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The paperclips were Sam's first clue that something was wrong.
He ran a finger carefully along the seam of the shirt he was holding, then slid another length of wire out of its hiding place, adding it to the heap of paperclips and small razorblades piled on the washing machine next to him.
At least one, sometimes two, in almost every item of his brother's clothing.
Sam shoved the last shirt into the machine and settled down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs to wait, lost in thought.
The way Dean was pacing when Sam got back to the motel made him think that the only reason his brother hadn't come charging out to find him was because he'd had no clothes left to wear. It was a sight Sam would have appreciated far more if Dean hadn't rounded on him as soon as he walked in.
"What the hell, Sam -?" Dean started angrily.
"You tell me," Sam interrupted. He dumped the clean clothes on their bed, and tipped the pile of paperclips onto the table. "Anything you want to let me in on?"
Something flickered across Dean's face, too fast to read, before his expression shut down entirely. "Not particularly."
"Man, come on," Sam said, softer now. "Is this about what happened with Gordon? Because I know -"
"No, you don't," Dean said sharply. "Drop it, Sam." He strode over to the pile of clean clothes on the bed and grabbed some, seemingly at random.
Sam let the subject drop. Really, he wasn't sure why he'd even bothered: Dean never responded well to talking.
Besides, it was just paperclips.
Sam's first reaction when he regained consciousness was to be annoyed that their first lead about Ava's disappearance had turned out to be a bust. Witches, not demonic possession. Damnit. And maybe if he and Dean hadn't been so focused on the idea of demonic possession, they'd have figured out the truth fast enough to avoid being taken out by the witches in question.
"Son of a…"
Sam's second reaction was to grin: evidently the witches hadn't bothered to separate them after all. And if Dean was with him and conscious enough to curse, then they were going to get out of this mess.
He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings: somewhere dark and damp, probably the basement of the house where they'd interviewed the dead man's apparently grieving sister, before whatever she'd slipped into their coffee had knocked them out. He was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against something solid, and from the way his arms seemed to be pulled behind and around it and bound on the far side, he was guessing it had to be a pillar or a post.
On the other side of it, his fingers brushed something warm.
"Sam? Sam, you awake?"
The voice was also coming from behind him, so Sam figured Dean was tied up on the other side of the pillar. And now he was focusing, he could feel the lump of his brother's bound hands pressing against his back, reassuring warmth despite the circumstances.
"Yeah," Sam replied. "The coffee?"
"Yeah. Goddamn witches," Dean muttered. "I hate witches. Can you get loose?"
Sam was already testing the ropes bound around his wrists. The witches might know their stuff when it came to slipping drugs into coffee, but evidently they were amateurs when it came to tying people up. He couldn't just tug himself free, but there was some slack there, and when he curled his fingers round to trace one of the knots, he recognised it at once. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Gimme a few minutes."
"A few minutes," Dean said. "Right."
Sam carefully prised the first of the knots apart. It was tricky, bending his fingers at that angle, especially when they were half-numb, but he'd had plenty of practice.
He could still feel Dean's fingers moving against his back as his brother worked on his own bonds. "You getting anywhere with yours?"
"Not enough slack," Dean said tightly.
"Leave it, then," Sam advised him, setting to work on the second knot. It was the exact same kind as the first. Amateurs. "I'm really pretty sure I can get out of mine."
Dean didn't reply, and Sam could still feel his fingers squirming against his back. Sam's own fingers stuttered over the knot as the realisation dawned on him.
Dean was scared.
Now that Sam was thinking about it, he realised that Dean's voice had been strained when he'd come round. Dean's breathing was steady and even, but unnaturally so, the breathing of someone forcing themselves to stay calm. And he was still struggling against his bonds, even though he'd admitted himself they were too tight, and even though Sam had said he could get out of his. Dad had taught them better than that.
Sam remembered the paperclips he'd found in Dean's clothes, and thought that this shouldn't have come as a surprise. This was the first time Dean had been tied up since Gordon had used him as bait.
It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was. Sam had always had trouble imagining Dean being truly scared of anything: a relic of growing up thinking his big brother could do anything, maybe.
He flattened his fingers against Dean's back as best he could. "Hey. You okay?"
"Peachy," Dean said tightly. "Don't worry, Sam, we're gonna get out of this and kick some witch-bitch ass, okay?"
"Yeah, we are," Sam agreed, and didn't point out that he wasn't the one in need of reassurance. "Two or three minutes, that's all I need, then we'll be out of here. How do you think we should handle the witches?" Keep him talking, make him think about something else. Sam started working on the knot again.
"Could always kill them," Dean suggested. "Fucking bitches."
Sam pretended not to hear the slight shake in his voice. "Human bitches, though. We can't just kill them, Dean. Sorry."
"You and your pesky conscience," Dean muttered. Sam couldn't help but wince at that. He was still trying to come to terms with what their father had asked Dean to do, and the implications. Especially in light of what Gordon had told Dean. Pesky or not, he was clinging to his conscience like a lifeline right now.
He was pretty sure that if Dean had been less caught up in his near-panic, he wouldn't have put it quite like that.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, forcing himself to concentrate on the issue at hand. "Something less lethal, Dean, come on." The next knot gave way beneath his fingers, and the ropes felt immediately slacker. He tugged on them - almost - then focused on the next knot.
"Oh, fine," Dean said, sounding disgusted. His fingers were still working against Sam's back, though Sam didn't think he was getting anywhere. "In that case, I guess we should trash their altar and burn their spell books. Threaten them a bit."
The knot gave way, and Sam managed to pull the tangle of rope over his hands. "I'm done," he said, pressing a hand against Dean's back again before pulling his arms around to his own side of the pillar and shaking them out. He shifted round to examine Dean's bonds.
"Finally," Dean said. His tone couldn't entirely mask his relief. "Get me out of this."
Sam was already working on the knots. Whichever witch had tied Dean up had been less of an amateur - the knots were better, and there was no slack to exploit. The rope was oddly slick, too, making his fingers slip on the knot.
Sam frowned, then lowered his head to peer more closely at the bonds. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but - "Dean, are you bleeding?"
"It's nothing," Dean said, "just -"
"Dude, this is not nothing," Sam insisted. "What the hell?"
"Just get me the fuck out of this," Dean said roughly.
Sam shook his head in disbelief and continued working. Their father had taught them that blood could help sometimes, that the slickness could let you slip out of bonds that were otherwise too tight. But he'd always impressed on them that it was a last-resort strategy, because of the damage to the wrists and the uncertainty of success. It was for emergencies when you had to escape your bonds immediately, regardless of the cost.
That Dean had felt that way now, even though Sam had said he'd manage to get free within a couple of minutes…
Fuck. This was serious.
He managed to untangle the last of the knots, and Dean immediately ripped the rope off his wrists and threw it to the floor. By the time Sam had made it round the pillar, his brother was already getting to his own feet, and Dean pulled his wrists away with a scowl when Sam tried to look at them. "It's fine, Sam."
"Dean, you're bleeding. Let me see how bad it is."
Dean's mask of unconcern was already back in place. "You can grope me back at the motel, Sam. Right now we've got to deal with those bitches before they come back down here with whatever they've been cooking up. C'mon."
Sam gritted his teeth. Dean was right: they couldn't waste time.
When we get back to the motel room, though... he thought darkly, and followed his brother over to the door.
"Sit down and let me see," Sam ordered, pushing Dean towards the bed.
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it. By the time Sam returned from the bathroom with the first-aid kit, he had shrugged out of his jacket and sat down on the bed.
"Fucking hate the human ones," Dean muttered as Sam sorted through the kit. "No way to be sure they won't just pull the same shit again as soon as we leave. Bitches."
Sam frowned. "Yeah, well, for what it's worth, I think you scared the crap out of them." Dean had been very free with his threats, and had looked like he was planning to carry through on a few of them right then and there.
Sam grabbed the antiseptic and started cleaning the cuts on Dean's left wrist. The ropes had left bruises and burn marks under the blood. "So, you ready to tell me what that was all about yet?"
"What's to tell?" Dean said. "I wanted out of there before those bitches did to us what the one we spoke to did to her brother."
"Dean," Sam said.
"Dude, what the hell do you want me to say, here?" Dean demanded, yanking his wrist back.
Sam grabbed the other and started cleaning it instead. "I want you to tell me the truth," he said, biting back the for once hovering on the edge of his lips. He was still mad at Dean for not telling him earlier what Dad had said, but he was at least trying not to let it get the better of him. Mostly because he'd seen the toll it had taken on his brother. "What the hell made you do this?"
Dean tried to pull his wrist away, but Sam held on, running the tips of his fingers over the back of the hand, until Dean sighed and subsided. "I wanted to get out of there," he said again.
"I know this was the first time you'd been tied up since the thing with Gordon," Sam ventured cautiously. "You realise that's nothing to feel bad about, that he took you out, right? He's a pro, Dean."
Dean snorted his opinion of that. "Shouldn't have happened. But you win some, you lose some."
Sam frowned. He couldn't help but feel there was something he was overlooking, some factor that had turned the incident with Gordon from being just one of a million times Dean had been tied up into something that had affected him badly enough to tear up his wrists this time.
Dean didn't seem willing to tell him what it was, though, so Sam focused on his wrists for now. "I'm going to bandage these up, man."
"They're not that bad," Dean said, trying to tug his hands away again.
"The hell they're not," Sam said, and took one hand back firmly, wrapping the bandage around the wrist. He fastened it in place and started on the other. "This is a problem," he said quietly, glancing up at his brother's face as he worked. "If being tied up is going to freak you out this much -"
"I did not 'freak out'," Dean said indignantly, but when Sam caught his eyes meaningfully, he sighed and shook his head. "Sam… it's not a big deal, okay? I'm fine. See? I'm good."
Sam shook his head in turn. "Then you won't mind if we run some drills tomorrow, tie you up for a while."
If he hadn't been looking for it, he might have missed the way Dean's body tensed. "That's what I mean," he said quietly. "Dean, the job we do… we can't afford to ignore this."
Appealing to Dean's professionalism was sometimes a more successful tactic than an emotional appeal, because Sam knew how seriously his brother took their work. If something was compromising his ability to do the job, Dean would usually feel obliged to deal with it.
Sam could see from the frown on Dean's face that this point had hit home.
"I don't need practice at getting out of ropes," Dean said, meeting his eyes. "Those ones tonight were just too tight. And Gordon was a pro, you said it yourself. But if you think we need to run drills, we can run drills."
"It's not your ability to get out of them that I'm worried about," Sam said quietly. "It's your ability to cope with being tied up in the first place. Especially when you can't get free, like today. That's what I think we need to practise." He waited, still holding on to Dean's wrist, though the bandage was now in place. They both knew he was right; the only question was whether Dean would admit it.
After a moment, Dean nodded. "Fine. Drills tomorrow. Great." He pulled his hand out of Sam's grasp and stood up. "I need a shower."
Sam decided he'd pushed enough for now, and let him go. He undressed and got ready for bed himself, listening to the sound of the shower running, and wondering how long it would take before Dean felt ready to emerge from the bathroom and face him again. To make things easier on his brother, he turned out the lights and clambered into bed. He'd seen more of Dean than normal, that day; darkness might help to restore his brother's confidence.
The shower finally shut off. It seemed to take longer than usual for the bathroom door to creak open, but eventually Dean appeared, silhouetted in the doorway until he snapped off the light.
For a moment, Sam thought Dean would delay longer, find some excuse to rake through their bags, but to his relief, his brother simply crossed the room and slipped into the bed beside him.
"Hey," Sam murmured, shifting closer.
"Hey yourself," Dean said.
Sam kissed him, softer than usual, feeling Dean tense for a moment before relaxing into it, a clear sign that he was still on edge.
Enough pushing. Sam broke the kiss and curled up next to his brother, one arm slung across his chest. "Night."
It was a few moments before Dean's muscles relaxed under his touch. "Night," Dean said.
Eventually, Sam slept.
"I told you," Dean said, tossing the handcuffs onto the table. "Satisfied yet?"
Sam pursed his lips. They'd been practising for hours now, and no matter how Sam tied him up, Dean hadn't needed more than five or ten minutes to work his way free. He'd been right when he'd said he hadn't lost his skills.
It reminded Sam of the drills they'd carried out when they were growing up, their dad standing over them with a stopwatch as they raced each other to escape their bonds. Sam had actually quite liked that aspect of their training - liked the competition with his brother, in an arena where they were more or less evenly matched. Dean had been fast then, too.
But back then he'd bragged, crowing every time he escaped before Sam did, laughing and joking. And that was what was missing now, Sam realised. Dean was racing through the drills grimly, as fast as he could.
Well, that was about what he'd expected, after all. He hadn't really imagined that Dean had let his skills slip. It was his ability to stay cool while tied up that Sam doubted.
"Fine," Sam said. "Just one more, then."
Dean gave a martyred sigh, but held out his wrists for Sam to position.
Sam picked up the length of rope that was lying on the bed, and wrapped it carefully around Dean's bandaged wrists, leaving them in front of him. He tied two simple knots, then stepped back.
Dean stared at him. "You gotta be kidding me, right? Dude, I could get out of this in my sleep."
"I know," Sam said calmly. "It'd take you less than five seconds to get out of that, if you had to. But I want to see how long you can go without trying to get free."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because even you can't get out of every situation immediately," Sam said. "The police are after us - if they handcuff you and you have to wait for my distraction before you break out, can you handle that? If a pro like Gordon gets hold of you again, can you cope?"
"Of course I can," Dean said angrily. "You -"
"Then show me," Sam overrode him. "Prove it. If being tied up really doesn't bother you, just sit there and relax."
Dean leaned back in the chair, eyeing him. "For how long?"
Sam shrugged. "Until I decide to untie you. Or you really can't take it any longer."
"Fine," Dean said, his tone disgusted. "Man, this is going to be boring as hell."
Sam grinned and walked over to sit at the head of the bed.
A couple of minutes later, Dean was already fidgeting. "Dude, at least turn the TV on or something."
"You're not going to have a TV at a police station," Sam pointed out.
"Much more of this, and I'm gonna wish I was at a police station, it'd be more interesting," Dean said.
"Suck it up," Sam said unsympathetically.
Another pause, then: "Seriously, Sam, this is such bullshit. It's boredom that's going to drive me crazy, here."
"I don't think it's bullshit," Sam said. "But if you're that bored, you can have a magazine, if you want. Your bonds are loose enough that you shouldn't have any trouble turning the pages." Though the movements would also be a constant reminder of the rope around his wrists.
"Shouldn't we be doing something more important?" Dean demanded. "Like… looking over our notes about Ava, or something?"
"Sure," Sam agreed easily, grabbing a sheaf of notes instead of the magazine. "You can do that with your hands tied too." He set them down on the table in front of Dean, and made a show of eyeing Dean's hands. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you should be able to turn pages."
"Oh, for…" Dean muttered, but leaned forward to study the pages. Sam hid a smile, and moved to lean in the bathroom doorway.
Out of Dean's line of sight.
It was annoying, not being able to see Dean's face, but Sam knew his brother, could read his reactions in every line of his body, and this was another part of the test.
He could see the tension in Dean's shoulders. His brother ostentatiously turned a page, but his movements were clumsier than they should be, even with his hands tied. Besides, Sam was pretty certain Dean hadn't read that entire page yet.
Dean raised his head, glanced around, looked down at the papers. Looked back up again. Sam waited and glanced at his watch.
Dean broke. "Sam."
Sam remained silent, watching his brother's reactions.
"Sam," Dean said again. He looked around again, craning his head to see as far behind him as he could. "Sam! This isn't funny."
No, Sam had to agree. It isn't. Dean knew he hadn't left the room, had to be able to sense roughly where he was standing. But being tied up was interfering with his ability to think about that rationally. Leaving him on the edge.
Sam started towards his brother, moving as quietly as possible.
"Sam!" Dean pulled his hands free of his bonds, leaping to his feet just as Sam reached him. Sam closed his own hands around Dean's wrists, holding on grimly as his brother lashed out instinctively, trying to free them from his grasp.
"Dean," Sam said urgently. "Dean! If you're reacting like this here, in our room, no threats, how do you think you're going to react -"
"All right," Dean said, still struggling to get free.
"I'm serious," Sam said, holding on tightly. "This is a problem, Dean, and we've got to -"
"I said all right!" Dean said, struggling hard enough that he tipped them over onto the bed.
They wrestled together for a moment, but Dean had been at a disadvantage and Sam pinned him within moments, hands still wrapped tightly around Dean's wrists. They lay like that for a moment, then the tension slowly bled out of Dean's body and he turned his head away to stare at the wall.
Sam lowered his head to nuzzle against Dean's face - not a kiss, just seeking closeness. He relaxed his grip on Dean's wrists, but didn't release them entirely. "Dean," he said softly.
Dean sighed. "Yeah."
"We're going to have to do something about this, you know that, right?" Sam said.
He felt Dean's eyelashes graze his cheek as his brother's eyes slid closed. "Yeah," Dean admitted.
"Okay," Sam said. He pressed little kisses across Dean's face, feeling his brother's body relax further beneath him. Dean was even more shaken up than Sam had realised. "Not right now, though."
Dean made a faint sound that might have been agreement, and didn't try to get away.
Sam had expected Dean to try to get out of it, but after a morning spent investigating Ava's disappearance, Dean broached the subject himself.
"So what's the plan, college boy?"
Sam gave silent thanks again for Dean's professionalism. Now he'd been forced to admit there was a problem, Dean was determined to fix it. Even if Sam didn't think he'd like his methods.
"I thought we could do what we did yesterday," Sam said casually. "See if we can build up to longer periods of time."
Dean groaned. "That's it? That's your plan? Man, you suck." He wasn't entirely successful in masking the slight waver in his voice.
"That's the plan for now," Sam confirmed. He dragged the most comfortable chair out into the middle of the room, away from the table, then fetched some rope from his bag.
Dean reluctantly sat down on the chair. "I don't even get to read this time?"
"Didn't seem to help much yesterday," Sam said. "We'll try something else instead." He checked that the bandages around Dean's wrists were still in place and protecting them, then carefully tied his wrists to the arms of the chair.
Dean was already breathing in that controlled way that had so worried Sam when the witches had caught them. Admittedly, that wasn't exactly a surprise: Sam had deliberately chosen the position Gordon had tied Dean up in. Minus the gag, minus the ropes around his feet, but still enough to bring it all back to Dean, Sam was sure.
"There," Sam said, finishing up. "Not too tight?" He double-checked the restraints himself. They shouldn't dig into Dean's skin, but they were tight enough and knotted well enough that Dean shouldn't be able to free himself.
"Fine," Dean said tightly, not even trying for a wisecrack. "Just get on with it."
"Tell me if they feel like they're getting too tight," Sam said. There was always a chance that Dean might pull them tighter somehow if he tried to work his way free, and though Sam thought his knots should hold and stop the ropes digging in too far, he couldn't guarantee it. Besides, there was the psychological aspect. Sam wouldn't be surprised if Dean felt like they were digging in more as time went on, even if they hadn't moved.
He stood back and studied his handiwork. Dean glared back at him defiantly.
Sam sat down in full sight of his brother this time, and noted the way Dean's jaw line relaxed slightly. "So. You remember all those drills Dad used to make us run?"
Dean eyed him warily. "Why?"
Sam grinned. "I was just remembering the time he handcuffed us together and we were supposed to spend the weekend like that."
Dean's wariness relaxed slightly into a half-grin. "Dude, the brat you were at that age, no way I was spending a weekend handcuffed to you."
"It's not like I was too thrilled at the idea myself," Sam said. It was a good memory. Dean had never defied too many of their father's orders, but that one they'd both been in agreement on. They'd taken it in turns to pick the lock on the handcuffs, and sneaked around the house, lunging back together and snapping them back on every time their father came anywhere near them. By the end of that weekend, Sam had been able to pick the handcuff lock within seconds. Which, come to think of it, was possibly what their father had really intended.
Sam kept Dean talking for a while, light, harmless tales from their childhood, distracting him, before standing up and moving, mid-flow, to stand behind Dean.
He saw Dean tense at once, and pressed a hand to the back of his neck, stroking his finger gently up and down. Dean took a deep breath and managed to continue with the conversation, although Sam could still see the tension in his brother's body.
Then Sam took his hand away, and watched his brother lock up.
"I'm here," Sam said at once, abandoning the previous conversation. "I'm not touching you now, but I'm still right behind you, you know that."
Dean said nothing, body rigid.
"Tell me, Dean," Sam said quietly. "You don't like being restrained at all, but you cope better if you can see me. Tell me why."
"Sam," Dean said, almost pleading.
"It was Gordon, wasn't it?" Sam said, thinking aloud. "It has to have been, because this is new. You never used to have any trouble coping with being tied up. So what happened that affected you so much you hate it now?"
"Sam, no," Dean said. "Don't -"
"He had you tied up and gagged," Sam said, working his way through it. "Helpless. Then I came in the back door…" He paused. "You heard the grenades go off. The explosions."
Dean was struggling against his bonds now, breathing hard. Sam swallowed, but kept going, knowing this was important. "You couldn't get loose to help me, couldn't get the gag off to warn me. All you could do was sit there and listen. And because I was trying to lure Gordon through, I was silent. You couldn't hear me. You didn't…" He swallowed again. "You didn't know if I was alive or dead."
The noise ripped from Dean's throat was pained, and Sam immediately moved back round in front of him, bending low to look Dean directly in the eyes. "I'm here! Dean, I'm here, I'm fine, okay? Look at me."
Dean's eyes were slightly wild and he was breathing fast. Sam endured their stare as Dean looked him up and down, apparently reassuring himself that Sam really was there and intact. Sam gently laid his hands on Dean's, stopping him from struggling against his bonds.
"Sam," Dean said. "Sam, Jesus -"
"I know," Sam said. "I'm here."
"Get me out of these things," Dean demanded. Sam could feel his hands shifting under his.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Sam persisted. "You thought I was dead."
"Yes, I fucking - I didn't know, I couldn't stop it, and I thought - fuck you, Sam, untie me!"
"No," Sam said.
He saw the spark of betrayal in Dean's eyes as his brother began to struggle in earnest, and knew at once it had been a mistake.
"Dean! Dean, I'll untie you, I will, I promise, but just give me a few seconds, okay? I just want to talk to you like this." He released Dean's hands and pressed a palm to his brother's chest instead, feeling it heave beneath him, heart pounding wildly. "Dean, look at me, I'm right here, see? Feel me touching you? I'm fine, I'm right here. C'mon, Dean."
Dean's struggles slowed, and he glared hard over Sam's shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. Sam could still feel his frantic heartbeat.
"I'll untie you in just a minute," Sam promised again. "But we're going to have to do this again, you know that, right? Now we know what's causing the problem, we can try to solve it, but that's going to involve tying you up again."
"Goddamn it, Sam," Dean cursed. "Whatever, just fucking untie me."
"Okay," Sam said quietly, and untied the ropes. He tried to examine Dean's wrists, but as soon as the ropes were loose Dean was out of the chair and across the room. Sam realised with dismay that Dean was making sure, subconsciously or not, that Sam couldn't get between him and the door.
They needed to sort this out, but Sam didn't want it to come at the expense of the trust between them.
"Hey," he said, trying not to pitch his voice so softly that Dean would get pissed off, "enough for today, okay? Let me check your wrists?"
"They're fine," Dean said shortly.
"Please?" Sam asked, as appealingly as possible.
"Not the eyes," Dean muttered, but sighed in defeat and held out his wrists.
Sam examined them, careful not to grasp them too tightly, but seizing the opportunity to re-establish the connection with his brother. Dean tolerated it for a few seconds before pulling away.
"I'm starving. Let's go find something to eat."
Sam suspected Dean just wanted out of the motel room, feeling claustrophobic after being tied up there, but that was fine by him. "Sure, let's go."
He had some thinking to do anyway.
"Sam, this is a fucking stupid idea."
"Why?"
"Because it isn't working!" Dean said. "You keep tying me up and I keep freaking out. We're not getting anywhere with this."
"You know we have to get you past this," Sam said. "It's too dangerous a phobia in our line of work."
"Which part of 'not working' don't you understand?" Dean snapped. Sam bringing out the rope always made him short-tempered.
"I want to try something different this time, actually," Sam said neutrally. Inwardly, his heart was pounding: this was a risk, a big one. But he'd meant what he'd said - this was a weakness neither of them could afford. And though Sam was afraid of the consequences if this idea went wrong, he would take the risk if it might help his brother.
He cast a wary eye at the chair Dean was sitting on. He wasn't convinced it was sturdy enough for this, but there was only one way to find out.
There were no arms on this chair, so Sam carefully tied Dean's hands in front of him instead, checking to make sure the rope wasn't digging too hard into the padding he'd wrapped over the bandages. "Okay?" he asked.
"Fucking awesome," Dean grumbled.
"Good," Sam said, and sat down on top of him.
"Dude, what the -" Dean said, sounding startled.
Sam cut him off by kissing him.
For several seconds, Dean seemed too taken aback to respond, but Sam angled his mouth, licking his way persuasively into Dean's, and smiled into the kiss when Dean jerked and started kissing back.
Sam ran one hand along the line of Dean's jaw, slid the other up into his hair, and felt the moment when Dean tried to raise his own hands to touch him, only to find he was still tied up. The jolt he felt go through Dean's body wasn't anything like as satisfying this time.
"Easy," Sam said, breaking the kiss but moving back only far enough to meet Dean's eyes. "Easy, it's fine, I got you."
Dean stared at him, breathing somewhat harder than normal. Sam wasn't sure whether it was from being tied up or the kiss. "Oh, you are not doing what I think -"
"I totally am," Sam said with a grin, and leaned in to kiss him again.
It was a longer kiss this time, and after a few moments Sam felt Dean relaxing into it. He kept going, hoping the distraction would make his brother forget he was tied up, or at least give him something more pleasurable to focus on.
It seemed to be working to some degree, though when Sam drew back a few minutes later, Dean looked keyed up and slightly terrified, rather than happily dazed as Sam had hoped.
Sam could work with that, though.
"Lift your arms," he murmured, leaning back to allow Dean to do so, grinding down against his brother as he moved.
Dean was watching him warily, but he sucked in air as Sam shifted. He lifted his arms cautiously, and Sam ducked underneath so that Dean's arms were around his neck, bound hands pressed to the nape. The bonds forced them closer together, and Sam smiled at the new position.
"Better," he said, and leaned in to kiss Dean again.
He could feel Dean's fingers twining into his hair, and warm arousal flushed through him at the realisation that this was really happening, that Dean was really going to let this happen and actually participate. There was still the risk that this could backfire if the delicate balance between fear and pleasure Dean was riding tipped over into fear; but now, there was a chance, Sam thought.
Plus, this was turning out to be far hotter than he'd imagined when dreaming this plan up.
Sam set that aside to think about later, and concentrated on kissing Dean. He slid one hand into his brother's hair in turn, using it to angle Dean's head and deepen the kiss, and dropped the other to slip under Dean's shirt and trace the bones of his spine.
Dean shuddered beneath the touch; Sam could feel the tension in his muscles. Sam rocked down against his brother again, and Dean gasped, breaking the kiss and pushing up in turn.
"Yeah?" Sam asked. Dean was edgy enough; too much are you okay, are you sure, can you handle this would push him over into rage, Sam was certain. Dean might not be in full control of this situation, but Sam trusted his brother to say if this was too much for him.
Dean did hesitate for a moment, long enough for Sam to grow concerned, but then he ground out "Yeah," and used his bound hands around Sam's neck to drag him back in for another kiss: hotter this time, more intense, with Dean shaking beneath him but holding him close, pressing up against him.
Fuck.
Sam kissed Dean frantically, one hand rubbing against his back, the other sliding down to his chest, flattening to feel Dean's thundering heartbeat for a moment before starting on the buttons of the shirt.
There was something oddly… compelling about the fact that Dean had little freedom to touch him back. Normally, they were as evenly matched in sex as everything else, with the same competitiveness edging it. Dean giving that up - giving that up to him - god, that was driving Sam crazy.
And despite his bound hands, Dean was still giving as good as he got, now that he had decided to go with it. His mouth was working its way along Sam's jaw and down the arch of his throat. Sam threw his head back, straining for breath, only to be held in place by Dean's bound hands against the back of his neck, the rope scraping against the sensitive skin.
Dean might not be able to touch him as freely as Sam could touch his brother, but goddamn if Sam wasn't blindingly hard. "Fuck," he whispered, and fumbled at the buttons of his own shirt with fingers turned suddenly clumsy.
"Sam," Dean muttered, breath coming hard and fast. "Jesus, Sam -"
"I got you," Sam said, shifting to work on opening Dean's jeans. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't hear the edge of fear in Dean's voice, but there was arousal there too. "I got you, Dean."
"Jesus," Dean muttered again, then threw his head back with a stifled moan as Sam managed to free his cock and wrap a hand around it.
"Oh god," Sam said, and leaned forward to kiss him again.
Dean moaned into his mouth, snatching frantic gasps of breath between kisses. Sam could feel his cock hardening in his grasp, and moved his hand teasingly, stroking up and down.
"Fuck," Dean groaned, arching up against him. Sam could still feel his brother shaking, but he was willing to bet it was more arousal than fear this time.
"C'mon," Sam said, moving his hand faster. "C'mon, Dean." He slid his free hand up to cup Dean's face again, kissed him hard.
Dean shuddered violently, gasping, thrusting up. Sam slid his hand from Dean's face down his back, flattening his hand against the small of his back in support.
"Dean," he murmured against his brother's ear.
Dean gasped sharply, throwing his head back, his body going rigid. Sam gasped too as his brother came, almost shocked by the intensity of it.
"Dean," he whispered again. "Oh fuck, Dean, I got you." He rubbed his hand against his brother's back, easing him back down.
His brother was breathing in shattered gulps, his head falling forward to press against Sam's.
"Fuck," Sam whispered again raggedly, feeling his own arousal hit him full force and scrabbling to free his cock.
Dean was still labouring for breath, but Sam felt his head shift, brushing against his as Dean looked down to see Sam frantically fisting his own cock.
"Jesus, Sam," Dean groaned, his voice rough. "Please, I need to touch you -"
"Hell yes," Sam agreed willingly, ducking his head to let Dean unhook his bound hands from around his neck.
He thought Dean might have demanded to be untied if Sam's own impatience and arousal hadn't been so overwhelming. Instead, Dean closed his bound hands awkwardly around Sam's cock.
"Oh, fuck," Sam groaned, staring down. It was probably the least sophisticated handjob he'd ever received: Dean's range of movement was pretty restricted, and his fingers had to be slightly numb by this point; all he could really do was shape his fingers into a makeshift channel for Sam to thrust into.
Sam was probably going to come faster than he ever had in his life.
"Sammy," Dean murmured roughly against his cheek. "Fuck, Sam. C'mon."
Sam thrust up hard between Dean's hands, staring at the way they closed around his cock, at the rope pressing them together.
"Dean," he gasped. "Dean, I -"
"It's okay," Dean said, oddly reassuring. "C'mon, Sam."
His fingers tightened minutely around Sam's cock, squeezing gently, and Sam thrust up one last time and came with a groan.
He collapsed forward, folding down to tuck his head in against Dean's shoulder. Dean stroked him through it, awkwardly, before finally pulling his hands away.
They sat in shattered silence for a moment, before Dean broke it. "Dude."
His tone was so disgusted that Sam immediately sat up and took notice, half-afraid that now the arousal had worn off, Dean was having second thoughts about what they'd done.
"Get these ropes off me, they're gross," Dean said, shoving his hands against Sam's bare stomach.
Sam turned his attention to the bonds, and had to admit that they were pretty gross, sticky with his come. Gross, but oddly satisfying.
He decided not to say that to Dean, though, instead concentrating on undoing the knots. He would have liked Dean to have stayed tied up for longer, but even though he'd insisted on being released almost immediately after they'd finished having sex, he'd still stayed like that far longer than during any of their drills. And without panicking, even if he'd been on the brink a few times.
Provided Dean didn't run as soon as Sam untied him, Sam was going to count this a success.
"There," he said, unwinding the last of the rope and flinging it towards the trashcan, deciding it was pretty much a write-off. "How are your wrists?"
"Fine," Dean said, squirming slightly underneath him. "Dude, you're fucking heavy."
Sam ignored that hint. He wasn't about to get off Dean until he was sure that his brother was okay and that things between them were fine. He was determined not to let Dean try to cope with this by putting distance between them and pretending nothing had happened. "Let me see them."
Dean rolled his eyes, but let Sam take his wrists and inspect them, evidently deciding it was the quickest way forward.
The bandages and padding seemed to have protected Dean's wrists, Sam noted with satisfaction. There might be a few minor bruises, but nothing worse than that.
He leaned down and caught Dean's lips in a short but intense kiss, before reluctantly climbing off his brother. "Wait here, I want to rebandage them."
Dean was already on his feet, however, and Sam turned back to catch his arm as Dean wobbled slightly. Dean shook him off with an irritated frown. "I can walk to the fucking bathroom, Sam."
Sam decided he'd pushed his brother hard enough for one day. "Okay, fine."
Dean cast a suspicious glance at him for his acquiescence, but Sam merely followed him to the bathroom and helped him clean up before rebandaging his wrists.
Dean wasn't running. Sam was satisfied with that.
For now.
"Dean?"
Sam turned over and forced his eyes open, though he could already tell that Dean wasn't lying next to him. The sound of the shower reassured him a little - his brother hadn't run far, at least. Hell, maybe Dean wasn't running at all. It wasn't impossible that Dean had just woken up before him and decided to get up early for once.
Highly improbable, Sam admitted, glancing at his watch, but not quite impossible.
He sank back against the bed and let his eyes slide closed. Dean would have to come out of the bathroom eventually.
He wouldn't really be surprised if Dean was seeking some distance this morning. The previous evening had been… intense. Far more than Sam had expected. He'd thought - hell, he'd thought he'd be in control. Reassuring Dean, coaxing him into letting go, making sure he felt safe. Instead, Sam had found himself frantic, desperate. He wasn't sure that he hadn't pushed his brother further into fear.
Sam tried to figure out the moment everything had tipped over, spiralled out of control. When Dean had said yes? When Sam had pulled back from that kiss and seen how keyed up Dean was, arousal and fear in his eyes? When Dean had thrown back his head and come, shaking but letting Sam take him there?
When Dean had wrapped his bound hands around Sam's cock?
Jesus. Sam could feel himself start to harden at the memory.
And he hadn't meant it to be about that - not about his arousal, or him getting off. He'd meant it to be about Dean, about Dean's phobia, about pleasure and good memories of the two of them to counter Dean's horror at almost losing him. He hadn't expected to be so strongly affected himself, and he couldn't help but feel guilty that he had been.
He shrugged it aside as the shower shut off.
Dean emerged a few minutes later, scrubbing a towel through his hair, another one wrapped around his waist.
"Hey," Sam said, trying to judge his brother's mood.
"Hey," Dean replied. He sounded more subdued than usual, but didn't seem quite as closed-off as Sam had feared.
Sam watched his brother dress, keeping an eye out to see if Dean showed any sign of pain from his wrists, or generally moved awkwardly: he hadn't exactly been gentle the previous evening, he thought guiltily. But Dean seemed to be moving as fluidly as ever, though he didn't look in Sam's direction once.
"I'll go grab us some breakfast while you shower," Dean said, jolting Sam out of his reverie.
So Dean was distancing himself, after all.
"If you wait ten minutes, I'll come too," Sam said, striving to sound casual. "Eating out might be nice."
Dean hesitated for a moment, but said, "Sure," equally casually. Sam would have been relieved if Dean hadn't looked at the bed and seemed to decide against sitting down so close to him, and then glanced at the chairs next to the table, identical to the one he'd been sitting on last night, and chosen to go and hunt through his bag as a pretext to avoid sitting down altogether.
Oh yeah, just a normal Winchester morning.
Sam decided to make things easy on his brother - the way he hadn't last night, a little voice pointed out in his head - and headed for the bathroom.
Okay, maybe he'd moved too fast and it had all been too much for Dean. Sam would just have to regroup and take things back a step, that was all. And try to get himself under control this time.
Dean spent the day subtly backing off. He never went so far as to completely leave Sam's presence - Sam couldn't help but wonder if he would have done if the memory of Sam leaving him hadn't been so fresh - but he rarely came close enough to touch, and ricocheted between quieter than usual and more brash.
Sam had just about had enough.
He let it go, though, and decided not to push it that day. Dean seemed gradually to relax somewhat, enough to join him in bed that night and settle down with him, albeit later than usual. And the next day Dean acted more normally, seemingly relieved to pretend nothing had happened. Sam was almost going to be sorry to disappoint him.
If he'd thought Dean's phobia was miraculously gone, cured, he might have played along. But he didn't believe it for a moment, and didn't really think Dean did either. So Sam would push, just in a less… forceful way this time. More in Dean's comfort zone.
Dean pulled the car back into the motel parking lot. It was early evening, the sun just beginning to disappear behind the horizon. Sam was feeling somewhat dispirited: they'd spent the day talking to Ava's friends and relatives in the faint hope of finding some kind of lead, but it had been fruitless.
His bad mood began to give way to nervousness as Dean parked the Impala in front of their room. Sam slid a hand into his pocket and closed it around the handcuffs hidden there. Time to push.
Dean turned off the engine. Before he had a chance to realise what was going on and yank his arm away, Sam snapped one handcuff around his brother's right wrist, cuffing the other end to the steering wheel.
"What the fuck?!" Dean demanded, pulling at his wrist. For a moment, Sam thought his brother might punch him, but he didn't have the best of angles for it. "What the hell are you playing at, Sam?!"
"Not playing at all," Sam said, pitching his voice as soothing as he could. "It's not a game, Dean. You know why I'm doing this."
"Dude, we did that!" Dean complained. "I went through with it and it was… it was fine, okay? Why the -"
"The way you're reacting, Dean, can you really sit there and tell me you're over this?" Sam asked calmly.
Dean glared at him. "Anyone would be fucking pissed about their brother handcuffing them to the steering wheel of their car."
Sam shrugged. "Maybe so, but they wouldn't freak out about it."
"I am not freaking out!" Dean yelled.
Sam raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Maybe you should hum some Metallica or something."
"Oh, you little fucker," Dean muttered, but Sam could see him trying to force himself to calm down.
"Just take it easy," Sam said soothingly. "We're in your girl. No one's around. Everything's fine."
"Yeah, everything's fucking peachy," Dean muttered, but he was visibly starting to lose the worst of his edginess.
They sat in silence for several moments as Sam waited for Dean to relax, until Dean finally broke it. "Let's get this over with, if you're so set on it, Sam. Do something."
Sam smiled. "Okay. Touch yourself, Dean."
Dean stared at him. "What?"
"I want you to touch yourself," Sam said again. He could hear his voice starting to dip lower at the thought. "I want you to sit here, safe inside your car, and bring yourself off like this, Dean."
Dean was shaking his head, more from disbelief than outright refusal, Sam hoped. "This is fucked up. You are fucked up, Sam. What the hell?"
"What's so fucked up about it?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head again. "Dude - no can do. I hate to break it to you, but being fucking handcuffed isn't exactly a turn-on for me."
"You seemed to do okay the other night," Sam said. He pitched his voice lower. "And I don't remember you ever turning down sex before."
"Yeah, well, I have," Dean said sourly.
"Not with me," Sam said. He turned to the side, tucking one leg under him and leaning an arm on the top of the seat. He slid a little closer, chest almost brushing up against Dean's bound arm. "And I'm pretty sure not in this car, either."
He could tell that Dean wasn't quite as unaffected as he claimed to be: his breathing had picked up slightly, the fingers of his handcuffed hand flexing around the steering wheel. Dean wasn't struggling to get free, and Sam suspected that the adrenaline from Dean's rush of fear at being handcuffed was shifting into the keyed-up arousal he'd seen the other night.
And what he'd said about the Impala was true too. Dean loved his car, and provided it didn't get messed up in the process, there weren't many things he loved more than having sex in it.
Even as Sam watched, Dean slid a little lower in his seat, pressing back against the leather of the chair. His lips parted on a silent exhalation, and Sam couldn't restrain himself any longer, leaning over to kiss his brother, offering reassurance and a silent promise that Dean wasn't in this alone.
He pulled back long before he wanted to, before his resolution to focus only on his brother this time could falter. Although if the way Dean's eyes shot open and he tried to lean across to recapture Sam's mouth was any indication, Dean had hoped for more too.
"Dean," Sam murmured.
Dean groaned. "Jesus, Sam. Fine, whatever, just - just keep talking or something, okay?"
Sam smiled slowly. "You want me to talk you through it? I can do that. Move your hand down for me now, Dean - cup yourself through your jeans, squeeze nice and gentle."
"Fuck," Dean swore quietly, but obeyed. Sam could feel his own breathing speed up at the sight. His brother slid even lower in his seat, his head falling against the top of the bench.
"That's good," Sam said, and had to clear his throat. "Okay. Now undo your jeans and take your dick out."
Dean followed his instructions, fumbling only a little as he undid the button and zipper left-handed. He freed his cock, and Sam caught his breath as he watched Dean take it in hand.
Dean caught his breath too and let it out shakily as he started stroking up and down, without waiting for Sam to tell him to do so. His movements were a little awkward with his left hand, which Sam could see shaking a little.
"That's it," Sam said, and swallowed hard. "Slow and easy. Take your time."
He could see Dean's throat work as he swallowed too, but he slowed his hand, his movements becoming smoother.
Sam watched him, riveted. God, Dean was beautiful like this: slumped low in his seat, his head tilted back to expose his throat, and still fully dressed, even wearing his leather jacket. His right arm was stretched out, cuffed to the wheel, his fingers flexing around it. Sam had chosen Dean's right hand to cuff because it was closest and easiest, but now he figured it was sensible, too: a barrier that was probably the only thing stopping him from sliding right over into Dean's lap.
But this wasn't about him, this was about Dean. Sam was going to focus completely on his brother this time. And Dean had, however indirectly, asked Sam to talk him through this. That wasn't going to be easy - Sam tended to prefer actions to words during sex, particularly with Dean, who was so often uncomfortable with them himself. But maybe Dean needed that contact, since Sam wasn't touching him, and Sam would try to give him it, knowing that the handcuffs had Dean on edge.
"Good," he said. "Nice and slow, just go with it, let it build."
Dean breathed out shakily, hand moving slowly over his hardening cock. He was almost fully hard, Sam thought. He could almost feel the weight of Dean's cock in his hand, knew how it would jerk in his grasp, how Dean would arch and gasp if Sam were to lean over now and wrap his hand around it.
He didn't. This was important, he reminded himself.
"Stroke up over the head," he said, and wet his lips. "Lightly, just for a moment."
He could see the shock of sensation pass through Dean as his brother obeyed, muscles tensing, but he kept it light like Sam had said, going back to touching the shaft.
"God, yes," Sam said, unable to help himself. "Dean, Jesus, you look…"
Dean let out a shuddering moan, his hand moving faster. His eyes had fluttered closed. "Sam…"
"That's it," Sam murmured. "God, Dean, you've got no idea how much I want to touch you right now, want to lean over and just wrap my hand around your cock -"
"Fuck," Dean said, his voice tight with strain. "Sam, please, god -"
"C'mon," Sam encouraged him. "It's okay, Dean, go with it, I'm right here." He couldn't stop himself from leaning closer, his chest pressing against Dean's outstretched right arm, as he watched Dean's fingers clench around the steering wheel, the handcuff rattling as his brother flexed his arm.
Dean's head shifted restlessly from side to side, and Sam couldn't hold himself back any longer, leaning across to kiss his brother, hot and breathless, urging him on.
He forced himself to pull back, though Dean's gasp and near-whimper as he did so almost broke his resolution.
"C'mon," he murmured again instead. "Faster now, harder. You must be getting close…"
"Sam, I need -" Dean near-begged.
Sam watched the slightly awkward movement of Dean's left hand. Though neither of them was quite as skilled with their left hand as with their right, they'd both trained enough to be able to fire and load a gun, or pick handcuffs, or write notes that were legible if not exactly calligraphy. Sam had no doubt Dean had some experience jerking off with his left hand, too - if not from curiosity, then from all the times he'd broken or otherwise injured his right arm. He was confident Dean could get himself there.
And if not, Sam would be happy to help him along.
"Jesus, you should see yourself," he found himself saying again. Maybe he'd never been one for talking to Dean during sex before, but he was starting to see the appeal now, the way Dean bit his lip as he listened, his hips shifting against the seat.
"All flushed with it," Sam murmured, letting go of his unease at the words coming out of his mouth and concentrating fully on Dean instead. "Makes me want to shove your jacket off, work your shirt open, see how far down that flush goes. Kiss my way down, bite at your skin so even the bits that aren't flushed turn red -"
Dean moaned loudly, and Sam shot a worried glance at the rearview mirror, suddenly recalled to their surroundings and realising they were in public, afraid that someone might walk by and see them, or hear Dean moaning and come to investigate.
Then he forgot all about it, because it was far too late to stop now. Dean was arching next to him, breathing hard and fast, fucking up into his hand.
"Christ," Sam said again, shaking his head slightly in awe. "Yeah, just like that. God, I want to touch you, Dean - want to lick across the head of your cock, want to touch your balls, feel them tighten -"
He broke off with a moan of his own as Dean's hand strayed lower to cup his balls in response before tightening around his cock again. "Jesus, Dean," Sam hissed, only realising as he tried to shift closer that he had one hand pressed against the bulge of his own erection, grinding down against it unconsciously. Fuck, what had happened to this being all about Dean?
"Sam," Dean groaned, gasping for breath, rocking up into his own hand. "Sam, please, please -"
Sam forced himself to take his hand off his own cock, and reached out instead to touch the white-knuckled hand with which Dean was gripping the steering wheel. He squeezed it, then trailed his fingers down towards the handcuff. That was the point here, he reminded himself. And maybe Dean could do to be reminded of it too - and reminded that this pleasure was associated with it.
Dean gasped as Sam touched his hand, his eyes flying open. He tugged his hand away from the steering wheel, as if trying to free himself, but the handcuff chain brought him up short.
"Easy, I got you," Sam said, grasping Dean's right hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, squeezing for emphasis. "You're fine, Dean, you're good, c'mon -"
Dean's fingers clenched tightly at his, gripping almost desperately, but Sam noted with relief that his left hand hadn't stopped moving. Dean's eyes were fixed on his as he gasped for breath. Sam met his gaze, putting as much reassurance in his eyes as he could, though he suspected it might be outweighed by the heat that had to be showing there, because Jesus, Dean looked amazing.
"I've got you," he said, squeezing Dean's hand again. "I've got you, Dean, c'mon, come for me."
Dean cried out, his eyes snapping closed again and his head flying back as his body arched. Sam moaned as he watched Dean come, cock jerking in his left hand and spilling all over his shirt. Dean's right hand still clung desperately to Sam's, tugging against his restraints again, though this time Sam could almost believe it was the need for stimulation rather than escape that prompted it.
"Fuck, Dean," Sam groaned, bringing his free left hand down to pull his own jeans open and grasp his own near-painful erection. He'd planned to maybe get out and leave Dean alone in the car, see whether Dean could cope with staying handcuffed longer if he were still in the midst of the afterglow, but all of that flew out of his head now.
He fisted his cock frantically, too far gone for finesse, which was beyond him with his left hand anyway. His right hand would be easier, but he wasn't about to let Dean's hand go, not while his brother was still lying there collapsed against the seat, head thrown back, flushed and fucked out and so fucking gorgeous Sam couldn't stand it.
Dean's eyes slitted open and fastened on him, and Sam couldn't suppress a whimper at the heated gleam in them. He jerked himself harder, already close, and let his eyes slide shut as his body tensed, unable to hold the intensity of Dean's gaze any longer.
There was a clicking sound, but before Sam could get it together enough to open his eyes, their entwined hands were brushing against his balls and wet heat was engulfing his cock, and Sam came so hard he thought he might pass out.
He didn't, not quite, but when he got it together enough to take in his surroundings again, he found himself collapsed with his back against the passenger door, still twisted sideways on the bench seat. Dean's fingers were still entwined with his, making tiny stroking movements over his balls that sent shivers down his spine. Sam groaned weakly, words still beyond him.
"Yeah," Dean agreed.
Something cold brushed against Sam's thigh, and he looked down to see the handcuff still fastened around Dean's wrist. The other end, which had been fastened to the steering wheel, was now open and lying on the seat between them.
Dean followed his gaze. "Dude, you were about to shoot all over my car. Like I was going to just stay put and let you?"
Sam laughed weakly. "Oh, yeah, I see. Even after you just did?"
"I did not," Dean said, sounding almost offended at the very idea. "I only got it on my shirt. That's a goddamn skill, took a lot of practice, I'll have you know."
Sam snorted and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Practice makes perfect, Sammy," Dean said smugly and without any embarrassment.
Sam looked down at the handcuff still wrapped around Dean's wrist, and thought about the fact that Dean had unlocked the one attached to the steering wheel, not his wrist.
"Yeah," he agreed, feeling a smile growing on his lips. "It does."
Dean looked at him almost warily, then finally pulled his right hand away, freeing his fingers from Sam's. Sam missed it and those fleeting touches against his balls immediately, but forced himself to fasten his jeans while Dean unlocked the handcuff from around his wrist.
By the time Sam felt he looked presentable enough to cross the few feet from the car to their room, Dean had tucked himself back into his own jeans, and was tugging at his shirt to inspect the damage. He fixed Sam with a glare. "You are so on laundry duty, dude."
Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, that sounds fair enough."
He was still smiling as he got out of the car and hurried into the motel room. If that was all the payback Dean planned to extract, his brother was coming round to Sam's 'practising'.
After that, Sam felt much better about his strategy. Dean might be a long way from asking Sam to tie him up or anything, but things were more relaxed between them than they had been for a while. Sam wasn't about to stop trying to get him past this, and he wasn't ready to give up on searching for Ava, either, but he did feel like he and Dean could start moving forward again. When Ellen called to ask them to check out a string of strange deaths at a hotel in Connecticut, he told her to send them the details.
The hotel was old-fashioned and weirder than even the most bizarre motel rooms they'd stayed in. The alarming creak when Dean sat down on one of the beds and almost fell straight through was enough to convince Sam that further 'practice' would have to wait until after they'd left. Besides, that kind of thing probably wasn't a good idea during a job. Especially not this kind of job.
But as things turned out, sex and 'practice' were the last things on Sam's mind anyway, as he watched helplessly while people continued to die in the hotel. He couldn't afford to believe that not everyone could be saved, not any more.
The promise he extracted from Dean reassured him somewhat, and he felt slightly better by the time they put the hotel in their rearview mirror. He couldn't ignore the tight line of Dean's mouth, however, and they drove in silence for the rest of the day. When they checked into a motel late that night, one look at Dean's stony face was all it took for Sam to think the better of making a move.
In the morning, he lay awake and listened to the sound of Dean's breathing, even and smooth like it only was when Dean was awake but pretending not to be.
The hell with this.
He rolled over and reached out for Dean, who tensed under his touch before abruptly turning to face him. Their kiss was messy and near-frantic, Dean's fingers digging painfully into Sam's back. Sam pressed him down against the mattress and kissed him again, hard and demanding, until Dean stopped biting at his lips with a muffled moan. Sam leaned back to pull off the t-shirt he'd worn to bed, and took a moment to look at Dean spread out beneath him.
He imagined how his brother would look with the t-shirt tangled around his wrists. He could picture the way Dean's arms would flex, the way his mouth would open on a silent moan.
Dean must have seen something in his eyes, because he rolled them over so that he was on top and shook his head, meeting Sam's startled gaze without smiling.
"No," he said firmly. "No way, Sam, don't even think about it."
"I just -" Sam began.
"I said no," Dean repeated emphatically, and kissed him, hot and distracting.
In the shower afterwards, though, Sam's thoughts returned to that moment and why Dean's attitude had changed. After the encounter in the Impala, Dean had seemed more open to giving this strategy a chance, but this time he'd balked entirely before Sam had even had a chance to suggest it.
Sam knew the promise he'd extracted had caused the change, even if he could only guess at the reasons why. He figured it had to be the helplessness of being tied up - that it was too much for Dean to cope with right then.
He had to believe that, because the alternative - that he might have lost his brother's trust - wasn't something he couldn't bear.
He absentmindedly shut off the spray and reached for a towel. Dean would come round, he was sure. The promise was a safeguard, and he knew his brother would do anything to prevent things from reaching that point. He'd just… needed to know that safeguard was in place, just so he could stop thinking about the other ways things could play out. With luck, Dean would be able to put it out of his mind too.
Sam would let things rest for now, but despite the progress they'd made, he didn't believe Dean was over his phobia yet. He'd give him time. They had a new job to work on, anyway.
But afterwards…
Sam had wanted to force the issue afterwards. But he hadn't wanted this kind of motivation.
They were both exhausted from driving all day and through the night, stopping only to trade places, until they finally conceded it was more dangerous to drive on than to stop somewhere to grab some sleep. Now they had gone to ground in the most out-of-the-way, don't-ask-don't-tell motel they could find, and Sam had reached the level of exhaustion where he wasn't even sure he could sleep any more.
That, and he had a few things on his mind. Like the goddamn FBI on their tail. Jesus.
Dean was pacing the room like a penned-in creature, muttering under his breath. It was making Sam's head ache, but he wasn't sure Dean was even aware he was doing it, and if it was helping Dean to cope with this fucked-up situation, Sam would do his best to put up with it for as long as he could.
Fuck, that had been close. Too close. Far too close.
Dean had been right. They were totally screwed.
"Fuck," Dean swore more loudly, and this time Sam looked up.
"Dean," he said tiredly. "C'mon, man, we need to get some sleep if we're gonna move on when it gets dark."
Dean muttered a few more curses, but stalked over to the bed and started shrugging off his clothes.
Sam forced his weary limbs to obey him, took off as many clothes as he could be bothered with, and slid into bed. A moment later, Dean crawled in the other side.
They lay in silence for a long time, neither sleeping, lost in thought. Sam couldn't stop thinking about how close it had been, how badly wrong things had gone and how much worse they could have been. The FBI had almost caught them.
It was so huge that Sam couldn't even process it. His mind completely balked at the implications and focused half-hysterically on concerns that verged on the ridiculous under the circumstances, like whether the FBI would listen to that woman when she told them she didn't have a twin sister, or whether those SWAT guys had managed to escape from those bonds or been found before they came round.
Like whether Dean would have been able to cope if that Henriksen guy had clapped him in handcuffs and stuck him in a cell.
It might be a lesser concern compared to the threat to their lives and their freedom, but Sam seized on it gratefully as something he could actually do something about. Not right now, not when they needed sleep so badly, but soon.
"When we get to Providence," he said suddenly, voice quiet but sounding loud after the silence, "we're going to start practising again."
It was a moment before Dean responded. "We're not gonna let them catch us, Sam."
"We're going to practise," Sam repeated firmly, and pressed his lips together to prevent all of his worries and fears from spilling out.
There was another pause, then a sigh, and Dean shifted closer, slipping an arm around Sam's waist, hand rubbing against his back.
"Fine," Dean said quietly.
Sam felt the tension start to drain out of him. He rested his head against his brother's neck, and slid gratefully into sleep at last.
In Providence, Rhode Island, they were too preoccupied with investigating mysterious murders and a fake angel for Sam to insist on practice.
After everything had been cleared up - as much as Sam thought possible with this case, because a shaken-up Dean was a rare enough sight that he ruled nothing out - they decided to stay a day longer so they could get some sleep, and curled up in one of the beds together.
When Sam awoke, reddish-gold light was filtering through the window, and a glance at his watch confirmed that it was late afternoon. He sighed and stretched as best he could without waking Dean. They weren't planning to leave until after nightfall, so his brother might as well catch up on his sleep while he could. In the meantime, Sam took the opportunity to study Dean: the dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. The faint marks on his lips where he'd been biting them.
A siren passed by outside, and Sam went rigid, staring at the window, one hand edging out towards the gun on the bedside table, but it didn't slow and within moments was out of hearing range. The tension slowly drained out of him, but Sam found it hard to completely relax again. He felt restless and penned in now, claustrophobic.
He thought of Dean earlier, almost begging to leave the motel room and investigate with him, and found himself wondering how his brother had coped while Sam was out there without him. Dean still wasn't exactly happy about letting him out of his sight, even if he'd gotten less obvious about it, and knowing that Sam was off working a job without him there to watch his back… Sam was kind of surprised the room had still been standing when he'd returned. He'd expected Dean to be pacing like a caged animal, at best. Being stuck in the room was a form of confinement, almost as much as being tied up was, and Sam supposed it was a good sign that Dean had managed to cope while he was gone.
He remembered the sight of Dean lying on the bed while it vibrated beneath him, and felt a sudden heat flush over him. Well, at least Dean had found a way to… distract himself. Maybe their practice sessions had taught him something about pleasure and good memories as a coping technique.
"Know I'm good-looking," Dean murmured without moving, "but you're starting to worry me, dude."
Sam grinned. He should have known Dean was awake. He leaned down and kissed his brother, briefly at first, then lingeringly.
Dean slid his hands around Sam's waist and up his back, up to tangle in Sam's hair. Sam allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment, then raised his own hands and closed them around Dean's wrists, pushing them up to rest on the pillow, above Dean's head.
Dean broke the kiss and stared at him, already breathing harder, and Sam could feel the tension in his muscles.
"Practice?" Sam asked softly, double-checking that Dean remembered their conversation on the road, hadn't decided to back out.
Dean's lips thinned, but he nodded, and Sam could feel him consciously forcing his muscles to relax.
Sam dropped his mouth to Dean's to snatch a brief kiss, then made himself get up. "Stay here."
He crossed to their bags and hunted out a length of rope. When he turned back to the bed, his breath caught at the sight of Dean still lying exactly as he'd left him, arms outstretched above his head, with an obedience once reserved for their father's orders.
Sam straddled Dean's waist and leaned forward to secure the rope around Dean's wrists. This time, he made sure it was tied tight enough for Dean to be unable to free himself easily. He would have preferred to secure it to the bed, too, but the smooth wood of the headboard didn't lend itself to that.
Dean was staring up at the ceiling, his breathing controlled and unnaturally steady.
Sam bit his lip. Shit. This wasn't what he wanted, Dean lying there helplessly and enduring it. This was meant to be about empowering Dean, not that he'd ever dare use that word to his brother's face.
He knew it was taking a lot of trust for Dean to lie there and let Sam tie him up at all, and if he hadn't known that before, it would have become clear when Dean stopped letting him do this after Sam had extracted that promise from him. It was a big step for Dean to let him do this again now, and Sam only wished there was some way he could repay that trust.
Well, he couldn't just untie Dean. But he could try to make this good for him. And, maybe even more importantly, he could try to make Dean less helpless.
He ran his hands down the length of Dean's arms, a long, slow caress, following with his mouth, dropping scattered, open-mouthed kisses over scars and freckles, sucking at the soft crook of his brother's elbow.
Then he slid off Dean to lie on his side next to his brother, propping his head on one hand, close but not quite touching.
He thought of Dean in the Impala, handcuffed to the steering wheel, following Sam's instructions, passive until he was too far gone, and then until Sam was too far gone. Sam could see now what Dean had been doing - mentally removing himself from the situation as best he could, to avoid the way being tied up made him feel.
And while Sam couldn't deny that there was some appeal - okay, more than just 'some' - to having Dean tied up and laid out at his mercy… it wasn't Dean. It wasn't them.
After a minute, Dean turned his head slightly to stare at him. "Uh, Sam?"
"Yes?" Sam enquired mildly.
"You waiting for something?" Dean asked, exasperation tinging his tone. Along with a touch of nervousness, Sam thought.
"I'm waiting for you to tell me what to do," Sam said.
He saw Dean's eyes widen for a moment, then narrow. "Tell you what to do?"
Sam nodded. "Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."
Dean stared at him for a long moment, and Sam wondered if he would ask to be untied.
Instead, Dean swallowed and asked, "You got any quarters?"
It took a moment of staring blankly before Sam figured out what his brother was referring to. Then the penny dropped - so to speak - and he burst out laughing.
"Well, you did ask," Dean said, but his lips were twitching mischievously and when Sam buried his face against Dean's chest, laughing helplessly, he could feel the muscles trembling as Dean tried not to laugh too.
Finally, Sam raised his head again, feeling his worry of a few minutes ago fall away. Dean was looking at him now, grinning in that "Oh, you know you love it" way of his, and Sam did, loved him with a fierceness he could scarcely cope with.
"I've got some in my pocket," Sam admitted, and leaned precariously off the bed to snag his pants.
"I knew you were holding out on me, bitch," Dean said triumphantly.
"I just figured we'd never get around to solving this case if I gave you them," Sam replied tartly.
"You were jealous," Dean said smugly, as Sam put a few quarters down beside the Magic Fingers control box.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said. "So, quarters. What do you want me to do next?"
"Put it in," Dean said, sly innuendo in his grin.
Sam grinned back and raised an eyebrow. "What in where? You're gonna have to be very specific, Dean."
"Put a quarter in the machine," Dean said, as if taking up a challenge. "And then come here and kiss me."
Sam obeyed, pressing a hand against the bed for balance as it lurched into life beneath him. After a moment he adjusted enough to lower himself towards his brother and bring their lips together, as Dean had told him.
He let Dean define the kiss and set the pace, following his cues. When Dean finally pulled away, Sam opened his eyes and looked at him.
For a moment, Dean seemed to be waiting for Sam to take the initiative. Then he frowned, looking surprised. "You really mean it," he said.
"Of course," Sam said.
"You. Captain Control Freak."
Sam felt his eyebrows shoot up. "I am not a control freak."
"You always have been," Dean informed him. "Even before this whole thing, even back when you were a kid."
"Then here's a challenge," Sam said, swallowing his annoyance and faint misgivings. "I'll control my control-freak nature and do whatever you say. So long as it doesn't involve leaving this bed," he qualified hastily, seeing the glint in Dean's eye. "No telling me to go wash your car."
"Damn," Dean muttered.
"But you have to tell me exactly what you want and how you want me to do it," Sam continued. "In detail. Deal?"
"Deal," Dean agreed finally, then paused as if to think. "Um. Kiss my neck?" His voice was a little uncertain.
"Where exactly? How exactly?" Sam prompted him.
"Down the left side and… your mouth open just a bit," Dean said. He'd flushed slightly pink, and Sam found it very hard to restrain a grin. If he'd known this was all it would take to actually embarrass Dean, he'd have done it years ago.
He kissed his way down the left side of Dean's neck, as instructed, mouth open just enough for Dean to feel the wet heat of it against his skin.
"Touch me," Dean said, sounding a little hoarse. "I… run your hands across my chest."
More detail would have been good, but at least Dean had volunteered that of his own accord, without any prompting. Sam let him get away with it this time, running his hands slowly across his brother's chest and down.
He knew this was probably harder for Dean than anyone else would realise. Both of them found it easier to just go ahead and do something than to put it into words. Sam figured it was probably because they were brothers, or maybe it was just something they'd grow into it over time.
But it was good, hearing Dean actually talking to him, saying out loud what he wanted. If Dean would be willing to do this part of it again, Sam would be more than happy to go along with it.
"Talk to me, Dean," he said softly.
"Jesus," Dean muttered. "I want - I want you to kiss my chest, Sam. Maybe - maybe use your teeth, just a little? And on my nipples?"
The half-question in Dean's voice sent a shot of fierce protectiveness through Sam, and he lowered his head, pressing his mouth to Dean's chest, blazing hot trails across the skin. He nipped at the muscle, then ran his tongue over it, as much to taste Dean as to soothe the sting. Dean tasted… almost impossibly like himself, hot skin and the faint tang of sweat beneath Sam's tongue, and Jesus, Sam wanted this.
He lapped at Dean's nipples, hearing his brother curse, knew that if Dean's hands had been free they would have been twisting in the bedclothes or Sam's hair.
"Fuck," Dean swore with feeling. "I - Jesus, Sammy. Kiss down over my stomach, please, god -"
Whatever else he might have said was cut off by a groan as Sam started nipping his way across Dean's stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath his mouth. He could feel Dean's body arching, relaxing and tensing, caught between the twin sensations of the bed vibrating beneath him and Sam's mouth hot against his skin.
Sam strayed lower, criss-crossing his way over Dean's belly. It was hard to hold back, hard to wait for Dean to ask for what he wanted, hard to restrain himself from dipping his tongue into Dean's navel, from dipping lower still. It was hard, but it was hotter than he'd expected.
"Sam…" Dean said, a half-moan.
"Tell me what you want," Sam reminded him. He looked up, feeling breathless at the expression in Dean's eyes: need and pleasure and an edge of fear.
"My hipbones," Dean blurted out. "And then my thighs, oh Jesus, Sam -"
Sam decided not to insist that Dean specify exactly how he wanted Sam to touch him; he'd assume that Dean wanted his mouth on him until he said otherwise.
Dean's hips were hard and smooth beneath his mouth as he ran his tongue up one, then shifted across and licked down the other. Dean moaned, then threw his head back, his body arching as Sam blew across them.
He bent his head again and sucked a mark into the skin against the lower edge of Dean's left hipbone, admiring the blooming purple, then kissed his way over and down to his brother's thighs, fleeting kisses interspersed with sharper nips.
Dean's legs shifted apart, more instinct than conscious decision, to let Sam move properly between them. Sam settled there and woah, lying in that position brought his cock into contact with the vibrating bed for the first time. Okay, Jesus, he could see why Dean liked that so much.
Dean's own cock was hard and straining up towards him, and Sam grinned, taking a breath to steady himself. He was going to make Dean specify here. He glanced up, taking in the flush of Dean's skin, the unsteadiness of his breathing, the dazed expression in Dean's eyes that Sam saw too rarely: a Dean who was no longer fully in control of himself or his reactions.
Being a control freak was a Winchester trait, and Sam knew damn well that Dean had his fair share of it, even if he expressed it differently.
"Tell me, Dean," he said. "Tell me what to do."
Dean moaned and took a gasping breath. "Sammy…"
Sam paused. There was a jarring note in Dean's voice that he hadn't expected. Perhaps being tied up was starting to really get to him again.
"C'mon, Dean," he said, dropping another kiss on his thigh for reassurance. "I'm right here. Tell me what to do."
"No," Dean said, sounding suddenly desperate, and Sam looked up sharply to see his brother shaking his head from side to side, a dazed but definite refusal, and his fingers working on his bonds, though he hadn't brought his arms down from above his head.
Sam abandoned his position and moved back up to hover over his brother. He knew it would take Dean several minutes to work his way out of those bonds - he'd thought they were making good progress and had bound Dean much more securely this time - so he didn't move to untie his brother, but didn't try to stop him from freeing himself either.
"Hey, hey," he said, leaning close so his head was just above Dean's. "You're okay, come on, calm down. What's wrong?"
"Won't -" Dean choked out, holding his gaze almost pleadingly, "I wouldn't, Sammy, never -"
Sam frowned. "Wouldn't what?"
"Make you," Dean gasped out, still struggling to free his hands. "Wouldn't make you, Sammy, never, just -"
Sam's jaw almost dropped as he realised what Dean was referring to. "Jesus, Dean, I know you wouldn't. Telling me what to do when I ask you, that's not the same as making me do something. You can say what you want, you can ask me for what you want, you know."
He'd known Dean still had issues about this aspect of their relationship, but he'd thought… he'd thought Dean was okay with it.
He'd noticed Dean used words like "please" far more often in bed than he ever would normally, but he'd smugly chalked that up to him driving Dean crazy. He'd picked up on the fact that Dean generally didn't talk much in bed, beyond Sam's name and swearing, that he never said what he was begging for - but Sam had never put that together with - well, with Dean's need to protect him.
"Jesus, Dean, you should have said something," Sam murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle against his brother's face, offering reassurance and bringing him close enough to speak right into Dean's ear. "You ever known me to do anything I don't want to? You're not making me do anything, Dean. I'm not just doing this for you. But you can't just do this for me, either. You're allowed to want this, Dean. And you can ask for things you want, just like I can choose whether or not I want to give you them."
He pulled back far enough to see his brother's face. Dean's eyes were closed, and he was breathing carefully, obviously struggling for control, but he was no longer trying to undo the ropes around his wrists, and he wasn't shaking as badly.
Sam pressed a kiss to each of Dean's eyelids, feeling his brother draw in a shaky breath, and realised the bed had stopped vibrating, their quarter used up. He ran his hands reassuringly up and down Dean's arms, still stretched up above his head, soothing without words while he tried to decide what to do next.
Well, time to show his brother he meant what he'd said. Dean had always put greater faith in reality than words.
"What do you want, Dean?" he asked quietly. "You want me to untie you? Or do you want me to put another quarter in the machine?"
Dean exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. He met Sam's gaze, as if to determine how honest Sam was being, then wet his lips and said hoarsely, "Kiss me, Sammy, plea- "
Sam cut the word off by pressing their lips together.
There was desperation, to begin with, in the way Dean's lips clung to his, but Sam kissed him aggressively, telegraphing as best he could that he wanted this too, that he was giving only what he wanted to give, and gradually the kiss gentled.
Sam finally pulled back and he and Dean just watched each other for a moment.
"Want me to untie you?" Sam asked.
"Put another quarter in the damn machine, Sam," Dean said.
Sam couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across his face, but instead of saying something sappy, he brushed another kiss to Dean's mouth, and then leaned across to drop a new quarter into the slot.
The bed shuddered into new life beneath them.
"So," Sam said, moving back to hover above his brother.
"So, you want to give me that blowjob you were thinking about?" Dean said, only a faint note of hesitation giving the lie to his false bravado.
Sam grinned. "Hell, yeah."
He slid back down Dean's body, taking his time about it, letting his hands and hair and mouth drag across as much of Dean's skin as he could in the process. He felt Dean suck in a deep breath, and suspected it had not gone unappreciated.
Dean's erection had wilted during their conversation, but it was swelling again as Sam watched, and he felt more than saw it jerk as he turned hot eyes up to meet Dean's, showing as much of the fierceness of his emotions as he could in them.
He'd always suspected he could turn Dean on just by looking at him, but it was good to have confirmation, and he filed it away for future reference.
"What do you want, Dean?" he asked. "Tell me exactly how you want it."
He saw the motion of Dean's throat as he swallowed. "Touch my balls."
Sam did, stroking over them and then cupping them gently, watching Dean's cock swell further.
"Would you… god, Sam. My cock - run a finger up it, not too hard."
Sam grinned fiercely at the level of detail in that request. Dean was trying, was really trying to let himself go and do this, and Sam rewarded him by touching his cock just the way he knew he wanted, scraping his fingernail lightly up the underside, a caress that made Dean moan low in his throat.
"Touch the head," Dean said breathlessly, and Sam traced over it with the pad of one finger, pressing against the slit for a second before pulling his hand away.
"Jesus, Sam," Dean said. He was breathing fast now, and his cock was fully hard again.
Sam grinned up at him and shifted into a more comfortable position, gasping as his own hard cock pressed against the vibrating mattress again. Fuck, he was going to be lucky to last through this blowjob, at this rate. He forced himself to concentrate on Dean again. "Just tell me what you want."
"Your mouth," Dean said. "Please, Sam, your mouth -"
"Where?" Sam persisted. He wasn't going to let Dean retreat this time.
"On my cock," Dean said, gasping again as Sam moved his mouth close enough for his breath to wash over his brother's cock.
"Tell me exactly, Dean," Sam murmured. "I'll do it, I'll do whatever you want, but I want you to ask me for it exactly, okay? Just tell me, I'll make it good -"
"Oh god," Dean said. He'd flushed pink again, body quivering as Sam spoke. "Just - okay, god. Kiss the head, just once -"
He cut off with a moan as Sam did exactly that, and Sam felt another sharp jolt of arousal as Dean's cock twitched beneath his mouth. It was tempting to carry on, but Sam held back, waiting for Dean to tell him what he wanted next.
"Lick up the shaft," Dean said, "from the base."
Sam obeyed, pleased by the growing confidence of Dean's requests. Dean's cock was hot and familiar against his tongue, and Sam took his time, licking slowly, dragging out the pleasure.
"Oh, Jesus," Dean swore. "Sam, god, suck me, please, just - your mouth, fuck."
Sam thought about demanding more detail, but there was pushing and then there was cruelty, and besides, he was growing too eager himself to delay. He opened his mouth and took Dean in.
Dean moaned loudly, and Sam heard the muffled thump of his head falling back onto the pillows.
He concentrated on Dean's cock, hot in his mouth, the taste and the texture of it, unmistakeably Dean. He took more of him in, breathing in the scent of his brother's sweat and skin, and ground his own cock down against the vibrating mattress, shuddering with pleasure.
He'd thought Dean was beyond words, at least words that made sense, but he heard his brother choke out, "Touch my balls again. And use your tongue, your teeth - god, Sam -"
Oh, fuck.
Sam cupped Dean's balls in his hand again, squeezing them very gently, then grazed his teeth even more lightly against the shaft of Dean's cock, just a hint of pressure that made Dean cry out. Sam heard the knock of wood that meant Dean had forgotten about his bound wrists and tried to reach up to grab the headboard.
He worried for a moment that the reminder of the ropes would push Dean into another moment of panic, but instead Dean moaned again, and Sam pulled up far enough to run his tongue over the head of his brother's cock, triumphant that Dean might at last be starting to find being tied up hot, at least at moments like this.
He set up a steady rhythm to distract his brother, working up and down his shaft, pulling up every so often to flick at the head with his tongue, occasionally allowing his teeth to graze lightly.
"Please, Sam, oh fuck, please," Dean gasped.
Sam could feel the tension in his brother's muscles as he tried to stop himself from thrusting up, could feel him winding tighter and tighter, the bed's vibrations fucking through them both. He realised he was grinding his own cock rhythmically against the bed, hard and hot with arousal, and moaned around Dean's cock.
"Jesus," Dean groaned, and thrust up once into Sam's mouth as he came.
Sam swallowed as fast as he could, senses overwhelmed by the taste and smell of Dean, his own cock now hot and urgent as he thrust against the mattress.
He finally pulled off of Dean's cock and let his head rest on Dean's thigh, breathing him in. Fuck, he was close.
"Jesus, Sam," Dean said, and there was still hot desire and something like awe in his voice. "Fuck - come here, c'mon, come up here -"
Sam groaned, but he'd said he'd give Dean what he wanted, so he forced himself to move, shifting to hover over his brother again.
Dean's gaze was hot and speculative. He was still flushed and slick with sweat, lips parted as he breathed hard. "That's it," he said. "C'mon, lie down here on top of me, c'mon, Sam, I know you're close."
Sam obeyed, and Jesus, it was good, Dean's hot slick skin against his, the scent of him all around. Sam couldn't stop himself from thrusting once against Dean's hip.
"That's it," Dean said again, and leant up to kiss him.
Sam kissed back, desperately, and felt the last of his control slip away. He thrust against Dean's body, the sheen of sweat easing the way, feeling the vibrations of the bed working up through Dean's now-relaxed body and rocking him in turn.
He moaned against Dean's mouth and pulled back far enough to gasp for air that seemed to be in too-short supply.
Dean hooked his bound arms around Sam's neck again, like he had the first time they'd done this, using them to pull Sam close. "I've got you, Sammy," Dean was murmuring. "C'mon, I want you to, I want you to come for me -"
Sam cried out, thrusting hard one last time against Dean's skin, before collapsing, shuddering, on top of his brother. The vibrations of the bed sent aftershocks through him, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath.
Dean pressed a kiss against his head and seemed content enough to just hold on, which was good, since Sam didn't see any chance of him being able to move any time soon.
The mattress gave one last shudder and was still.
Sam didn't know how much time passed before he eventually opened his eyes and raised his head, but he suspected he'd probably dozed off for several minutes, at least. Dean's arms were still around him, still - Jesus, Dean was still tied up.
"Fuck," Sam said, abruptly wide awake, and brought Dean's arms back down between them, working to untie the knots as quickly as he could.
Dean was watching him. "Dude, I'd say after that you were entitled to pass out for a bit."
"But you - I didn't mean to leave you like this," Sam said, biting his lip as he tackled the last knot.
Dean snorted. "Please. I could've gotten free any time, if I'd wanted to."
The ropes fell away, and Sam took a deep breath - first in relief that his brother was now free, and then at the implications of Dean's words.
Dean grinned at whatever Sam's expression was revealing, and stretched, making Sam catch his breath at the motion of his brother's body beneath his. Then Dean settled down again and closed his eyes.
"Still a while until nightfall," Dean said. "Might as well get some more sleep." He reached up and tugged Sam down against him.
Sam went with it and rested his head against Dean's shoulder, turning his face against his brother's neck. He was asleep again within moments, Dean's soft breathing soothing against his cheek.
"I'm telling you, West Texas is the dullest place in this whole fucking country to drive through," Dean said emphatically, dropping onto the nearest bed with a groan of appreciation.
Sam locked the door behind them and set his bags on the floor. "You always say that, Dean. Usually right before you play some kind of stupid prank on me."
In truth, though, Sam was feeling better - lighter, somehow - than he had in several months, maybe since River Oak and the disappearances. Okay, the FBI was still after them, they still hadn't figured out exactly what the Yellow-Eyed Demon was up to, there was still no sign of Ava… but things had been better between him and Dean over the past few days. Sam felt closer to his brother than he had since he'd extracted that promise from him, and he was starting to believe that even if things were not exactly all right, they could keep going and get through it.
"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Dean said. "You're just bitter about that photo with the spoon. And that was East Texas. We hadn't even reached West Texas by then."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, in that case, I guess I'm safe?"
"Absolutely," Dean said with a straight face. Then after a pause, "I'm hungry, bitch. Go fetch me burgers."
Whatever expression Sam was wearing when he glared at Dean made his brother crack up. Sam threw himself down on the bed beside him, almost knocking Dean off.
"Hey!" Dean protested, shoving him.
Sam shoved back, and they wrestled for a minute until Sam dissolved into laughter at Dean's mock-fierce expression and they collapsed into a heap.
Dean propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Sam, and Sam held his gaze for as long as he could before asking, "What?"
Okay, so patience had never been his strongest suit.
Dean studied him for a moment longer before saying, "So, this bondage shit turns you on, Sammy?"
Sam caught his breath, taken completely off-guard, and not just by Dean bringing up that subject out of the blue.
Neither of them had ever used that word for it before. Sam hadn't even thought it in the privacy of his own head. It was oddly shocking to hear it now, put so bluntly. That was what it was, of course, but it sounded so… purely sexual, and Sam had never meant for it to be about the sex.
Then again, he could hardly deny that it did turn him on, in a way he'd never expected it to. He remembered thrusting into Dean's bound hands, watching Dean's fingers flex around the steering wheel of the Impala, Dean telling him to put another coin in the machine, opening his eyes to feel Dean's arms still bound around his neck.
"I like seeing that much of you," he said honestly. "I mean, yeah, it turns me on. You're just… god, Dean. But that's not what it's been about, you know that, right? That wasn't why I started it."
He held his breath. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to start thinking that the… fine, he could say it, the bondage was some kind of sign that Sam didn't see them as equals, or wanted to control him or something. Because yeah, it was hot as hell, seeing Dean open up to him, but Sam didn't think he'd ever felt less in control during sex. It was so hot that he'd completely lost it, each goddamn time. Every time, he'd sworn he'd focus only on Dean and his reactions, and every time, he'd gotten swept up himself. And he had a feeling that wasn't likely to change, even if he wanted it to.
Dean studied him for a moment longer, then grinned broadly. "Only you would angst about actually enjoying sex, Sam."
Sam stared at him, still worried that Dean was faking his amusement, before he started laughing himself. Put that way, he supposed it did sound a bit ridiculous. But ridiculous or not, he was relieved that Dean didn't seem annoyed or freaked out.
"What about you?" he asked, when his laughter subsided.
"What about me what?" Dean asked, though Sam thought it was more likely evasion than genuine confusion.
"Does it turn you on?" Sam asked bluntly, watching him closely.
Dean's eyes cut away to examine the wall, the floor, the door. "It… Jesus, Sam. It's - I mean, it still freaks me out. Not as much as it used to - I don't think I'm going to just fall to pieces if some cop or witch or whatever handcuffs me, so you can quit worrying about that, okay? But still a bit. It's… it's kind of hot, though, sometimes, even though it does freak me out." He laughed, the sound strained. "Guess I really am a freak. And now you've got me angsting about enjoying sex too, bitch. Hope you're satisfied."
Sam tackled Dean and kissed him breathless, almost dizzy with the weight of that admission.
"Hell yes," he murmured when he finally had to pull back for air. Then he smiled slyly. "Though not quite as satisfied as I could be…"
Dean grinned. "Done angsting about it for now, emo-boy?"
"You could say that," Sam said, sliding his hands along Dean's arms and encircling his wrists, stroking gently across the pulse points.
His brother gave a faint sigh of pleasure and kissed him again.
Sam forced himself to pull away before he lost all track of his plans, and scrambled off the bed to fetch a length of rope from one of his bags.
Dean still tensed slightly when Sam wound the rope around his wrists and through the bars of the headboard, but he exhaled slowly and watched Sam's movements, eyelids lowered.
Sam finished and stepped back, admiring his handiwork, admiring Dean more. He was still enjoying the view when a voice inside his head said, Well, well, well. What a pretty sight to come back to.
Sam opened his mouth to gasp, to warn Dean, but with no more warning than that, his body was abruptly no longer under his own control. He felt himself shunted to the back of his own mind, someone else - something else - slipping inside him.
I should have known, the voice said. Though I suppose even you didn't know, back when I was around last time, did you, Sam? Pity. I could have had such fun with the two of you like this! The voice took on a crueler edge. Still, better late than never, huh, Sam?
Who the fuck are you? Sam demanded, trying everything he could think of to force it out.
Why, Sam, I'm hurt, the voice said. Forgotten me already? And we had such a good time together. Well, right up until you and your brother sent me back to hell, that is.
Meg, Sam thought with sick horror. Oh, Christ.
Afraid that doesn't work from back there, the demon they'd called Meg told him gleefully. Now, where to begin? Let's see…
Sam screamed inside his head at the sensation of Meg riffling through his memories, feeling them being tainted as she touched them. It hurt, and the realisation that she was focusing on his memories of Dean didn't make it any better.
"Sam?" Dean asked. He was frowning in concern, half-sitting up against his bonds.
DEAN! Sam screamed. DEAN, Jesus -
"Sorry, just… admiring the view," Meg said in Sam's voice. She moved closer and reached out to touch Dean's face.
Don't you touch him! Sam raged, feeling sudden, sick fear at the thought of what Meg might do next.
Don't want me to fuck him? Meg asked. But he's so pretty, all trussed up waiting for me. Don't you think he looks tempting like that? Her voice sharpened gleefully. You do, I can tell. You tell yourself you've been doing this for him, but oh, you get off on seeing him all tied up and helpless, don't you, Sam?
If you touch him, Sam warned, I will fucking kill you, I swear to god.
How sweet, Samuel. But that threat would carry more weight if there were a damn thing you could do.
"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked.
Meg smiled. "Better than," she said, pitching Sam's voice low and seductive. Then she turned away from the bed, grabbing Sam's wallet from the table and sticking it in his pocket. "I have an idea."
Sam felt a wave of relief. Maybe she wasn't going to fuck - rape? - his brother after all.
Not right now, no. You think that's what would fuck him up most? Meg's laughter echoed, ugly, around his head. Watch and learn, baby, watch and learn.
"I was thinking," Meg said out loud, "that those burgers are actually sounding pretty good about now. So why don't I go fetch some, while you think about what you want me to do to you?"
"Forget the burgers," Dean said, voice dipping lower. "I want you to fuck me, Sammy."
Tempting, so tempting, Meg sighed in Sam's head. "Oh, I plan to. But we need to practice you dealing with being tied up while I'm not there. So… why don't you lie there and think about me fucking you? And if you're still tied up when I get back… I'll do it."
Sick horror swamped Sam again. Oh, fuck, she was going to force him to abandon Dean while he was tied up?
Dean, no! It's not me! I wouldn't leave you tied up on your own, c'mon, you know that! Dean!
Dean was looking uncertain. "I don't know, Sam…"
"Trust me, Dean," Meg said, lacing Sam's voice with more hurt and pleading than Sam would ever have used. "I'll be right back. And then…"
Dean still looked doubtful, but he settled back down on the bed. "Okay. Okay, whatever. Just - just don't be gone too long, okay?"
Dean. Oh god, Dean.
"Trust me," Meg said again. Inside Sam's head she was laughing as she turned the key in the lock, and with a final satisfied look at Dean on the bed, she left, locking the door again behind her and pocketing the key.
Sam was struggling as hard as he could to break free, to force her out of him, but Meg simply shoved him back and started walking briskly away from the motel.
Sam thought of Dean lying on the bed, quietly freaking out but trying to hold it together because Sam had asked him. Imagined him waiting, and Sam not returning. Wondered how long it would be before Dean would start trying to free himself; wondered whether Dean would think Sam had just walked out on him again, or whether he would realise at once that Sam was… not himself.
Okay, listening to your agonising was fun to start with, but now you're just getting boring, Meg told him. I think I've had enough of you for a while.
And then there was nothing.
Sam couldn't stop shaking.
It was two days since the exorcism, and he wasn't sure he'd ever get rid of the dirty feeling inside him, the feeling that everything he was and everything he touched was tainted.
Bits and pieces had been coming back to him, the bits Meg had wanted him to see. He remembered tying Jo up, Meg whispering inside his head that this was especially for him, and didn't he enjoy it, didn't it turn him on to see her bound there helpless for him, the thick rope cutting into her skin?
God, he was never going to be able to look Jo in the eye again.
He remembered shooting Dean. His brother had let him look at the wound, eventually, and Sam had wanted to throw up. More than that, Sam could remember asking Dean to kill him, and the expression on Dean's face. And he remembered leaving Dean tied up in a motel room in West Texas, waiting for him to come back and trying not to freak out.
He wondered how long Dean had waited before escaping from his bonds. Sam hadn't dared to ask yet. He hadn't dared to ask Dean much, beyond a basic outline of what had happened, still too sick with guilt and fear.
Why had it happened? Why had he let it happen? Why hadn't he been able to stop her from doing any of those things?
He could hardly ask his brother to talk to him, to trust him, when he was no longer able to trust himself. He'd barely touched Dean since, except to patch him up.
"Sam."
Sam looked up slowly. Dean was standing in front of him, frowning in concern. It made Sam want to laugh and throw up and scream. It was wrong for Dean to be concerned about him, after everything Sam had done to him.
"Sam," Dean said again, more of a sigh this time, and reached out to touch his face.
Sam flinched back. Dean couldn't touch him, couldn't let him too close -
Dean sighed again. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You've got to stop beating yourself up about this, Sam, okay? There was nothing you could have done. It wasn't your fault."
Sam choked on words and tears that wouldn't come, and said nothing.
"Sam…" Dean said again, then took a deep breath and brought his other hand out from around his back.
He was holding the rope.
Sam stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Dean held it out to him, and Sam took it, dazedly. Did Dean - but he… he couldn't mean…
Dean met his eyes, letting his silence speak for him. Then he held out his wrists.
Sam stared at him for a long time, trying to reconcile Dean's actions with the cycle of recrimination that had been running in his head since the exorcism.
Slowly, he reached out and began to tie the rope around Dean's wrists.