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Fic: I Haven't Even Tied You Up (NC-17)
Title: I Haven't Even Tied You Up
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: A little BDSM, but not too heavy.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah, blah, playthings, blah, blah, cake.
Wordcount: 1,203
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inderpal, who prompted me with Sam and handcuffs. Sorry this took forever, and that it's kind of on the short side. Dean was uncooperative. Anywho, get out your headphones, 'cause here's the song: Poe - Hey Pretty
Clink.
The cuffs close around Sam’s wrists, securing him to the bed frame with a soft, metallic sound. Sam sucks in a shaky breath.
“Remember your word, Sammy?” Dean asks, crouched down next to the bed so he’s eye-level with Sam. His wicked fingers are trailing down Sam’s chest, setting every nerve humming, and how exactly is Sam supposed to concentrate when he’s doing that? Dean’s hand closes around the base of Sam’s dick and strokes, once, twice—
“If you don’t remember your word, we can’t play,” Dean says, shaking his head and letting go of Sam abruptly. Sam whimpers and arches up, trying to get that hand back around him.
Dean’s nails scratch over the skin of his hipbone, hard enough to leave a smear of blood. Sam’s whole body shivers, and he can’t help the moan that pushes past his lips. “What is it?”
“Christo,” he grits out.
Dean smiles like a shark and leans in to lick at the blood pooling in the groove next to Sam’s hip, tiny kitten laps like he’s really enjoying himself. When he pulls back, his mouth is cherry red with Sam’s blood—their blood—and his eyes are darker than black with arousal. Sam can see the outline of his brother’s dick through his boxer-briefs, and, man, this is fucked up.
Dean stands up, strips out of his shorts, and then just stands there for a few minutes, watching Sam, considering him. “What should I do to you tonight, Sammy?” he wonders aloud, tapping his chin with a finger. It’s almost a ridiculous gesture, clichéd, but for the fact that Sam is cuffed to a bed and Dean is pulling a pack of matches out of his discarded pants. Oh, fuck.
“Dean,” Sam keens, and suddenly Dean’s all over him, climbing onto the bed to straddle Sam’s hips and press their chests together.
“Patience,” Dean taunts, licking along the edge of Sam’s lower lip. Sam opens for him, feels that wicked tongue curl and stroke along the roof of his mouth as they kiss. He loses himself in the slick slide and pull of Dean’s mouth against his so much that he doesn’t even notice that Dean’s struck a match until there’s sharp, painful heat pressing against the tender inside of his elbow.
He curses, loudly—it fucking hurts—and Dean leans up to soothe the burn with a careful lick, his warm tongue stinging against the abused skin. His mouth lingers there for a minute, just pressing soft kisses to the underside of Sam’s arm, and then he rears back and blows out the match. While it’s still hot, he presses it in hard right above Sam’s nipple.
Sam tastes blood in the back of his throat, and, before he can even let loose the scream bubbling up from his toes, he’s coming hard, spurting against his own stomach. Carefully, Dean holds him through it, pressing his hips down and laying soft kisses on his chest.
When Sam can breathe again, every part of his body feels like it’s been through the ringer—his wrists are probably bloody by now, chaffed from him pulling against them, and they’re definitely bruised. It sends a perverse thrill up Sam’s spine, knowing he’ll hurt for days, and that the marks will last for longer.
“Come back to me, Sammy, I’m not done with you yet,” Dean says, chuckling low and dark.
Dean kisses his way up his brother’s chest, paying careful attention to the burn just so he can hear Sam hiss like that again, and then his mouth is on Sam’s, tongue flicking playfully against Sam’s palate. He tastes smoky and salty—like Sam and fire.
He can feel Dean’s cock hard against his bare thigh, warm and wet, and, God, Sam is so spent, but he can already feel the lazy stirrings of arousal in his stomach when Dean pulls back and reaches over the side of the bed to grab the bottle of lube he’d set on the floor earlier.
Dean slicks his fingers up and then he’s slinking down Sam’s body, dirty mouth dragging moans from Sam’s raw throat as he nips and licks at every sensitive spot Sam has. One of those slippery fingers eases its way into him and curls until it’s hitting his prostate dead on. Sam’s still oversensitive from his orgasm, and the direct stimulation almost hurts it feels so good.
“Dean,” he whimpers, straining harder against the handcuffs.
“Does it hurt, Sammy?” Dean asks like he wants Sam to say ‘yes’, licking his lips. Finally, he looks affected, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little wild. "You gonna use your word?"
The taunt hits home: Sam presses down as much as he can with what little leverage he has and starts riding Dean's fingers. "More—please, please, Dean,” he pants. It’s barely past his lips when a second and third finger press into him, hard and without warning, stretching him and brushing up against his sweet spot over and over until he’s sobbing.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” he chants, because, fuck, he can’t think of any other words with those fingers in him, driving him out of his mind.
“You ready, little brother?” Dean murmurs against his scratched-up hip bone, and even that sting feels good. Sam moans out a, “Yes,” and then Dean’s teeth are scraping against the underside of his cock, sharp and wicked, while his fingers twist just there, and Sam’s orgasm is rocking through him harder than the last.
Dean’s moaning now, thrusting his hips down against the mattress like watching Sam’s cock sputter and pulse is the hottest thing ever, and as soon as Sam can find the motor skills, he’s thrashing against the handcuffs again. He wants his mouth on his brother’s cock so much he can already taste it, salty and bitter on his tongue.
But Dean ignores him, shuddering and rising up onto his knees. He gathers some of Sam’s come from where it’s cooling on Sam’s belly and then wraps his own hand around his cock, stroking frantically fast. He’s gorgeous like this: the covers bunching around his knees, back arched and head tipped back while his hand flies furiously over his erection.
“Fuck,” Sam whimpers, biting his lip and trying to hook his foot around Dean’s thigh to bring him closer. Dean lets out a startled sounding noise and then he’s coming all over the sheets and Sam’s legs. He shivers when the last pulse is through, carefully leaning forward on shaky arms to kiss Sam again. For a few minutes, Dean doesn’t seem to have the coordination to do anything but sip quietly at Sam’s mouth, but Sam tugs at his restraints again and Dean gets the idea, unlocking the cuffs and easing Sam’s arms down.
Sam can feel his shoulders protesting and the burns and scratches and bites all over his body screaming at him, knows he's going to regret going to sleep sticky and bloody in the morning, but he can’t bring himself care. He likes the idea of feeling sore for a week, remembering every time he moves what Dean did to him.
And, with that, he nuzzles his way into the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder and lets sleep take him.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: A little BDSM, but not too heavy.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah, blah, playthings, blah, blah, cake.
Wordcount: 1,203
Notes: For
inderpal, who prompted me with Sam and handcuffs. Sorry this took forever, and that it's kind of on the short side. Dean was uncooperative. Anywho, get out your headphones, 'cause here's the song: Poe - Hey Pretty Clink.
The cuffs close around Sam’s wrists, securing him to the bed frame with a soft, metallic sound. Sam sucks in a shaky breath.
“Remember your word, Sammy?” Dean asks, crouched down next to the bed so he’s eye-level with Sam. His wicked fingers are trailing down Sam’s chest, setting every nerve humming, and how exactly is Sam supposed to concentrate when he’s doing that? Dean’s hand closes around the base of Sam’s dick and strokes, once, twice—
“If you don’t remember your word, we can’t play,” Dean says, shaking his head and letting go of Sam abruptly. Sam whimpers and arches up, trying to get that hand back around him.
Dean’s nails scratch over the skin of his hipbone, hard enough to leave a smear of blood. Sam’s whole body shivers, and he can’t help the moan that pushes past his lips. “What is it?”
“Christo,” he grits out.
Dean smiles like a shark and leans in to lick at the blood pooling in the groove next to Sam’s hip, tiny kitten laps like he’s really enjoying himself. When he pulls back, his mouth is cherry red with Sam’s blood—their blood—and his eyes are darker than black with arousal. Sam can see the outline of his brother’s dick through his boxer-briefs, and, man, this is fucked up.
Dean stands up, strips out of his shorts, and then just stands there for a few minutes, watching Sam, considering him. “What should I do to you tonight, Sammy?” he wonders aloud, tapping his chin with a finger. It’s almost a ridiculous gesture, clichéd, but for the fact that Sam is cuffed to a bed and Dean is pulling a pack of matches out of his discarded pants. Oh, fuck.
“Dean,” Sam keens, and suddenly Dean’s all over him, climbing onto the bed to straddle Sam’s hips and press their chests together.
“Patience,” Dean taunts, licking along the edge of Sam’s lower lip. Sam opens for him, feels that wicked tongue curl and stroke along the roof of his mouth as they kiss. He loses himself in the slick slide and pull of Dean’s mouth against his so much that he doesn’t even notice that Dean’s struck a match until there’s sharp, painful heat pressing against the tender inside of his elbow.
He curses, loudly—it fucking hurts—and Dean leans up to soothe the burn with a careful lick, his warm tongue stinging against the abused skin. His mouth lingers there for a minute, just pressing soft kisses to the underside of Sam’s arm, and then he rears back and blows out the match. While it’s still hot, he presses it in hard right above Sam’s nipple.
Sam tastes blood in the back of his throat, and, before he can even let loose the scream bubbling up from his toes, he’s coming hard, spurting against his own stomach. Carefully, Dean holds him through it, pressing his hips down and laying soft kisses on his chest.
When Sam can breathe again, every part of his body feels like it’s been through the ringer—his wrists are probably bloody by now, chaffed from him pulling against them, and they’re definitely bruised. It sends a perverse thrill up Sam’s spine, knowing he’ll hurt for days, and that the marks will last for longer.
“Come back to me, Sammy, I’m not done with you yet,” Dean says, chuckling low and dark.
Dean kisses his way up his brother’s chest, paying careful attention to the burn just so he can hear Sam hiss like that again, and then his mouth is on Sam’s, tongue flicking playfully against Sam’s palate. He tastes smoky and salty—like Sam and fire.
He can feel Dean’s cock hard against his bare thigh, warm and wet, and, God, Sam is so spent, but he can already feel the lazy stirrings of arousal in his stomach when Dean pulls back and reaches over the side of the bed to grab the bottle of lube he’d set on the floor earlier.
Dean slicks his fingers up and then he’s slinking down Sam’s body, dirty mouth dragging moans from Sam’s raw throat as he nips and licks at every sensitive spot Sam has. One of those slippery fingers eases its way into him and curls until it’s hitting his prostate dead on. Sam’s still oversensitive from his orgasm, and the direct stimulation almost hurts it feels so good.
“Dean,” he whimpers, straining harder against the handcuffs.
“Does it hurt, Sammy?” Dean asks like he wants Sam to say ‘yes’, licking his lips. Finally, he looks affected, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little wild. "You gonna use your word?"
The taunt hits home: Sam presses down as much as he can with what little leverage he has and starts riding Dean's fingers. "More—please, please, Dean,” he pants. It’s barely past his lips when a second and third finger press into him, hard and without warning, stretching him and brushing up against his sweet spot over and over until he’s sobbing.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” he chants, because, fuck, he can’t think of any other words with those fingers in him, driving him out of his mind.
“You ready, little brother?” Dean murmurs against his scratched-up hip bone, and even that sting feels good. Sam moans out a, “Yes,” and then Dean’s teeth are scraping against the underside of his cock, sharp and wicked, while his fingers twist just there, and Sam’s orgasm is rocking through him harder than the last.
Dean’s moaning now, thrusting his hips down against the mattress like watching Sam’s cock sputter and pulse is the hottest thing ever, and as soon as Sam can find the motor skills, he’s thrashing against the handcuffs again. He wants his mouth on his brother’s cock so much he can already taste it, salty and bitter on his tongue.
But Dean ignores him, shuddering and rising up onto his knees. He gathers some of Sam’s come from where it’s cooling on Sam’s belly and then wraps his own hand around his cock, stroking frantically fast. He’s gorgeous like this: the covers bunching around his knees, back arched and head tipped back while his hand flies furiously over his erection.
“Fuck,” Sam whimpers, biting his lip and trying to hook his foot around Dean’s thigh to bring him closer. Dean lets out a startled sounding noise and then he’s coming all over the sheets and Sam’s legs. He shivers when the last pulse is through, carefully leaning forward on shaky arms to kiss Sam again. For a few minutes, Dean doesn’t seem to have the coordination to do anything but sip quietly at Sam’s mouth, but Sam tugs at his restraints again and Dean gets the idea, unlocking the cuffs and easing Sam’s arms down.
Sam can feel his shoulders protesting and the burns and scratches and bites all over his body screaming at him, knows he's going to regret going to sleep sticky and bloody in the morning, but he can’t bring himself care. He likes the idea of feeling sore for a week, remembering every time he moves what Dean did to him.
And, with that, he nuzzles his way into the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder and lets sleep take him.
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in conclusion: ♥
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... and now I'll read
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This is all kinds of hot, babe! And the song gave me chills.
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um,yesh. In case you didn't know...this is ridiculously hot, and the song fits PERFECTLY with the length and tone of the fic. I don't know if the words go, since I was distracted *wink*, but it was lovely! You are genius and I love you forever and ever!
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isn't that song just....*shivers* sexy? i don't know, i think it's something about her sort of low-down voice combined with the pace. either way, mmph.
*loves on you!*
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I cannot believe the amazing writers in this fandom. I’m really new to supernatural and I think I found you through Erica (
I like your title and the implication behind it. I love the start of the fic and the way you jump right into the action.
I love the BDSM and the ‘safe word’. I love how they have a safe word, but Sam never uses it despite all of Dean’s torture because on some level he still feels safe with him.
Dean’s slow teasing is so arousing and builds all the tension in the fic for both your readers and Sam.
This is all so hot and well written and not at all clichéd to the extent that I could quote the whole fic back at you and label it “These are the parts I liked.”
I loved the words you used in this. Words like wicked and dirty and hot and hard. They are so descriptive and arousing and so right and so wrong all at the same time. I wish I could right my sex scenes the way you wrote this one.
Dean’s nails scratch over the skin of his hipbone, hard enough to leave a smear of blood. Sam’s whole body shivers, and he can’t help the moan that pushes past his lips.
Dean smiles like a shark and leans in to lick at the blood pooling in the groove next to Sam’s hip, tiny kitten laps like he’s really enjoying himself. When he pulls back, his mouth is cherry red with Sam’s blood—their blood—and his eyes are darker than black with arousal. I love the imagery in these lines and the animal imagery, from shark to kitten. I love the violence and the enjoyment it gives Sam and Dean. I love the talk of blood and the implication of family ties and sin and black eyes.
He loses himself in the slick slide and pull of Dean’s mouth against his Hot.
I love that for every hurt Dean gives Sam, he is quick to soothe the pain away with his mouth or his hands or his hips or his fingers. He’s not really as cruel as he first appears to be.
He curses, loudly—it fucking hurts—and Dean leans up to soothe the burn with a careful lick, his warm tongue stinging against the abused skin. His mouth lingers there for a minute, just pressing soft kisses to the underside of Sam’s arm…While it’s still hot, he presses it in hard right above Sam’s nipple. alkefaskdghfasjdhgasjgedtfaejsgr sexy. I also love the surprise. Every time we as the readers get fooled, like Sam, into thinking Dean has stopped, he goes and does something else. It’s captivating.
“Come back to me, Sammy, I’m not done with you yet,” Dean says, chuckling low and dark. I think that this is quite possibly the hottest image and line in the entire
worldfic. I love domineering Dean and submissive Sam. I love it so much and Dean is perfect for the role.I usually find fingering a little clinical and confronting, but you made it perfect. It fit the fic so well that there is no actually penetration in the tradition sense. And the way you described it (or the way you implied it) made it hot and not at all uncomfortable for me (I’m sure Sam can’t agree with that observation, haha!).
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I love that for every hurt Dean gives Sam, he is quick to soothe the pain away with his mouth or his hands or his hips or his fingers. He’s not really as cruel as he first appears to be.
Thank you for picking that out, hon! I don't even think I did that consciously, but, isn't it true of Dean's character? He is a big brother and he would do anything for Sam, canonically, and even putting him in a situation where he is dominanting Sam, punishing him or what have you, he still truly cares about Sam's wellbeing and nothing can change that.
I usually find fingering a little clinical and confronting, but you made it perfect. It fit the fic so well that there is no actually penetration in the tradition sense. And the way you described it (or the way you implied it) made it hot and not at all uncomfortable for me (I’m sure Sam can’t agree with that observation, haha!).
*flaps* Again! You hit it! For some reason, a lot of fandom has this idea that sex isn't sex unless there's a dick in someone's ass--maybe two!--and I think that's really kind of sad. I know that, to me, penetration isn't as intimate as other sexual acts, like rimming or just plain oral sex. And I kind of thought that, in this situation, intimacy was key in order for it to play out right.
I love the imagery in these lines and the animal imagery, from shark to kitten. I love the violence and the enjoyment it gives Sam and Dean. I love the talk of blood and the implication of family ties and sin and black eyes.
YOU MAKE ME HAPPY. JUST SO YOU KNOW. *ahem* But, yes, I don't think that in something like this the reader should be allowed to forget what they're reading. This isn't just two random guys hooking up; this is brothers, fucked up brothers with more history than France, hurting each other and getting each other off.
In conclusion: I MAY KIND OF LOVE YOU A LOT. AND YOU GIVE THE BEST REVIEWS. ♥
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I love the way Sam doesn’t give in, he asks for more and can play the game as well as Dean. I love the way you state that Sam is in pain, but you also follow it up with how much he enjoys it being this way. He likes the idea of feeling sore for a week, remembering every time he moves what Dean did to him.
…his wrists are probably bloody by now, chaffed from him pulling against them, and they’re definitely bruised. It sends a perverse thrill up Sam’s spine, knowing he’ll hurt for days, and that the marks will last for longer.
It makes the fic and their relationship more beautiful and conflicted and complex.
“You ready, little brother?” Dean murmurs against his scratched-up hip bone, and even that sting feels good. hot. Second hottest line. Its BDSM and handcuffs and incest. This is a naughty and very bad fic you have written. I innocently thought it couldn’t get worse than incest, haha!!
“Fuck,” Sam whimpers, biting his lip and trying to hook his foot around Dean’s thigh to bring him closer. awww that’s sweet. I know they’re just trying to get off, but that’s sweet.
And being left with the image of a bloody and beaten Sam = sweet dreams and fantasies for me tonight!! =DD I can tell I will be thinking about and re-reading this fic for a long time to come.
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This is, like, the best feedback I have ever, ever, ever gotten, and I think I now closely resemble a tomato. I don't even think I actually have any words for how much you made me flail and grin and sputter. Maybe "afjowajfoafjojaf awww omg omg afjoaf!"
*more incoherant flailing and babbling* I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back to you on this, but afjalfjaf you are too sweet. I have friended you back like woah, and, and, *JUMPS ON YOU* I'm so glad you liked it, and that you liked it that much!!
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Would it be ok with you if I added you to my friends list?
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And, of course it's all right; I've friended you back too. :D
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YOU ARE TRYING TO KILL ME
I'M TELLING YOU
*DIES*
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*is ded*
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*memming for repeated reading pleasure*
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:D
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