Fic: Breathing in Sulfur
Title: Breathing in Sulfur
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural/Wincest
Rating: Explicit
Length: 2.9k
Warnings: Non-con but Sam is at least a little into it
Communit: Saturday Night Specials, Salt-Burn-Porn
Summary: "Dean finds Sam in Pontiac, holed up in the Astoria Hotel. Room 207. It doesn't take more than a few minutes of surveillance before he knows coming back was the right decision." Dean comes back from Hell after Lilith's hellhounds rip him to shreds. He doesn't come back human, but that's just part of the plan. And the rest of the plan is just: Sammy.
Dean finds Sam in Pontiac, holed up in the Astoria Hotel. Room 207. It doesn't take more than a few minutes of surveillance before he knows coming back was the right decision.
It takes everything he's got not to interrupt as the bitch in the hooker skinsuit fucks his baby brother and then offers to fuck him up even more, dripping her blood into a flask like it's some fine vintage scotch instead of the two-dollar bottom-of-the-barrel skunk water that it is. Then she leaves, but not before running her goddamn hand down his neck and chest, right over the necklace that – Dean's necklace, like she has any right – like he shouldn't just take her hand and peel the skin away from her flesh just for daring to-
No. Sam comes first. Sam always comes first.
After Ruby leaves, Sam gets a call – Dean's too far away to hear it, doesn't want to risk tipping his hand, not until he knows exactly what she's been doing to Sam. Whatever the caller is saying, it's clear Sam doesn't want to hear it. He does that thing he always does, where his lips get all thin and his cheekbones more angular, like he's biting back on the world's most pissy comeback. A minute after that, he hangs up, tosses the phone angrily onto the bed and picks up the half-full bottle of whiskey and what looks like the remains of a day-old pizza.
Dean waits until his brother starts snoring before he pours himself down from the grate, floating around the ceiling like a little black rain cloud. Even though the room is dark, the anti-possession tattoo on Sam's chest glows brightly to Dean's eyes. Fuck off, motherfucker. No fucking entry here.
And yet…
Dean's smoke unfurls across Sam's body, wispily caressing every inch of his skin that the blanket has left exposed. It feels warm, welcoming… something under the skin, running through his veins feels like sulfur and fire. Her blood is in Sam's veins.
Two can play that game.
Five minutes later, Dean wears the acne-scarred clerk from the front desk into the room and slices open two fingers, inserting them gently between Sam's lips. As if on reflex, Sam's head tilts toward him and he sucks on them, tongue lapping at the blood. The kid always did have an oral fixation.
Dean lets him keep going until he feels a little lightheaded, then walks the clerk back to his office. He doesn't bother arranging the scene – the guy was so boring, he could use a little mystery spicing up his night.
Then he floats back to Sam, and bingo – he was right. The tattoo is meaningless against him. Dean curls his smoke across Sam's lips, and just like before, they part to welcome Dean in.
Entering Sam has never felt so much like coming home.
* * *
Dean makes himself at home while Sam sleeps the whiskey off. He spreads into every corner of his brother, every crevice, saturating every cell until there is no piece of Sam that he does not possess. Then he sets about figuring out everything else.
Keeping Sam asleep isn't hard. Sam all but nestles into Dean's gentle pressure in a way that makes him wonder exactly how little sleep the kid has gotten since Dean left.
Walking around is a little harder – those four inches of height make a bigger difference than he thought. For a little while, it's like he's thirteen again, all wobbly legs and clumsy hands. It's a learning curve as he methodically cleans the room, packs away the clothes and the weapons, tosses the garbage, and gets Baby loaded up. The last thing he does is empty out that flask that Ruby so-carefully filled, gleefully rinsing every last poisoned drop down the drain, and then send her a text – "News on Dean. 10pm Budget Motel Farmer City tonight. IMPORTANT."
He doesn't let Sam wake up until Ruby is walking in the door asking what the big news about Dean is and flinging herself at Sam in fake sympathy. He thinks about keeping Sam asleep, but it's impossible for Dean to resist the idea of drinking in the delicious cocktail of Sam's fear and horror as Dean opens their mouth and says, "Dean's back, you bitch." And then slides the handy little demon-killing knife she gave them up between her ribs, into her heart.
For shits and giggles, Dean lets Sam take the reins.
Oops, looks like we made a mess, Sammy.
Dean? Sam thinks back incredulously. Dean can feel his mind whirring as it connects the dots that Dean's a demon, not a ghost or some kind of psychic phenomenon – then again, it's not like it's the kid's first rodeo when it comes to possession.
Guess not all of those Stanford smarts leaked out of your ears. I was beginning to wonder, what with Ruby and all.
Sam's guilt is delicious. She was helping me-
She was using you.
You were gone! Sam thinks, and Dean almost feels bad at the despair that lurches forward.
And now I'm not. Never gonna leave you, neither. I'm here for good this time.
Fear again, now. Dean, you can't-
Dean doesn't bother arguing. He just pushes Sam back into the mental passenger seat and runs the blade under the sink.
Dean-! Sam's fear colors with anger. Get out of me.
Dean looks in the mirror and smirks at Sam. Really? Cause I remember a time when you were all, oh Dean, get in me, I can't-
Sam surges forward, and the knife clatters out of Dean's hand. Out! He roars, fist flying towards the mirror. But not fast enough. Dean twists his smoke deeper into Sam's brain and clenches, stopping their fist inches away from the mirror.
Then they pick up the knife with their hand and hold it up to their neck.
Go ahead, Sammy, Dean thinks. Send us both to hell and I'll be happy to show you the ropes, cause that's the only way you're getting me out of you. He presses the blade into their skin, enjoying the sizzle and sting of the knife's hate for him and his kind. Or take a gamble. Who knows, maybe I'll slip up and you'll find some way to exorcise me. Maybe I'll get bored. Maybe you'll figure out a way to get my body back and I'll leave on my own. A brilliant red drop of blood forms right under their Adam's apple and begins to trickle down their throat.
After a moment, the hand holding the knife drops back down to their side.
Good boy, Dean thinks. As a reward, he puts Sam away, so at least one of them doesn't have to watch as he strips Ruby's body down and rolls it up in a sheet to stash in the trunk. Then he takes their body out to Baby for a quick drive over to the sex store he found in nearby Champaign – a sketchy-as-fuck establishment that's open until 3am, with a ludicrous wooden fence around the parking lot protecting a shabby building with no windows or external decorations other than a small sign that says, "Lover's Playground".
What- Sam says, waking up as Dean walks them inside.
Just doing a little shopping, Sammy. The man at the desk leers at Sam, and Dean thinks about slitting his throat for looking at Sam that way. But who can blame him? Sam's a keeper.
Don't you think we have more important things to think about? Sam asks, mortified as Dean makes them carefully pick up each sample anal plug and consider it from multiple angles.
No, Dean says firmly. There is nothing on earth more important right now than the things I'm planning on doing to you.
Dean finally selects two for the basket – a medium-sized, normal-shaped one with a remote vibrator function and a terrifying conical "anal expander" that measures almost three inches in diameter at the base – before moving on to cock rings, and from there to lubricant, and bondage gear, and even negligees.
Dean walks Sam around the store, browsing through every category of sex toy they have and noticing which ones make Sam the hottest. He alternates with what he chooses for the basket – something for Sam, something for him, another thing for Sam, something more for him, and another for him, and another-
Sam's pilfered credit card is as empty as the basket is full by the time Dean's done.
The clerk whistles when he rings it up. "Got some night planned for yourself, huh?"
Better answer him, Dean thinks. Unless-
Sam flushes bright red. "Uh, yeah, it's going to be – uh – really something."
It sure is, Dean promises Sam.
He lets the clerk live.
* * *
Dean puts Sam back in his nice, padded cave in his mind after they leave. He maps out his plans for the night on the drive back, only taking a detour into a closed-down industrial park to roll Ruby's body under an overgrown hedge and ditch the sheet in the garbage can in a nearby gas station that's closed for the night.
Once they're back at the Budget Motel and all of their purchases are out of the packaging, Dean lets Sam come out again.
Don't do that, Sam thinks, and thinks of days he can't remember when Meg took his body for a joyride.
I'm not like her, Dean thinks back. I'm doing all this for you. For us.
Sam rolls their eyes and says, "I bet you are." And then starts, like he wasn't expecting Dean to let him up.
See? Dean says. The effect is immediately undercut, however, when Sam tries to make a break for the phone and Dean has to take control again.
Do that again and I'm getting your dick pierced.
Fuck you.
Dean thinks about how it used to feel, putting Sam over his lap and spanking him until his ass was bright red. Don't push your luck, Sam.
Dean walks them to the mirror. Fuck I missed you, baby brother. He imagines standing behind Sam, wrapping his arms around his waist, his head against Sam's shoulder.
But Dean's arms are Sam's arms now, so he does the next best thing, and lowers their hand so he can press it firmly over Sam's crotch, rubbing it sensually until their cock begins to stiffen.
Nice and sexy now, he thinks, raising their hands up to the buttons on their shirt and beginning to undo them, give us a show.
Then he steps back and lets Sam take over.
The first thing he notices is how Sam immediately blushes. Even as Dean's black eyes recede, Sam's pupils are still blown wide from desire.
Strip.
Eyes fixed on a point just beyond him in the mirror, Sam does. He runs his fingers through his hair, then down to his shirt buttons, slipping it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, where he kicks it off to one side. His t-shirt follows, leaving Sam's chest bare. There are a few more scars than Dean remembers – he'll have to investigate them later, learn the new topography of Sam.
Jared runs his hands across his chest, up over his pecs and then down below the waistline of his jeans, fingertips following the slant of his hipbones down into the fuzzy V between his legs, then back up to undo the buckle with fumbling fingers. He's hard, blisteringly so – the underwear come down with the jeans, and then the shoes and socks.
Dean reaches out with Sam's right hand, grabbing the lube from the side table where he'd stashed it. He leaves the left hand in Sam's control, entertained as it at once returns to stroking their cock.
Then Dean leans Sam forward, raising their leg so he can reach down and slide their fingers into their ass. The lube is cool to the touch as Dean pushes forward, feeling their muscles give way.
Missed you, he thinks. Missed this.
He adds a third finger, impatient.
You don't actually need- Sam thinks.
Do you have any idea how hot you look standing here fingering yourself? Dean thinks. Trust me, I need this.
Sam stops complaining.
Dean fingers Sam a little longer, enjoying the look that spreads over his face after the first few times he runs Sam's long fingers across his prostate. When Sam feels like he might be getting a little too close, though, Dean pulls his hand free and marches their body over to the far bed, where the dildo is set up.
Or rather, the ominously titled anal expander.
Predictably, Sam balks. It's too big, Dean. I can't-
You can. Dean lets his voice get sharper. Sam needs to remember who's boss. Now march your ass over to it and kneel down or I'll do it for you.
Fuck you, Sam thinks.
And suddenly Dean understands just a little bit of how good Meg must have felt shutting up that smug, defiant little tone in Sam's voice as he walks them over to the dildo he's got set up and sits down, forcing it up into their ass in one go, sphincter catching on it just shy of screaming agony and dilating wide, wider, widest until Sam is panting through his teeth, trying to catch his breath and stuffed so full it feels like his ass will never close again.
You fight me again, Dean thinks, and this will be the smallest thing I ever shove up your ass again. He raises their body up, driving Sam down onto it again and again, rolling the hips as he figures how to make sure it scrapes across his prostate with each thrust.
Sam's cock, gone limp after that first painful descent, begins to take a renewed interest in the proceedings. Dean seats the dildo fully in his ass and humps his hips forward, stroking it. He thinks about how nice a Prince Albert would look crowning the end of it, a permanent ring that says mine. Maybe even get his initials carved in the ring. Yeah, perfect.
Dean-
Sam's uncertain, turned on but scared. He doesn't want this, but deep down, Dean can sense that he'll settle for it if he has to. He hates what Dean's doing – hates it, but loves it, because the only thing worse than this is him being alone.
Oh Sammy, Dean thinks. You're never gonna be alone again. I'm never letting you out of my sight. Out of my control.
He grabs another one of his finds from the sex shop, a masturbation sleeve that promised an ultimate experience, and slides it over Sam's cock. It feels amazing – not as great as it would if he had his own body, his own cock to slide into Sam's velvety soft ass – but damn good all the same. Maybe even better since Dean really can have it all. He knows exactly what Sam's feeling, exactly how to make him scream, exactly how to tell when and where to push to make him give in to what Dean wants.
He tells Sam to hold the sleeve in place and concentrates on the feeling of fucking it, the way Sam's ass wants to clench closed but can't around the huge plug he's forced him onto. Forward – Dean's fucking Sammy – and backward – Sam's getting fucked by him.
He thinks about the rest of the toys he bought, how they could just be the starting point. Thinks about the collar he's going to put on Sam after this, after he's had time to carve in sigils to protect them from anyone who might try to separate them. Thinks about how pretty Sam would look with a ring in his dick, and two more in his nipples, and a tattoo on his ass that reads Property of Dean Winchester just in case anyone's not clear on the concept and-
Sam comes.
Dean's caught entirely by surprise as the thick, ropey streams of white droplets shoot out of the end of the sleeve to spatter across the rug, and realizes the little shit was listening in on all his thoughts.
Well. That changes a few things.
I missed you, Sam thinks, and Dean can hear everything that's unspoken behind the words. How lost and angry and hurt Sam's been since Dean died. How terrified he is about Dean being back, being a demon – but also, deep down, how part of him is glad for it. Glad to know that Dean would claw his way out of hell for Sam. That not even death can keep them apart.
Dean lets Sam's body relax, sitting back on the ground unmindful of the way it presses the plug even further inside him, of the ache in his ass that Sam suspects is going to become a constant reminder of Dean's presence. He contemplates the days to come, finding that bitch Lilith and taking her out of the equation, feeding Sam his own blood as a power-up that's better than anything Ruby could offer.
Thinks about finding someplace to settle down after that where he can do whatever he wants to Sam and Sam will let him.
Thinks about how Sam was born to be the perfect vessel, and how there's no way in hell he'll ever let him be the vessel for anyone but Dean.
Finally, finally, Sam stops resisting Dean and settles down, accepting that he's not getting moving until Dean says he is. And then all at once, his muscles just – relax.
Promise? His thoughts are wistful, scared, but – hopeful? You and me? Forever?
Dean smirks. Out of all the things Sam could have asked him for, that's the one thing he can promise.
Fuck yeah, kid. You're the only one for me.
-End-
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural/Wincest
Rating: Explicit
Length: 2.9k
Warnings: Non-con but Sam is at least a little into it
Communit: Saturday Night Specials, Salt-Burn-Porn
Summary: "Dean finds Sam in Pontiac, holed up in the Astoria Hotel. Room 207. It doesn't take more than a few minutes of surveillance before he knows coming back was the right decision." Dean comes back from Hell after Lilith's hellhounds rip him to shreds. He doesn't come back human, but that's just part of the plan. And the rest of the plan is just: Sammy.
Dean finds Sam in Pontiac, holed up in the Astoria Hotel. Room 207. It doesn't take more than a few minutes of surveillance before he knows coming back was the right decision.
It takes everything he's got not to interrupt as the bitch in the hooker skinsuit fucks his baby brother and then offers to fuck him up even more, dripping her blood into a flask like it's some fine vintage scotch instead of the two-dollar bottom-of-the-barrel skunk water that it is. Then she leaves, but not before running her goddamn hand down his neck and chest, right over the necklace that – Dean's necklace, like she has any right – like he shouldn't just take her hand and peel the skin away from her flesh just for daring to-
No. Sam comes first. Sam always comes first.
After Ruby leaves, Sam gets a call – Dean's too far away to hear it, doesn't want to risk tipping his hand, not until he knows exactly what she's been doing to Sam. Whatever the caller is saying, it's clear Sam doesn't want to hear it. He does that thing he always does, where his lips get all thin and his cheekbones more angular, like he's biting back on the world's most pissy comeback. A minute after that, he hangs up, tosses the phone angrily onto the bed and picks up the half-full bottle of whiskey and what looks like the remains of a day-old pizza.
Dean waits until his brother starts snoring before he pours himself down from the grate, floating around the ceiling like a little black rain cloud. Even though the room is dark, the anti-possession tattoo on Sam's chest glows brightly to Dean's eyes. Fuck off, motherfucker. No fucking entry here.
And yet…
Dean's smoke unfurls across Sam's body, wispily caressing every inch of his skin that the blanket has left exposed. It feels warm, welcoming… something under the skin, running through his veins feels like sulfur and fire. Her blood is in Sam's veins.
Two can play that game.
Five minutes later, Dean wears the acne-scarred clerk from the front desk into the room and slices open two fingers, inserting them gently between Sam's lips. As if on reflex, Sam's head tilts toward him and he sucks on them, tongue lapping at the blood. The kid always did have an oral fixation.
Dean lets him keep going until he feels a little lightheaded, then walks the clerk back to his office. He doesn't bother arranging the scene – the guy was so boring, he could use a little mystery spicing up his night.
Then he floats back to Sam, and bingo – he was right. The tattoo is meaningless against him. Dean curls his smoke across Sam's lips, and just like before, they part to welcome Dean in.
Entering Sam has never felt so much like coming home.
* * *
Dean makes himself at home while Sam sleeps the whiskey off. He spreads into every corner of his brother, every crevice, saturating every cell until there is no piece of Sam that he does not possess. Then he sets about figuring out everything else.
Keeping Sam asleep isn't hard. Sam all but nestles into Dean's gentle pressure in a way that makes him wonder exactly how little sleep the kid has gotten since Dean left.
Walking around is a little harder – those four inches of height make a bigger difference than he thought. For a little while, it's like he's thirteen again, all wobbly legs and clumsy hands. It's a learning curve as he methodically cleans the room, packs away the clothes and the weapons, tosses the garbage, and gets Baby loaded up. The last thing he does is empty out that flask that Ruby so-carefully filled, gleefully rinsing every last poisoned drop down the drain, and then send her a text – "News on Dean. 10pm Budget Motel Farmer City tonight. IMPORTANT."
He doesn't let Sam wake up until Ruby is walking in the door asking what the big news about Dean is and flinging herself at Sam in fake sympathy. He thinks about keeping Sam asleep, but it's impossible for Dean to resist the idea of drinking in the delicious cocktail of Sam's fear and horror as Dean opens their mouth and says, "Dean's back, you bitch." And then slides the handy little demon-killing knife she gave them up between her ribs, into her heart.
For shits and giggles, Dean lets Sam take the reins.
Oops, looks like we made a mess, Sammy.
Dean? Sam thinks back incredulously. Dean can feel his mind whirring as it connects the dots that Dean's a demon, not a ghost or some kind of psychic phenomenon – then again, it's not like it's the kid's first rodeo when it comes to possession.
Guess not all of those Stanford smarts leaked out of your ears. I was beginning to wonder, what with Ruby and all.
Sam's guilt is delicious. She was helping me-
She was using you.
You were gone! Sam thinks, and Dean almost feels bad at the despair that lurches forward.
And now I'm not. Never gonna leave you, neither. I'm here for good this time.
Fear again, now. Dean, you can't-
Dean doesn't bother arguing. He just pushes Sam back into the mental passenger seat and runs the blade under the sink.
Dean-! Sam's fear colors with anger. Get out of me.
Dean looks in the mirror and smirks at Sam. Really? Cause I remember a time when you were all, oh Dean, get in me, I can't-
Sam surges forward, and the knife clatters out of Dean's hand. Out! He roars, fist flying towards the mirror. But not fast enough. Dean twists his smoke deeper into Sam's brain and clenches, stopping their fist inches away from the mirror.
Then they pick up the knife with their hand and hold it up to their neck.
Go ahead, Sammy, Dean thinks. Send us both to hell and I'll be happy to show you the ropes, cause that's the only way you're getting me out of you. He presses the blade into their skin, enjoying the sizzle and sting of the knife's hate for him and his kind. Or take a gamble. Who knows, maybe I'll slip up and you'll find some way to exorcise me. Maybe I'll get bored. Maybe you'll figure out a way to get my body back and I'll leave on my own. A brilliant red drop of blood forms right under their Adam's apple and begins to trickle down their throat.
After a moment, the hand holding the knife drops back down to their side.
Good boy, Dean thinks. As a reward, he puts Sam away, so at least one of them doesn't have to watch as he strips Ruby's body down and rolls it up in a sheet to stash in the trunk. Then he takes their body out to Baby for a quick drive over to the sex store he found in nearby Champaign – a sketchy-as-fuck establishment that's open until 3am, with a ludicrous wooden fence around the parking lot protecting a shabby building with no windows or external decorations other than a small sign that says, "Lover's Playground".
What- Sam says, waking up as Dean walks them inside.
Just doing a little shopping, Sammy. The man at the desk leers at Sam, and Dean thinks about slitting his throat for looking at Sam that way. But who can blame him? Sam's a keeper.
Don't you think we have more important things to think about? Sam asks, mortified as Dean makes them carefully pick up each sample anal plug and consider it from multiple angles.
No, Dean says firmly. There is nothing on earth more important right now than the things I'm planning on doing to you.
Dean finally selects two for the basket – a medium-sized, normal-shaped one with a remote vibrator function and a terrifying conical "anal expander" that measures almost three inches in diameter at the base – before moving on to cock rings, and from there to lubricant, and bondage gear, and even negligees.
Dean walks Sam around the store, browsing through every category of sex toy they have and noticing which ones make Sam the hottest. He alternates with what he chooses for the basket – something for Sam, something for him, another thing for Sam, something more for him, and another for him, and another-
Sam's pilfered credit card is as empty as the basket is full by the time Dean's done.
The clerk whistles when he rings it up. "Got some night planned for yourself, huh?"
Better answer him, Dean thinks. Unless-
Sam flushes bright red. "Uh, yeah, it's going to be – uh – really something."
It sure is, Dean promises Sam.
He lets the clerk live.
* * *
Dean puts Sam back in his nice, padded cave in his mind after they leave. He maps out his plans for the night on the drive back, only taking a detour into a closed-down industrial park to roll Ruby's body under an overgrown hedge and ditch the sheet in the garbage can in a nearby gas station that's closed for the night.
Once they're back at the Budget Motel and all of their purchases are out of the packaging, Dean lets Sam come out again.
Don't do that, Sam thinks, and thinks of days he can't remember when Meg took his body for a joyride.
I'm not like her, Dean thinks back. I'm doing all this for you. For us.
Sam rolls their eyes and says, "I bet you are." And then starts, like he wasn't expecting Dean to let him up.
See? Dean says. The effect is immediately undercut, however, when Sam tries to make a break for the phone and Dean has to take control again.
Do that again and I'm getting your dick pierced.
Fuck you.
Dean thinks about how it used to feel, putting Sam over his lap and spanking him until his ass was bright red. Don't push your luck, Sam.
Dean walks them to the mirror. Fuck I missed you, baby brother. He imagines standing behind Sam, wrapping his arms around his waist, his head against Sam's shoulder.
But Dean's arms are Sam's arms now, so he does the next best thing, and lowers their hand so he can press it firmly over Sam's crotch, rubbing it sensually until their cock begins to stiffen.
Nice and sexy now, he thinks, raising their hands up to the buttons on their shirt and beginning to undo them, give us a show.
Then he steps back and lets Sam take over.
The first thing he notices is how Sam immediately blushes. Even as Dean's black eyes recede, Sam's pupils are still blown wide from desire.
Strip.
Eyes fixed on a point just beyond him in the mirror, Sam does. He runs his fingers through his hair, then down to his shirt buttons, slipping it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, where he kicks it off to one side. His t-shirt follows, leaving Sam's chest bare. There are a few more scars than Dean remembers – he'll have to investigate them later, learn the new topography of Sam.
Jared runs his hands across his chest, up over his pecs and then down below the waistline of his jeans, fingertips following the slant of his hipbones down into the fuzzy V between his legs, then back up to undo the buckle with fumbling fingers. He's hard, blisteringly so – the underwear come down with the jeans, and then the shoes and socks.
Dean reaches out with Sam's right hand, grabbing the lube from the side table where he'd stashed it. He leaves the left hand in Sam's control, entertained as it at once returns to stroking their cock.
Then Dean leans Sam forward, raising their leg so he can reach down and slide their fingers into their ass. The lube is cool to the touch as Dean pushes forward, feeling their muscles give way.
Missed you, he thinks. Missed this.
He adds a third finger, impatient.
You don't actually need- Sam thinks.
Do you have any idea how hot you look standing here fingering yourself? Dean thinks. Trust me, I need this.
Sam stops complaining.
Dean fingers Sam a little longer, enjoying the look that spreads over his face after the first few times he runs Sam's long fingers across his prostate. When Sam feels like he might be getting a little too close, though, Dean pulls his hand free and marches their body over to the far bed, where the dildo is set up.
Or rather, the ominously titled anal expander.
Predictably, Sam balks. It's too big, Dean. I can't-
You can. Dean lets his voice get sharper. Sam needs to remember who's boss. Now march your ass over to it and kneel down or I'll do it for you.
Fuck you, Sam thinks.
And suddenly Dean understands just a little bit of how good Meg must have felt shutting up that smug, defiant little tone in Sam's voice as he walks them over to the dildo he's got set up and sits down, forcing it up into their ass in one go, sphincter catching on it just shy of screaming agony and dilating wide, wider, widest until Sam is panting through his teeth, trying to catch his breath and stuffed so full it feels like his ass will never close again.
You fight me again, Dean thinks, and this will be the smallest thing I ever shove up your ass again. He raises their body up, driving Sam down onto it again and again, rolling the hips as he figures how to make sure it scrapes across his prostate with each thrust.
Sam's cock, gone limp after that first painful descent, begins to take a renewed interest in the proceedings. Dean seats the dildo fully in his ass and humps his hips forward, stroking it. He thinks about how nice a Prince Albert would look crowning the end of it, a permanent ring that says mine. Maybe even get his initials carved in the ring. Yeah, perfect.
Dean-
Sam's uncertain, turned on but scared. He doesn't want this, but deep down, Dean can sense that he'll settle for it if he has to. He hates what Dean's doing – hates it, but loves it, because the only thing worse than this is him being alone.
Oh Sammy, Dean thinks. You're never gonna be alone again. I'm never letting you out of my sight. Out of my control.
He grabs another one of his finds from the sex shop, a masturbation sleeve that promised an ultimate experience, and slides it over Sam's cock. It feels amazing – not as great as it would if he had his own body, his own cock to slide into Sam's velvety soft ass – but damn good all the same. Maybe even better since Dean really can have it all. He knows exactly what Sam's feeling, exactly how to make him scream, exactly how to tell when and where to push to make him give in to what Dean wants.
He tells Sam to hold the sleeve in place and concentrates on the feeling of fucking it, the way Sam's ass wants to clench closed but can't around the huge plug he's forced him onto. Forward – Dean's fucking Sammy – and backward – Sam's getting fucked by him.
He thinks about the rest of the toys he bought, how they could just be the starting point. Thinks about the collar he's going to put on Sam after this, after he's had time to carve in sigils to protect them from anyone who might try to separate them. Thinks about how pretty Sam would look with a ring in his dick, and two more in his nipples, and a tattoo on his ass that reads Property of Dean Winchester just in case anyone's not clear on the concept and-
Sam comes.
Dean's caught entirely by surprise as the thick, ropey streams of white droplets shoot out of the end of the sleeve to spatter across the rug, and realizes the little shit was listening in on all his thoughts.
Well. That changes a few things.
I missed you, Sam thinks, and Dean can hear everything that's unspoken behind the words. How lost and angry and hurt Sam's been since Dean died. How terrified he is about Dean being back, being a demon – but also, deep down, how part of him is glad for it. Glad to know that Dean would claw his way out of hell for Sam. That not even death can keep them apart.
Dean lets Sam's body relax, sitting back on the ground unmindful of the way it presses the plug even further inside him, of the ache in his ass that Sam suspects is going to become a constant reminder of Dean's presence. He contemplates the days to come, finding that bitch Lilith and taking her out of the equation, feeding Sam his own blood as a power-up that's better than anything Ruby could offer.
Thinks about finding someplace to settle down after that where he can do whatever he wants to Sam and Sam will let him.
Thinks about how Sam was born to be the perfect vessel, and how there's no way in hell he'll ever let him be the vessel for anyone but Dean.
Finally, finally, Sam stops resisting Dean and settles down, accepting that he's not getting moving until Dean says he is. And then all at once, his muscles just – relax.
Promise? His thoughts are wistful, scared, but – hopeful? You and me? Forever?
Dean smirks. Out of all the things Sam could have asked him for, that's the one thing he can promise.
Fuck yeah, kid. You're the only one for me.
-End-