Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: (not-so)Saccharine Seduction
Author: closetcrombie
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Category: slash
Word Count: 3108
Spoilers: none
Summary: Smut, smut, and more smut.
Warnings: Incest, graphic sex, language, bondage, biting.
Disclaimer: Yeah, this is me not owning them, or making any money off of this.
Notes: Written for acostilow as a better-late-than-never birthday present. She wanted bondage and biting, and so I tried my best to provide. Happy belated Birthday, sugar.

 

“Drink up, Sammy!”

Sam laughs loudly and knocks back the last of his beer - feeling like maybe he should stop at that, cause he‘s never been able to hold his alcohol too well, but Dean presses another into his hand, and he grins, taking a swig.

Dean jumps onto the bed, and Sam is acutely aware of the heat his brother is giving off. He takes another drink, a bit perturbed by the way Dean’s eyes stay on his lips as they wrap the bottle, and the way he grins like he just won some game Sam wasn’t aware they were playing.

But he doesn’t dwell on it, because as soon as he lowers the bottle, Dean is there straddling his hips, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, and Sam can taste the gin on Dean’s tongue when it’s shoved inside of his mouth.

“So,” Dean says, a bit breathless after they break apart, “since you’re underage still, and I put my ass on the line by giving you this shit, I think you owe me a favor.”

Sam’s mind fills with a great number of ‘favors’ he could perform for Dean at that, but his brother knocks him on the side of the head, saying, “Dude, you’re not that drunk yet - snap out of it.”

Sam laughs to himself and Dean continues.

“Now, I was thinking - since you’re always complaining about how we never got to have a normal childhood and all that emo shit, we should play a game.”

Sam turns to his brother, intrigued but wary, since he remembers the kinds of games he and Dean used to play. Games that usually ended up with Sam breathing hard, bruised in various places, and Dean grinning smugly, because he always won.

“What kind of game, Dean?”

Dean just leans back in and kisses Sam again, fingers dancing across his brother’s neck and down his back to reach up underneath Sam’s shirt. Dean’s hands are cold, and Sam hisses, arching into his brother, trying to get closer to that delicious heat. Dean pushes him back enough to peel the shirt off of Sam’s skin, throwing it into a random corner, before diving back in and claiming Sam’s lips in a rough, wet kiss, again making use of his position across his brother’s lap by moving his hips in slow, teasing circles that he knows from experience will drive Sam wild.

He steals the lukewarm beer from his brother’s hand, pressing it to Sam’s lips suggestively, and groaning when he sucks the neck into his mouth, throat working in a way that Dean swears is obscene. He takes the bottle away from Sam’s lips and kisses him again, tasting the beer on his breath, and he has to make himself pull back to breathe.

He gets rid of his own shirt next, the thin cotton garment laying forgotten on the floor while the brothers Winchester writhe and gasp and curse in the pleasure they are providing for one another not three feet away.

Dean’s hands come up and push Sam back onto the bed as he leans over and sucks on his brother’s sweat-slick skin. The hand holding the beer bottle comes into play, and he rubs the still-cool glass against Sam’s left nipple, sucking on his right, and relishing his little brother’s breathy moan at the contrasting temperatures.

Dean sits up again, grinning, and pours what’s left of the contents of Sam’s beer across his brother’s chest, watching the liquid slide and pool in the dips and ridges of Sam’s abdomen. A fair amount collects in the hollow of Sam’s throat, and Dean kisses his brother’s lips lightly, and moves down to lap at the gathered liquid. He absently notes that the golden color of the beer almost blends with Sam’s sun kissed skin, the dim lighting of their hotel room glistening off of the drying trails the scattering liquid had made.

Dean follows every one with his tongue, teeth, and lips.

Sam is panting underneath him, laughing breathlessly when Dean’s tongue dips into his belly button.

“Do you trust me, Sammy?”

The question is unexpected, and Sam moans out a yes because when Dean asks, he also grinds the heel of his palm into Sam’s jean-confined erection.

Smiling to himself, Dean unbuckles Sam’s belt, pulling it from his jeans with a sharp jerk. He lays it to the side, before running his hands up his brother’s torso and then down his arms to take hold of his wrists. Dean slide Sam’s hands up and over his head, holding them there with his left hand while his right moves to grab the belt.

Dean’s hips take the place that his hand had been seconds before, grinding down onto Sam’s crotch, keeping his mind occupied while he finishes binding his little brother’s wrists together with his belt.

Sam’s mind is a bit hazy from the alcohol, so he doesn’t notice he’s lost mobility in his arms until it’s too late to do anything about it. He struggles briefly, thrashing and cursing, before Dean shushes him, saying,

“Sam, Sammy it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, just relax.”

Sam’s confusion is evident in his words.

“Dean…what?”

Dean runs a calming hand down Sam’s face, fingers tracing over the few freckles and light scars that he has, and murmurs, “We’re playing a game, remember? This,” he tugs lightly at the belt holding Sam’s wrists, “is just a part of it.”

Moving down his brother’s body, Dean stops to nuzzle the bulge in Sam’s jeans, making him gasp and jerk and curse while Dean laughs quietly.

He raises himself up onto his knees and reaches out to unsnap the button holding Sam’s blue jeans closed, hand hovering over Sam’s crotch just long enough for his brother to buck up into it, before taking mercy on him and unbuttoning the constricting article of clothing, sliding the zipper down in a way that he is sure has to be agonizingly slow.

click click click

And Sam is fighting against his bonds angrily, but Dean doesn’t speed up because he knows Sam isn’t going anywhere - not when he made sure that his baby brother was staying put.

“Dean, fuck!”

click click click

“Come on, Sammy, it can’t be all bad,” Dean says as he momentarily presses his knuckles against the hard flesh of Sam’s erection, stopping as soon as his brother stars to groan in pleasure - turning the groan into a frustrated hiss and Sam is swearing again.

“Bastard.”

Dean’s shrug says, ‘Hey, what can you do?’

But he slides the zipper the rest of the way down, pulling off Sam’s jeans and boxers in one go, and fists Sam’s cock roughly for a few seconds before moving back and taking it in.

“Jesus, Sam. You have no idea how fuckable you look like this,” Dean says, staring.

Sam’s long frame is stretched out completely, arms extended over his head, his leather belt wrapped around his wrists, naked, skin flushed and slick with sweat, dick arching up against his stomach, head wet already with precum. His eyes are wide, slightly glazed from his alcohol consumption, but still clear, lips worried to a deep red, his too-long hair sticking to his face with the perspiration that his arousal and the heat of the room is creating.

Dean’s mouth waters, and he licks his lips, watching Sam’s eyes track the movement of his tongue with amusement.

He crawls back onto the bed, making sure that the entire length of his body rubs against Sam’s dick, feeling his brother’s heat even through the denim encasing his lower half.

He kisses a trail down to Sam’s ear from his temple, licking and sucking on his skin until he’s sure that no matter how many years pass, Sam will always remember the feel of his lips and tongue, and he will always remember the taste of Sam’s sweat, his skin, his scent - everything. He stops to spit in his hand before it starts a slow descent down his brother’s body.

Dean nibbles lightly on Sam’s earlobe, breathing, “Do you want to play with me, Sammy?”

Sam moans low, his voice breaking when Dean’s hand moves down and grips his cock, fingers ghosting over the hardened flesh.

“I need you to understand that this game isn‘t like anything we‘ve ever played before.”

Breathing in shakily, Sam says, “I understand, Dean.”

And Dean’s hand suddenly tightens around Sam’s dick harshly, almost painfully.

“I don’t think you do, Sammy.”

He jerks Sam’s cock roughly two, three, four times and Sam is moaning again because it’s just this side of pain, and god but he didn’t know Dean could do that with his fingers, and then Dean’s hand is gone, and Sam cries out in frustration.

“I’m going to hurt you, Sam,” and Dean’s voice in Sam’s ear is nothing but the promise of sex.

“But it will be such a good, good hurt.”

Dean’s hand is back on Sam’s dick, pulling hard, and Sam feels his brother kiss his cheek gently before he winds his hand in his hair and pulls sharply, smashing their faces together so that their teeth clink and the tingling almost-pain of his scalp is matched by that of his lips.

When the break apart, Sam tastes blood. The redness of Dean’s lips make it impossible to tell whether it’s his or his brother’s.

“I can make you cum harder than you ever have in your life, Sammy. So hard that you can‘t breathe, can‘t think.”

Dean’s head moves further down his body, and Sam hisses when he feels his brother nip at his collarbone, the unpleasant sting only made bearable by Dean’s tongue laving the shallow wound.

Then Dean is sucking on his nipple again, hand still stroking his cock, but slowly now, teasing, fingers lightly caressing the head before wrapping loosely around the shaft and sliding up and down, and Sam moans breathlessly as Dean’s tongue traces random patters on the flesh of his chest.

Then Dean bites down, hard, and his hand is harsh and demanding on his cock again, and Sam howls, body jerking, arms straining against his bindings. Dean’s teeth unclench from Sam’s nipple and he releases it from his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ that goes straight to Sam’s cock.

Dean’s mouth returns to Sam’s ear, breath hot and heavy against it, and murmurs, “All you have to do is let me.”

Sam writhes against his brother, desperately arching up into the hand that’s fisting his cock, whimpering Dean’s name again and again until he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to say anything except that.

Dean’s lips are on his neck now, sucking and bruising, and Sam hisses as his brother catches more of his flesh, letting it slide slowly out of his mouth from between his teeth, saliva hot and wet against Sam’s skin.

“All you have to do,” Dean mutters intensely, “is say yes.”

And then Sam feels his brother’s hot breath on the head of his leaking cock, teasing and arousing beyond belief. He kisses the damp flesh lightly, and Sam moans quietly, arching up again, but then Dean’s hands are on his hips, holding him down while he rubs his cheek against Sam’s dick, breath now ruffling the dark hair around the base of his brother‘s cock, and Sam‘s arms strain against the belt, because damnit he wants his brother to blow him already!

Sam cries out softly when Dean’s teeth lightly tug at the hair on the inside of his thigh, startled. He begins to relax into it, and Dean’s hand moves to Sam’s ass from his erection, one finger circling his entrance gently, dipping in shallowly on occasion.

Sam screams, though, when Dean suddenly shoves his finger all the way in, and then he’s biting down roughly on the tender skin of his thigh, hand still stroking Sam’s cock, but lighter now, teasing.

As Dean’s teeth release Sam’s skin, his strokes become more forceful, and his finger is joined by another. He kisses the reddening flesh gently, smiling at the indentations his teeth have made when he sees them. Sam exhales heavily above him, and he nuzzles his baby brother’s taut stomach, sucking on the skin around his navel.

Sam’s hips buck into Dean’s hand, and he whines, the sound coming from deep in his chest.

“Just say yes, Sam,” Dean advises, his mouth going right back to work on Sam’s stomach after he says it, nipping the soft skin, tongue tracing over the ridges of one of Sam’s numerous scars.

Sam’s hips drive down onto Dean’s probing fingers, then up into his waiting hand, and he moans low in his throat when Dean’s teeth clamp down on the skin just above his belly button. His brother worries the flesh in his mouth, tongue dancing out to glide sensuously over the hyper-sensitized skin, and at that moment, his fingers also find Sam’s prostate and Sam jerks harshly, his skin ripped from Dean’s mouth by the sudden motion.

He feels his brother’s tongue running over the abused flesh, and grounds out, “Yes.” when those fingers brush that spot inside of him again, and Dean’s thumb makes a quick pass over the head of his cock, pressing just so.

Dean’s moan is pure sex, and it goes straight to Sam’s dick, making it throb in his brother’s grasp.

Suddenly, Dean flips him over, fingers leaving his ass, making him feel strangely empty. The belt twists his arms at an unpleasant angle before Dean reaches up and rights them. His hands splay over the broad expanse of Sam’s bare shoulders, fingers kneading the tanned skin, and Sam groans when he digs into a group of particularly tense muscles.

“You like that, Sammy?”

Sam just bites his lips and releases a strangled moan in response.

Dean straddles Sam’s thighs, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching Sam’s bare legs, but he’s not complaining because in the next instant Dean is leaning over his back, mouth pressing light kisses along the length of Sam’s spine, and his denim covered erection is pressing very nicely against Sam’s ass, so he humps back against his brother, biting down into the sheets when he feels Dean’s teeth nipping at one of his vertebrae and grinding down roughly in retaliation.

He can hear Dean’s hands making quick work of his button and zipper, and cranes his neck as far as he can to watch his brother strip off his skin-tight jeans, a moan catching in his throat when he sees Dean’s cock - thick and weeping - fully exposed.

Dean’s tongue and teeth are back to Sam’s skin soon after that, licking and nipping and soothing until Sam is pretty sure there’s not a spot on his back that hasn’t been attacked by Dean’s mouth. He grinds himself alternately between Dean’s cock and the bed beneath him, groaning and swearing and, “Fuck me.”

So Dean does, because, “That’s just the kind of brother I am.”

He spits into his hand again, and strokes his own cock a few times, pulls Sam’s hips up level, and slams into him with one sharp thrust.

Sam screams, and Dean almost comes from the sound alone.

“Jesus,” Sam hisses, “Dean…it hurts.”

Dean leans over and kisses Sam wetly between his shoulder blades.

“I told you it would, Sam.”

And he’s moving again, slow thrusts, in and out, over and over again, and the pain isn’t leaving Sam, but the pleasure is building all the same because Dean’s hand is around his cock (‘Finally.’) again and he’s jerking him off almost violently.

And it does hurt, but it hurts so good and Sam really doesn’t mind at all when Dean bites him hard on the back of the neck, because his cock is hitting his prostate dead.fucking.on. more times than it’s missing. He doesn’t even mind that, since his wrists are bound, he can’t find a position where it’s easy to breathe because he doesn’t have to breathe as long as Dean doesn’t stop fucking him.

Ever.

All of a sudden, Sam is on his back again, and he can see Dean’s face as he pounds into him mercilessly, eyes dark and wide, skin flushed and sweaty, and Sam offhandedly thinks that seeing his brother this wild, this feral, is the most erotic sight he’s ever witnessed right before Dean’s hand grabs his leg and pushes it up toward his head, knee almost level with his ear, and Sam can’t think anymore at all because Dean can get so much deeper this way, and his dick just keeps slamming into Sam’s prostate until Sam is unable to do anything except take it. He can’t move - can’t breathe, because,

“Jesus fuck…Dean.”

Dean’s fingers tighten around Sam’s dick, his strokes becoming erratic, and Sam is going to cum and it’s ‘too soon’ but he can’t stop because Dean won’t stop.

Won’t stop slamming into him, balls slapping against his ass, going deeper than Sam thinks he’s ever been before.

Won’t stop working Sam’s cock just how he taught him, twisting on the upstroke to drive Sam out of his (“Ohmygod, fuck me Dean.”) mind.

Won’t stop whispering obscenities (“Fuck yeah, Sammy. How do you like your big brother’s cock slamming into your tight little ass?“) hotly into Sam’s ear.

And Sam is cumming so hard that he can’t catch his breath, can’t hear anything but Dean’s voice and the wet sounds of his brother’s dick sliding in and out of his ass, can’t feel anything but everyfuckingthing and Dean is biting him again, but this time on the juncture of his neck and shoulder and Sam knows it‘s going to bruise but he can‘t bring himself to care right now because even though not being able to touch his brother is driving him crazy -

“Shit…Dean.”

His brother thrusts into him one, two, three more times before he pulls out and moans, “Sammy.” Sam watches the ropey strands of cum land on his stomach, mingling with his own, and he longs to run his fingers through the mess and watch Dean suck it off of his fingers - because Dean always does that after nights like this.

But his wrists are still held tight by his belt, and he can’t get them freed, so instead he asks,

“Who won?”

Dean grins, reaching up to gingerly finger the bite mark he left on Sam’s neck, and Sam winces when he puts a bit too much pressure on the tender flesh.

“I’d say probably the people in the next room over.”

~