror, but it’s gotten more obvious in recent years. Things will be fine for a while, easy jokes and slaps on the back and brushing knees as they sit on someone’s bed to watch Indiana Jones for the millionth time. Then, little by little, the tension will build. The jokes will have a bite to them, the slaps on the back will be less affection and more annoyance. Someone – usually Dean – will flinch away if their knees press too close. Sam can tell when it’s coming – the announcement that Dean’s “going out”.

“I need some space,” he’ll say, glaring at Sam even though Sam is pretty sure it’s not ever anything specific he’s done.

“I can come with,” Sam tried the first few times, and Dean glared harder.

“Can’t a man have some alone time?” Dean shot back, then made a crude gesture. “You might cramp my style, Sam, what can I say? A man has needs.”

Sam flipped him off then and let him go, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Dean had never worried about Sam cramping his style before; on the contrary, Sam can remember too many times when Dean had been more than happy to let Sam watch as he showed off his masterful pick up skills. (Sam has never let on, but watching Dean flirt isn’t exactly a hardship for him. The little blush that pinks Dean’s cheeks when he’s horny and interested, the way he tilts his head and looks up at her from beneath those thick dark lashes. Fuck, Sam would be lying if he said it wasn’t hot, even if Dean is his brother. He keeps that to himself.)

What lets Sam know that Dean is lying is that he keeps coming back with cuts and bruises instead of satiated and smiling.

“Turns out I had some competition,” he says in explanation the first time, waving Sam off. “Don’t worry, I won that fight – he limped outta there in a lot worse shape than me.”

The fourth time, that explanation no longer rings true. No way are there that many jealous boyfriends out there that Dean can’t easily lay out quickly enough that they get their hands on him that much. No way.

By the time Sam hot wires a car and tails Dean into town outside Newark, he’s pissed at the repeated lies and Dean’s refusal to take them back. He looked Sam right in the eye and kept right on lying, busted lip curling up in a sneer that looked downright dangerous.

“Told you what happened already, Sam. You got some kind of a problem, huh? I swear, me having a fat lip bothers you more than it does me.”

Actually Dean having a fat lip, stained red with his own blood, is giving Sam a different kind of problem, but he isn’t going to admit that. Fuck Dean for looking so goddamn hot even when he’s bleeding.

So Sam knew he was in for some kind of surprise. Dean making extra money by prize fighting? Doing some extra curricular hunting that he thinks Sam won’t condone? The last thing he’s expecting is a dimly lit club on the edge of town, with a 300 pound guy dressed all in leather guarding the door. He takes one look at Sam, breaks into a grin, and motions him inside.

“Oh, someone is gonna get lucky tonight,” one of the patrons says as Sam’s eyes adjust to the lack of light.

It’s a club. There’s loud music playing and some people are dancing, but Sam is definitely not dressed right – as in, he needs to be wearing a lot more leather. It takes him a minute to realize there are only men here, and in that period of time three of them approach him, asking if they can buy him a drink. One of them calls him ‘daddy’. All of them incline their heads and look up at him through downcast lashes just like Dean does and holy shit, Sam had this really wrong. The realization hits him like a wave of arousal that has nothing to do with the guys deliberately brushing up against him.  Dean. Dean is here – and he wants something. From someone other than Sam.

“Not interested,” he yells over the music, maybe more gruffly than necessary. He pushes through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, following his instincts deeper into the club, down hallways lined with men embracing. A man on his knees groans and chokes, held tightly by the thick collar around his neck by a another man who pushes and pulls his partner’s head where he wants it. Sam glances into some of the side rooms, catching glimpses of other interactions, bars and hooks and ropes, leather hoods and cuffs and braided whips. He looks for a familiar body, one he knows as well as he knows himself. Strains his ears for a familiar voice amidst the moans and whimpers and gruffly barked orders; the bitten off curses in response. The air is close, too moist, pungent with sweat and sex.

Three times someone tries to entice Sam into a room; the third time he shoves too hard and the guy falls, curses him out. Sam keeps going.

He’s nearly at the back of the club before something makes Sam stop. The hairs on his arms stand on end and he nearly shivers, even though the groan he heard was muffled. He knows. He knows. The room is crowded; Sam slips in unnoticed, freezes as his eyes recognize his brother’s broad back.

Dean is stripped naked; even his feet are bare. His wrists are cuffed, silver of the handcuffs glinting under the fluorescent light that illuminates Dean in the middle of the room. One of the hooks Sam saw before is bolted into the ceiling; the cuffs are attached to it, the ceiling high enough to pull Dean’s arms taut above his head so that his entire body is stretched out, muscles elongated and glistening with sweat. Sam’s nostrils flare; he can smell Dean, recognizes a scent that’s as familiar to him as breathing.

The ring of bruises and lacerations around Dean’s wrists make sense now.

There’s a long low bench to one side of the room; a black leather paddle on one end, two serious looking nipple clamps and a coil of rope on the other.

There’s a plug in Dean’s ass, the end of it visible between his muscular cheeks. His skin is bright red there, in mottled patches from the paddle. The back of one thigh bears its imprint too, from a strike that hit too low by accident, or by design.



There’s a tall muscular man in front of Dean holding a whip. He’s shirtless, sweat dampening his bare chest and clinging to the shock of hair there. He reaches down and laughs darkly, rubbing his big hand over the obscene bulge in his leather pants. He’s big there too. Like Sam himself.

The realization hits him all at once, as Sam realizes he’s looking the guy directly in the eye. Same height, same build, same hair. Probably not a coincidence, and isn’t that just perfectly fucked up. Sam’s been hiding his secret twisted fantasies about fucking his brother, and Dean’s out here begging his doppelgangers to do it instead. He’d be flattered if he wasn’t so enraged by what Dean is doing; by how helpless he’s made himself, voluntarily.

There are at least a dozen other men in the room, all standing back enough to give the big guy room to work. A few of them are couples; two have already pushed their subs to their knees, encouraging them to open their pants and get to work. Several have their hands in their pants, rubbing over erections impatiently.

There are mirrors on the walls, and Sam slides over enough to see Dean’s reflection in one, careful not to make eye contact. Dean’s hard too, painfully so. There’s a leather cock ring around his straining dick.

“Let’s see how much more you can take,” the tall man says, chuckling. His eyes are almost black with arousal, and he licks his lips as he approaches Dean, looking like he wants to eat him alive.

“So beautiful, just taking it,” the man says, loud enough that everyone can hear. “Got another surprise for you. Bet you’ll like this, won’t you?”

Sam watches in the mirror as the guy reaches out and pinches one of Dean’s nipples, twisting it roughly. The muscles in Dean’s back bunch as he tries to wrench himself away, one of his bare feet coming up off the floor in an instinctive coil as the pain floods through him.

“Yeah,” the tall man says, almost crooning at Dean, and it makes Sam’s stomach turn. “Gettin’ your tits nice and hard, make sure you can really feel this.”

A few more twists and tugs, and he picks up the clamps from the bench and clips them to both reddened nubs.

Dean can’t stay quiet then. He groans into the gag, twisting and turning as much as the cuffs allow, his body instinctively trying to fight against the pain.

“Quiet!” the man yells, so loudly that some of the observers startle.

Dean stills, the fine tremors running through his body the only motion. Sam can hear him panting, breath coming harsh and irregular against the ball gag in his mouth.

Sam wonders if he even bothered to have a safe word. How reckless is Dean being and what the fuck made him think this was a good idea? The tall man could be a demon for all they know, beyond elated to have none other than Dean Winchester strung up for him.

“Good boy,” the man says, and at that, Dean chokes audibly. His dick jerks, clear liquid pearling at the tip.

“Turn around,” the man orders, and Dean shuffles and twists, half up on his toes. He looks drugged, green eyes too bright, unfocused.

The man behind him moves while Sam’s still staring at his brother, wielding a thick black leather whip and bringing it down on Dean’s bare ass.

Dean groans, tugging against the cuffs.

In the mirror, Sam can see the next blow come down – smack on top of the plug seated inside him.

Dean shakes all over, eyes rolling up in his head and his stiff cock giving a violent jerk, dribbling more fluid. Sam watches in fascination, frozen, as it drips down his swollen shaft.

One more time, the man brings the whip down, this time higher on his back, and the fresh burst of pain shocks him out of his stupor.

His eyes connect with Sam’s and go wide.

Behind Dean, the tall man winds up for another blow, mutters “Gonna mark you up and then fuck you hard, just like you want.”

“No!”

Sam yells it before he even thinks, the image of the stranger sticking his dick in Dean too much for Sam.

“I beg your –“ the guy says, and then his eyes go wide as Sam steps around Dean and into his space. Tall guy may be dressed like a dom, but he’s only play acting. Sam’s the real thing, and the guy’s expression says he knows it.

Sam’s got the whip out of his hand before the man can react, whirling around to include the entire room in his next order.

“Get out!”

“But—“ the tall man protests, and then shuts up when Sam grabs him by the waistband of his leather pants and tosses him backwards. He staggers, barely rights himself before falling, and then nearly knocks a few of the other guys over in his haste to get out the door.

“Fucking asshole,” he says as he’s leaving, but Sam is already looking only at his brother.

Dean is struggling wildly, trying to get out of the cuffs and trying to say something – probably cursing Sam – but the gag makes it unintelligible.

Stupid idiotic Dean, still trying to tell Sam what to do when he’s strung up and beaten up with a plug up his ass and clamps on his nipples. Stupid idiotic Dean, lying to Sam and putting himself in danger just to get his rocks off with some kind of fucked up parody of danger, when their real lives are all about danger every fucking day. Stupid idiotic Dean.

He's moving before he plans it.

He grabs Dean by the hair because there are no clothes to grab onto, yanks his head back way too roughly.

Dean chokes behind the gag, almost a gurgle as he fights to right himself.

“Shut. Up. Dean.”

Dean, predictably, just struggles harder, trying to get enough purchase to kick Sam with his bare feet.

Sam punches him in the stomach, pulls the punch but just barely.

Dean oofs, loses his footing and sags into the cuffs, moaning as the metal cuts.

Sam rights him, holds him up until he gets his feet back under him. He waits until Dean’s eyes meet his.

“I said. Shut. Up.”

Dean’s gasping for breath from the punch, his eyes burning with rage, but he stills.

“Good boy,” Sam says, from where his face is inches from his brother’s.

Dean stiffens, eyes so wide Sam can see the whites. Sam has no idea what he’s doing, is going on pure id and instinct.

“This what you want? This is what you lie to me about – to ME? Somebody to rough you up and then fuck you stupid. Some STRANGER who could just as easily kill you as fuck you? This what you want, Dean?”



Without looking, Sam runs one hand down the center of Dean’s body, slippery with sweat. Dean shivers. Sam wraps his fist around Dean’s dick, spreads the slick around and around, feels Dean’s cock throb in his hand.

“You’re still turned on,” Sam accuses him, “So hard you could pound fucking nails. You need to be punished, Dean? Need someone to be in control and tell you what to do? Punish you when you don’t and tell you you’re a good boy when you do?”

The way Dean’s breath catches and his dick jerks in Sam’s hand are answer enough.

“Then it’s gonna be ME who does that!” Sam yells, all up in Dean’s face. He startles, tries to jerk away, but has nowhere to go. “Understand me? You don’t fucking take chances with STRANGERS, Dean, do you hear me? You want someone to beat your ass? It’s gonna be ME! You want someone to fuck you after? That’s gonna be me too.”

There isn’t a word for the look on Dean’s face. Shock, disbelief, incredulity. Dean has never considered that Sam could do this for him. He would never have asked, not in a million years. But the way his dick is leaking in Sam’s hand tells him that it’s not because he doesn’t want it.

“I won’t do it with this on,” Sam says, reaching around Dean’s head to unbuckle the ball gag.

Dean can’t hold back a whimper when Sam pulls it out, his jaw hanging open for a minute, too painful to shift. Saliva has run down his chin, glistens on his throat. His lips are swollen and pink from being stretched so far so long.

“I—“ Dean starts, but then he closes his mouth, breathes through his nose.

“Safe word,” Sam orders.

For a minute, he thinks Dean won’t comply, but then he licks his lips and speaks. His voice is like gravel, barely audible. “Impala,” he grits out. Sam could have guessed.

He nods, steps back and picks up the whip from the floor. Dean’s eyes track his movements, widen a little as Sam cracks it in the air.

“Turn around.”

Dean hesitates, then swallows hard and obeys.

Fuck, Dean’s back is gorgeous. The bunch of muscle in his powerful shoulders, the slope of his back and the curve of his ass. His thick thighs and the familiar bow of his legs. That fucking stranger didn’t deserve to touch him; none of them do.

“How many was he going to give you?”

“Ten,” Dean answers. There’s a quaver in his voice, but he repeats it so Sam can know he means it. “Ten lashes.”

“You’ve already had three, so that’s seven more. Count them off.”

Dean does.

Sam spaces them out, sometimes two in a row, then a long break. That’s hard for Dean; his body tenses, readying for the pain then tiring, relaxing a little when it doesn’t come. The second time Sam makes him wait, Dean whines, and it goes straight to Sam’s dick. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was, hadn’t been sure he could keep his word to fuck Dean instead of the Sam stand-in. He doesn’t have any doubts now.

He gives Dean the last two, one across the small of his back where sweat has pooled, the other on the back of his upper thigh, where the skin is pale and sensitive.

Dean howls at the last one, loses his composure and jerks hard in the cuffs, trying to yank free.

Sam comes up behind him, stills him with hands gripping his waist.

“Count, Dean.”

“I—fuck—ten,” Dean hisses.

Sam leans in, lets his lips brush Dean’s ear. “Good boy,” he whispers.

Dean’s body twists desperately in Sam’s grip, and Sam reaches around to hold his dick, feels it spasm and spurt again, his body trying to climax.

“Enough?” Sam asks, sliding his hands soothingly up and down Dean’s sweat-slick sides. He’s breathing hard, ribs heaving under Sam’s hands.

‘Y-yeah,” Dean manages. He’s shaking again, fine tremors running through his abused body.

“Shhh,” Sam says, lets himself plant a kiss on the nape of Dean’s neck. It only makes his brother shudder harder, a strangled gasp that sounds like Sam’s name breaking from his lips.

“Gonna do what I promised,” Sam tells him, unbuckling his belt and tugging down his zipper. He grabs the base of the plug that’s been tormenting Dean for who knows how long, pushes it in a little deeper to hear Dean suck in a shocked breath, then pulls it out while Dean groans loudly, his whole body trembling.

Sam lets himself get a good look because he can’t not, puts his fingers in Dean’s hole where he’s slick and gaping and hot like fire.

“Ahhhh,” Dean cries out, not even caring that he’s pulling on his sore wrists, trying to twist himself back on Sam’s fingers, lost in desperation. “Please,” he moans, and it’s close to a sob. “Please. Sammy.”

The sound of his own name breaks Sam’s own resolve. He plucks a rubber from the bowl on the bench and fumbles it on, then grabs Dean’s hips and tries to force himself inside.

“You think I’m gonna do it bare, after what I saw you doing? All these fucking men and you just….just letting them in you, fuck….”

Dean groans at the words, but the flush of humiliation only seems to wind him up higher. He tries to wrench himself closer to Sam and it’s awkward, Dean unable to anchor himself or help at all, and Sam growls in frustration. He wants inside Dean now, nearly blinded by it; grabs one of Dean’s legs at the knee and bends it up high, holding it there while he grips Dean’s hip on the other side and inch by inch he pushes in, bracing himself and pulling Dean back on him.

Dean’s balanced on one foot, opened up for Sam with his other leg held high. He keens as Sam slides home, but it’s not all pain this time. Sam slips in way more easily than he expected, and it’s a bliss he never knew he wanted, but one he thinks he’s going to be addicted to now forever. Dean can’t move at all, can’t get away, can’t help, can only hang there and take it, and that turns Sam’s crank more than he knew it would. He sets a desperate pace because he knows Dean’s been waiting forever and because he doesn’t think he can wait either, slamming in and out, holding Dean in place with such a tight grip he’s leaving indentations in his brother’s hips. Dean is still whining and begging, and as Sam feels his own climax grow imminent, he reaches around and pulls off the nipple clamps.

Dean screams then, twisting in anguish, as Sam fumbles with the cock ring and yanks it off too, pumping Dean’s rigid cock in time with his thrusts into Dean’s ass.

Despite how close Sam thought he was, Dean comes first – instantly and violently, his body going rigid and clenching around Sam’s cock like a vice. Sam fucks him through it, lifting Dean clear off his feet to get the angle just right, then nearly collapsing when the waves of pleasure finally diminish to a series of almost painful aftershocks.

“Sam,” Dean gasps, and when Sam lets go of him he goes limp, legs giving out.

“Fuck,” Sam swears, catching Dean just in time and half holding  him up while he frees the cuffs from the ceiling hook. They both land on the floor in a heap, Dean in Sam’s arms. They’re sweaty and gross and out of breath, and Sam has no idea what’s going to happen now.

Dean doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t try to get away either. No chick flick moment jokes; Dean leans back against Sam’s chest, his head bent and his hands at his sides. Sam waits until his breathing evens out a little, then tentatively runs a hand down his brother’s arm.

“Hey, hey, you okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer at first, and Sam is starting to worry.

“Hey Dean, you okay? Can you answer me? You need me to get you some water or something?”

Dean sighs then, like he’s just waking up.

“Sam,” he says, and lifts his head, like he’s just now remembering where they are.

“Yeah, I’m right here. What do you need, Dean?”

“Nothin’,” he answers, shifts to settle himself more securely in Sam’s arms.

“Okay,” Sam agrees. He wraps his arms tighter, glares at anyone who appears in the doorway to see if the room is free yet. “We can just sit here for a while until you feel like moving, okay?”

Another few minutes go by before Dean stirs again, Sam stroking his biceps and every now and then kissing the back of his neck.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, right here, Dean.”

“Can we get outta here?”

Sam zips up his own jeans then helps Dean into his clothes. He’s still a little shaky but rapidly coming back to himself and, it seems, none the worse for wear. Other than the bruises and cuts around his wrists, the red lines across his back and ass, and the angry red of his nipples that are probably going to be sensitive for days.

Dean tosses Sam the keys to the Impala and curls himself into the passenger side.

“You still mad at me?” he asks when they’re halfway to the motel.

“Damn right. You took a stupid chance.”

Dean sighs, looks out the window. “Yeah. I know.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

Dean spins around, incredulous. “Ask my little brother to whip me and fuck me senseless? What the fuck, Sam”

Sam snorts a laugh, mostly because Dean looks so aghast even though that’s exactly what they just did.

“I really didn’t mind.”

“You –“ Dean begins, but then he can’t think of what else to say. He lets out a frustrated huff. “I never wanted you to know. Never wanted you to look at me like some kind of….freak. You can’t tell me you’ve ever thought about that.”

Well, it’s now or never, Sam thinks. Tell the truth or let there be more lies between them.

“Not this exactly. My forbidden fantasy was more throw you down on a bed and fuck you senseless, not the whole whips and chains thing. But if that’s what you need…”

“Jesus,” Dean swears, but it’s more holyfuck I never expected that than anything else.

“Have you thought about it – always?”

Dean sighs, reluctant. “Not always. Not until you came back from Stanford all fucking grown up and looking like –“ He waves  his hand in Sam’s direction. “Like – that.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

Dean relaxes a little more, shifting his sore ass on the leather seat. He looks out the window for a few minutes, then clears his throat.

“I figured you’d take off if you ever knew the kind of sick things running through my head. You’re really telling me that you – you liked that?”

“Did you miss the part where I had an orgasm that literally knocked us off our feet?”

Dean chuckles then, a familiar sound, and Sam feels a sense of relief sweep over him. This is fucked up, but they can deal with it. They’ve dealt with worse.

“Guess I didn’t realize how much I’d like turning the tables and bossing you around for a change,” Sam says, letting his voice go deep and watching his brother blush when he hears it.

“So you’d actually, like, want to do that again?” Dean asks hesitantly.

“Sure,” Sam agrees. “On one condition.”

Dean turns, instantly suspicious.

“Sometimes we try my forbidden fantasy too. Deal?”

The smile he gets in return makes Sam want to keep that deal sooner rather than later.

“Deal,” Dean says. “Now stop braking her so harshly, you’re gonna hurt my Baby’s feelings.”

Sam slaps his thigh and gives her some gas.

Comments

[jdl71.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for claiming my art & prompt & creating this amazing story for it.

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Thanks again for your wonderful prompt and the beautiful art - this was so much fun to write!

[somer.livejournal.com]

This. Was. Scorching. Hot. Unbelievable sexy. And I loved it!!

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, so glad you enjoyed!

[rivkat.livejournal.com]

This is why you're my favorite! I love it all.

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

That means alot coming from one of my favorite writers. Hope you're well and staying safe and healthy!

[felisblanco.livejournal.com]

I'm so tired I can't really be coherent at the moment but I am on a Wincest high right now (duh!) and this really delivered. So damn hot. Hoping it will give me some really nice dreams as I snuggle down to sleep. Thank you!

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much - isn't it a good feeling? I remember WAY back in the day when we both discovered this show and fandom and fic, and I'm so thrilled to have you still here and always have your incredible writing!

[gingersnap1224.livejournal.com]

Fantastic as always!

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much, so glad you enjoyed!

[midnightsilvers.livejournal.com]

Awesome delicious yumminess! 🙌🏼😄 thank you 😁

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

You're so welcome, so glad it hit the spot!

[fireheart13.livejournal.com]

HOT HOT HOT!!!!!! love me some yummy BDSM dynamic....

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Between these two, for sure :) Thanks so much, so glad you enjoyed!

[fledge.livejournal.com]

This was gorgeous, I love how Sam was so mindful of Dean's safety the whole time and horrified by what he was doing - not because of the bondage but because it was with strangers and he wasn't being careful (and because he was jealous 🖤). And that everyone in the room recognised Sam for The Real Thing. Hehehe.

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for this comment - that's exactly what I wanted to come through in this little fic, so your comment made my day!

[dragonardhill.livejournal.com]

Knee-clenching, lip-biting hot, hot, hot. Love it!

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, glad it worked for you!

[manictater.livejournal.com]

So hot!

[runedgirl.livejournal.com]

So glad you enjoyed!