This was a request from remember91808. ( u/2529011/remember91808)

She wanted a Wincest PWP (for those of you unfamiliar with the term, it stands for 'plot, what plot?' and usually refers to shameless smut with only the barest storyline...sort of like this), with Sam as the dominant partner. She also asked for the incorporation of plenty of teasing, and the use of sex toys, so I did my best to meet the parameters of the request. Dominant!Sam isn't my usual fare and I'm unfamiliar with a lot of toys, but I actually had a ton of fun writing this. Can't make any promises about how well I did, though.

WARNING (for those of you who ignore descriptions): Contains Wincest, dominant!possessive!Sam, submissive!Dean, use of a collar, bondage including a tether, handcuffs, and rope, orgasm denial, use of a cock ring, use of a (I hate this word) dildo, use of a plug, lots of biting, rough sex, and heavy D/s themes.

Whew! I think I got everything.

I take requests, from anyone, for anything (though I reserve the right to tell you "Hell, no").

PM me if you're interested.

"Y'know, this bar is kinda boring, don't you think? I don't know about you, but I really wouldn't mind getting out of here."

The redhead waggled her sculpted eyebrows after giving her thinly-veiled consent, in a casual-but-sultry voice. Bent low over her half-empty, frilly cocktail, so that as much of her ample cleavage was on display as possible, she curved her plump red lips into one of the most suggestive smiles Dean had ever seen. He couldn't help but smile back and, even though he'd been swinging a different way for a while now, he felt a perky little twitch between his legs. Immediately followed by a rush of guilt, but, hey, it'd happened.

She'd introduced herself as Alice, and bought him a drink. She was the second girl (or the third guy, if those breasts weren't genuine) to do so tonight, but he'd stayed with her the longest at the table she'd chosen. Maybe because she looked good enough to literally make his mouth water. Maybe because she'd led him out of sight of the pool table...where Sam was trying to win money for their next couple of meals.

"D'you know someplace we could go?" Alice asked playfully, casually reaching across the table. His hands were wrapped around his beer, and her fingertips brushed purposely against his knuckles. His smile widened a little. Even knowing that he wasn't actually going to do anything - that he couldn't do anything - he couldn't help but appreciate her. Her blatant sexuality, her confidence, and, God, that gorgeous ass he'd caught a glimpse of as she sat down.

"Really wish I did, sweetheart, but..." Dean gave her an apologetic shrug, speaking over the pounding music of the bar. She raised an eyebrow and pushed her drink out of the way, giving him her full attention.

"Well, I bet I could think of something." She reached forward and hooked her fingers through his (he let her, feeling bad but smirking a little in approval anyway), biting her lower lip just a little as she smiled at him again. "If you'd be willing to take me there."

"Oh, believe me, I'd like to," Dean admitted, feeling a painful jolt of guilt and giving her fingers a suggestive little squeeze. "I'd really like to." Shoving down the guilt, he swept his eyes over her body, purposely making the gesture obvious. She batted her eyelashes. They were a little too thick to be completely natural, but...he didn't really care. "I just can't."

Alice pretended to pout, pulling her fingers out of Dean's (some part of him was relieved) and leaning back. "Why not?" She studied him, either just taking him in or looking for some clue as to what she'd done wrong. "I'm only looking for a little fun." She grinned. "And you look pretty fun."

"Trust me, I am," he proclaimed, putting a hand on his chest. "Just can't show you."

"But why?" Alice pressed, reaching for her drink again. The movement didn't look conscious.

"Well..." Dean shrugged again, really hating this part of flirting just for entertainment.

"C'mon, you can tell me." Alice ran a fingertip around the rim of her cocktail glass. Dean leaned back in his chair and regarded her, listening to to the background noise of the bar. The music (obviously), glasses clinking, bootsteps. "How come you won't just take a chance? Leave with me?" She'd had a fake wounded expression on her face, but now her muddy brown eyes flicked up - above his head - and widened into something different. Large, heavily-callused hands dropped onto Dean's leather-covered shoulders a second before the guy behind him spoke.

"Because of me." Sam's voice was perfectly calm as he leaned down, far enough to make eye contact with Alice and send his warm breath ruffling through Dean's brush cut. But there was a rumble of warning underneath that placid tone.

Alice looked a little shocked, and Dean inwardly cringed. "You...um...didn't tell me you had a boyfriend," she said, without taking her eyes off Sam.

Dean knew Sam well enough to tell that he was sporting a friendly smile as he said, "Yeah. This is mine..." His hands tightened on his shoulders, just a little. "...and he's not leaving here with anybody but me." And now he was probably looking down at him as he murmured, "Right?"

When Dean didn't answer except by sighing through his nose, Sam raised his head. He could hear the rustle of his clothes and hair even over the music, and imagine him raising both eyebrows as he fixed Alice with that hazel gaze of him. The one that could go from gentle and dewy to intense and possessive in a second flat. He couldn't help feeling a little proud about that-his little brother was absolutely gorgeous.

"What are you waiting for?" Sam asked Alice, still in that same polite, calm tone of voice. "Scram."

She did, dropping her eyes and muttering an apology as she grabbed her drink and bolted. Dean worked at the insides of his lips with his teeth, not looking forward to what had to be coming next, and honestly a little frustrated that he'd been interrupted. He hadn't been cheating. He hadn't been doing anything wrong - just amusing himself. But Sam obviously didn't see it that way, because he lowered his head until his mouth was right next to Dean's ear, then murmured, "You're in trouble."

He straightened up as soon as he'd said that, grabbing the collar of Dean's jacket and roughly hauling him to his feet. He very nearly knocked the chair over, sending it clattering away from the table as it was. Dean squirmed a little in his grip as he turned and started to guide him rapidly towards the door, fully aware that pretty much everyone in the bar was at least starting to stare at them, and also fully aware that Sam had three inches and about thirty pounds on him and couple pretty much do whatever the hell he wanted. Just so long as Dean didn't really try to fight him off, and they both knew he wouldn't. Being manhandled like this pissed him off, but it also made him hard-a trait he knew Sam loved but he was personally never gonna forgive himself for.

Fuming, Dean kept his eyes fixed firmly on his boots as a straight-backed, angrily-confident Sam all but dragged him out to the parking lot. Every sound in the bar besides the music had died, as everyone stared straight at them. This was a small town - a really small town - in the middle of Arkansas, and he was willing to bet that a fairly-large guy getting his ass hauled outside by his even-larger boyfriend wasn't a terribly common sight. And...it was a really long way to the door, wasn't it? He silently urged Sam to walk faster.

Once they were outside, in the hot, dark air of a Southern summer night, Dean waited for the door to close and cut off the music before twisting out of Sam's grip.

"Watch it - " he snapped, angry and humiliated. Sam didn't look intimidated or apologetic at all as he grabbed onto his bicep and pulled him over to where the car was parked. "Sam - hey! What the hell?" He knew Sam could get pretty possessive, pretty manipulative. Especially in the bedroom. He guessed it was a side effect of his size and the fact that he was so damn gentle with everyone else, and he liked it - but this was going a little far. He hadn't even done anything.

And what little he had done, he'd felt bad about. He was done, right?

Sam shoved him up against the passenger side of the Impala. Not hard enough to really do any damage, to him or the paint job, but his teeth definitely rattled. Dammit.

"What's gotten into you?" Dean demanded, as Sam stood in front of him, keeping him backed against the car. "Look, I...if I hurt you.." He swallowed, the guilt suddenly rushing back in full force. He could barely stand the thought of having done damage to the one person he loved - really loved. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"No, you didn't hurt me." Sam leaned in, and Dean felt breath ghosting across the skin of his neck. His cock practically jumped in his boxers. "You just pissed me off. Really pissed me off." He pressed his lips to Dean's bare skin, planting hard kisses up and down the side of his neck, making his flesh burn and his breathing speed up into shallow, excited little pants. He grunted slightly, moving his head so Sam had better access to him. He felt his mouth open up, a warm tongue was dragged up the ridge that one of his tendons made - and then he bit. Not hard enough to break the skin, but Dean started a little anyway at the feeling of teeth on his neck. Usually, something biting that area was cause for a whole lot of alarm, but...this felt good. He couldn't deny that Sam working a piece of his skin between his teeth, sucking and bruising even as he left bite marks that would be incredibly obvious in the morning, was turning him on. Making him desperate and eager for more. Still, even as he put his arms around Sam's torso and pulled his chest against his own, he couldn't stop himself from gasping out, "What're you doing?"

He'd been with Sam as more than a brother for months now, and he'd known him better than he knew himself for most of his life. But he still liked to know where he was coming from.

Sam's mouth popped off his skin, from where he'd been sucking a hickey onto his neck. His tongue fluttered across the tender, bruised area before he said, "Marking you. As best I can while we're out here." It came out as a snarl that made every cell in Dean's body sit up and beg. He grinned, nudging his hips against his brother's.

"Am I yours, Sammy?" he purred, reaching up to twist his fingers through a handful of Sam's long, soft hair.

"Obviously...and everyone but you seems to realize that completely," Sam growled back, punctuating that last word with another love bite. This one was pretty hard; Dean winced a little. "Just so long as I'm nearby, watching you..." Now his earlobe was between his teeth, being viciously worked and worried, and Dean's hands automatically flexed into claws on Sam's back and neck. His fingertips dug into thick pads of muscle. This felt great, but it was just the tiniest bit more intense than anything they'd done before. There was something powerful behind it. "...every girl and guy within a ten-mile radius knows to keep their hands off you and stay the hell away. The trouble is that you, Dean, can't seem to stay away from them."

"I wasn't doing anything," Dean protested, shuddering as Sam's mouth dropped down and found his barely-exposed collarbone. "Just talking. Trust me, I never would've left with anybody. You're the only person I've slept with or kissed in months, and I like it like that."

"That's not enough, Dean." Sam was nipping at his throat now, and he twitched with a defensive reflex he couldn't control. "You're taken. You're spoken for, and have been ever since you let me into your bed. Let me touch you...kiss you...fuck you." Unexpectedly, he raised his head and pressed their lips together, kissing him with an angered, feverish intensity. Dean submitted when he pulled his mouth open, letting him plunge his tongue in and claim every crevice. He couldn't help moaning at the sensation, yanking Sam closer and arching his back to press himself against him. Sam was an absolutely amazing kisser, making out with the same passion and strength as when he sparred and interrogated and argued, and Dean never passed up a chance to play tonsil hockey with him. "But you seem to keep forgetting that, and I know it's probably my fault. I haven't been anywhere near firm enough with you...I've had you on a leash that's way too long."

"Okay," Dean panted, feeling Sam's hands running over his neck, stroking. "Okay. I get it. I'm really sorry, and I'll never make a pass at anybody ever again - never would've in the first place, if I'd've known that it'd piss you off...like...this..." He trailed off, blinking, as he realized that something had been pressed against his throat - no, wrapped around his throat, irritating the bruises and bite marks, and Sam was busy fastening it at the nape of his neck. "What the hell?" He squirmed away a little, and Sam let him. But he didn't allow him to go very far. "Sam, what is this?" He reached up and felt smooth, padded vinyl, relatively sturdy, with several metal rings attached to it. And a complicated buckle in back.

Oh, c'mon, you've gotta be kidding me. They'd gotten kinky before in the bedroom. Really kinky, actually, but...a collar? Sam had collared him? He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Pretty standard slave collar." In the faint glow from the bar and the nearby street lamps, he caught Sam's smile. He looked proud of himself. Bastard. "We can get a sturdier, better-looking one later, something more permanent, but I think that this'll work just fine for tonight." He hooked a finger through the ring on the very front, and pulled Dean forward. Into a quick, rough kiss where he nipped and sucked at his lower lip. "Yeah..." He took a step backwards and, finger still wrapped around the ring on Dean's collar, took him with him. "It'll serve its purpose."

Dean had, earlier, trusted the Impala's keys to him because he'd been forced to admit that he was probably going to drink a lot, and Sam was really weird about letting him drive after more than one beer. So Sam was able to unlock the Impala one-handed and yank open the passenger door. His other hand dropped from Dean's brand-new collar to his ass, giving it something a little too rough to be a pat to guide him in. He swallowed, a worm of excitement and arousal twisting its way up through the inevitable storm of embarrassment and slow-burning anger. Dean thought of himself as a pretty independent guy. Strong, proud, capable - and downright predatory when it came to sex. At least, he had been, until he'd taken Sam as a partner. As a result of that, no one had ever acted like they owned him before.

He wasn't used to it. It pissed him off, to be treated like property. And Sam had been getting worse and worse about it as time went on; he guessed that this was sort of the culmination. But, obviously, some part of him had a real taste for this sort of thing - his cock was fully erect, straining against his boxers and jeans, leaking precome into a wet spot that would become visible in a couple minutes. He was panting slightly and craving Sam's touch on his bare skin, Sam's muscular body writhing and bucking underneath him...though, unfortunately, he probably wouldn't get to be on top tonight.

Dean got into the passenger seat of the Impala obediently. He glanced up at Sam with an indulgent smile. Fine, drag me around, take me home. Go ahead and prove to me that you're the only one who can give me what I want.

He'd honestly expected Sam to just smile back, because they were going to go reaffirm their relationship, have some fun. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned in, mouth uncomfortably close to the nape of Dean's neck, where his admittedly-bristly hair grew in soft and pale. Dean couldn't see all of him, but his position told him that he was bracing himself against the car with one hand. His other, just the fingertips, was digging into Dean's sternum through the sturdy fabric of his T-shirt. He felt Sam's mouth open against his neck, hot breath making him shiver in anticipated pleasure. Sam drew his fingertips down, to his solar plexus, his stomach...his groin. To the bulge in his jeans, which Sam, having experimented in college, had told him several times was impressive. He knew, of course; Sam hadn't been the first one to tell him. But it still felt good to hear it from someone he actually cared about.

"Good boy," Sam purred. Dean had to strain to pick up his low, quiet voice. He was stroking that bulge now, gently, and Dean could only feel the barest of movements through the thick denim of his jeans. But that was just enough to drive him wild, and he was sure Sam knew that. He growled, thrusting his hips up a little, but Sam moved his hand to his thigh and forced him back down. Not at all gently. "No, Dean, not yet. You can just suffer for awhile, okay? But...be sure and keep this up for me. I can't wait to use it." He rested his teeth against the place on Dean's neck where soft hair met bare skin, and lightly brushed a thumb over his throbbing, denim-bound cock. Dean grunted, shifting frustratedly.

"Sammy..." he panted. It came out half-warning and half-plea.

"Shh." Sam nipped, and he winced. His skin was pretty sensitive there. "Look, Dean, I think your only real problem is that you keep forgetting that you're mine. Otherwise, you're perfect. Clever tongue, strong hands...thick cock." Without any warning, he dropped that big hand of his back into Dean's lap, and squeezed. Dean had to sink his teeth into his tongue to keep from shouting. "You just need to be punished, and taught a lesson, and reminded." He moved his mouth down, to where the slave collar was, and flicked the tip of his tongue under it. "I can do that."

He straightened up and slammed the door without another word, leaving Dean with saliva slicking the back of his neck and his cock literally aching with need. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it), he wasn't alone for long. Sam settled into the driver's seat, turned on the engine, and pulled out, all without giving him so much as a glance. A desperate whine forced its way out of Dean's throat at the lack of attention, both physical and other, and he immediately felt like smacking himself. No way was he that far gone already. Was he? At least Sam didn't seem to have noticed, since he didn't do anything. Until they got out on the road.

One of their basic rules had, from the very beginning, been that there was absolutely no fooling around while driving. Sam'd (probably correctly) assumed that Dean would drive them into a tree or off a cliff if Sam was jerking him off, or vice-versa. But he must've believed that he was better at multitasking, because his hand was pressed into Dean's crotch the second that they were out of the parking lot. It was more of a gesture of ownership than an actual effort to arouse him more than he already was - he was just keeping a hand on him. And appreciating what he obviously thought of as "his," which he confirmed when he squeezed the sizable shaft of Dean's rock-hard cock and whispered, "All of this just for me?"

He must've really been in a mood over the whole flirting thin, though, because he didn't pass up an opportunity to tease him. He rocked his hand a little, moved his fingers gently and slowly to find and rub every sensitive structure through the layers of denim and cotton, and Dean swallowed. Hard. His back was totally straight, pressed hard into the seat because his boots were braced so firmly against the floor of the Impala. Every muscle in his body was rapidly going rigid as small, muted, unsatisfying tremors of pleasure traveled upwards from where Sam's hand was working at his groin. His own hands had been gripping the low-slung seat so tightly that the skin on his knuckles actually stung, but now he raised one, meaning to grab Sam's wrist and press him more firmly against himself. But Sam let go of him and shoved his hand back down before he could.

"No," he commanded, in that firm, calm voice that he usually only whipped out when some monster's hysterical victim needed to be ordered to safety. "You don't exactly have that right at the moment, Dean. We're not equals tonight." He let go of Dean's hand and moved back to the area between his legs, which was quickly becoming a mess of heat and slick precome and throbbing sexual tension. "Just let me play with you a little bit, and stay still. Don't you think I deserve it, after having to watch you hit on every even moderately-nice piece of ass all night?"

"Sam, c'mon, you know I wasn't doing anything, I was just - " Dean gasped suddenly, interrupting himself with a harsh intake of air as his younger brother's fingertips tapped playfully at his balls. His thumb was firmly on the swollen head of his cock, rolling and digging in and basically just driving him nuts. "I was just...Sammy, what the hell are you even trying to do down there?...I was bored." He sucked in deep breaths and exhaled each in a groan, exhausted but, at the same time, wound up, now that he'd managed to get that out. The question had been basically useless. Of course he knew what Sam was trying to do: get him just as worked up as he possibly could before they got back to their room. And what the hell was wrong with him, that even thinking about that had triggered another tiny spurt of precome from his cock?

"Bored? C'mon, jerk, that's no excuse and you know it," Sam complained, eyes focused casually on the darkened road as he drove with one hand. He'd given Dean another squeeze to punctuate the word "jerk," making him jump in his seat and automatically snarl, "Bitch!" "You're clever. I'm sure you can find some way to amuse yourself besides flirting with barflies right in front of the partner you literally swore your soul to. At the top of your lungs. While you were inside me."

Dean winced a little because, yeah, he remembered that. One night, less than a week into their sexual relationship, he'd had Sam under him and holding on tight. At the peak of orgasm, it'd seemed like a good idea to declare just who he was giving himself to. Sam had actually seemed to really like it, though Dean had been embarrassed later, and had been eager to never bring it up again. Leave it to his asshole brother to start holding it over his head now.

"'Sides. You should really be more focused on amusing me." Sam moved his hand up, completely casual, and undid the button of his brother's jeans with a totally-unnecessary flourish of his wrist. Dean bit his lower lip, so hard a metallic taste filled his mouth, to keep from whimpering or whining. He suspected that any sound he made now wouldn't just be let go by Sam. "I told you I was gonna teach you a lesson tonight - you're gonna be just perfect once I'm done, I think."

Dean nudged his hips forward, and didn't even realize he was doing it until Sam pressed his wrist against his thigh, a silent signal not to move. He sighed in frustration, his heart thudding hard in his chest at the thought of what was almost definitely coming up.

"Can't you drive faster?" he growled, spreading his legs a little more and biting his lip again.

"Oh, now you want me," Sam noted, raising one of those Cro-Magnon eyebrows of his. But, again, he didn't take his eyes off the road to look at Dean. That was really starting to get on his nerves - he was hungry for more attention from his brother than just his hand teasing at his denim-covered cock. "Try to be a little more patient, Dean, you're not calling the shots here."

Dean gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, hoping that this drive was all the punishment he was going to get. It certainly felt like enough. Waiting definitely wasn't something he was used to: when he'd depended on one-night stands to satisfy his needs, he'd been able to lave with and go down on his chosen partner almost immediately. And, now that he had this monogamous thing with Sam...well, Sam had kind of a fetish for teasing, but he usually never dragged it out too long. He let Dean have some satisfaction pretty soon, especially when they were experimenting with toys that he, for some reason, knew exactly how to use. This, on the other hand, was torture.

So what the hell had to be wrong with him for him to have some tiny little part that actually liked this? Sam being so dominant, drawing this out so much - and even the fact that Sam had put a slave collar (which'd probably been folded up in his pocket all day...there was something incredibly hot about that) around his neck. Why did that tiny little part want more teasing almost as much as release? And why, in the name of those few deities Dean could still sorta believe in, did that part seem to be getting bigger with every minute that passed?

No way could he let Sam know any of that. He didn't wanna encourage this kind of behavior.

As their cheap motel came into sight, Dean did his absolute best to think about anything but his leaking cock and the large, warm hand tugging slightly at it. Like just why Sam had probably been carrying a collar around in the pocket of his jacket all day. But his attention was yanked back to Sam and his own groin as he leaned over and whispered, "Doing okay, big brother? I can't wait to get a look at that big cock...bet it's all but purple by now."

Dean ground down into the leather seat as Sam expertly guided the car into the parking lot, holding back yet another whimper of arousal. His cock was pounding, yeah, but now his prostate had started to tingle up inside of him. That only ever happened when he was extremely, desperately horny, and when Sam was involved. Because he'd been primarily straight before taking his baby brother as a lover, and guys were a rare, special treat. Especially guys he allowed to fuck him.

The second they parked, he tensed to leap out of the car, bolt to their room, and strip off his clothes. Maybe even get down on his knees and beg, if it'd make Sam give him what he wanted. But Sam's hand moved from his crotch to his thigh and squeezed, efficiently telling him to stay put.

"Wait for me," he commanded, opening his door and getting out.

"Sam, you can't expect me to follow you around like a freaking dog," Dean snapped, once he'd made it around to his side. He glared up at him. "I'm not your pet."

"No," Sam agreed. He reached for him, but didn't grab his shoulder or his upper arm or even the back of his jacket. Instead, he hooked a couple fingers through one of the rings on his collar and pulled him out of the car by that. "Most pets aren't good for a whole lot, but, Dean...you've got so many uses." He yanked him up into a kiss, which Dean met willingly, eagerly. When Sam sucked on his lower lip, leaving it bruised and swollen and throbbing pleasantly, he growled approvingly. It softened into a groan when Sam thrust his tongue into his mouth. He rocked his hips against his brother's, putting his arms around him and pulling him closer. But Sam twisted out of his embrace, breaking the kiss and pushing his arms down with an amused, gentle, "No, not yet." One of his hands stayed on his collar, though. Dean panted, itching with the need to touch and be touched, and slammed the passenger door of the car. Just for something to do. "I don't want you to follow me around like a dog, don't worry. I just wanna do some stuff with you tonight...and have you stay close to me from now on. I can't exactly keep you in a collar when we go out to a bar, can I?"

"Sounds like exactly the kind of thing you'd do," Dean muttered, reaching up to tug at his collar. Sam laughed and pushed his hand down, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on his burning lips, then giving his ass an appreciative squeeze. Dean purred.

"C'mon, we've got a lot to do," Sam told him, running his teeth along the curve of Dean's ear before stepping back, and giving the ring he still had a hold of a tug. It wasn't exactly soft, and Dean swallowed, realizing that he was definitely still mad at him. Though maybe "mad" wasn't the right word here, since he seemed to be enjoying himself way more than he should. He guessed that he really just wanted him to understand what he'd done to piss him off and that he couldn't do it again. Sam was like that.

He didn't lead him straight into the room. He opened the trunk first, entirely one-handed, and grabbed for the small, cheap duffel bag that they'd been steadily filling up over the past few months. Dean felt his breathing speed up in an automatic reaction, and his dick twitched with a hard, excited thud of his heart. They kept that particular bag in the trunk because it was full of gear - just generally not the kind they used to hunt. Lubricant, simple and silicon-based (because Sam was too much of a sissy too go in on spit and courage alone, but he wasn't quite girly enough to ask for anything fancier). Rope. The only pair of handcuffs they had that something nasty had bled all over. A pack of condoms (never opened). And one plug, in a very particular shade of green because Sam found something about that hilarious. But they'd been busy with a hunt, tired, and content with tame sex for a couple weeks, so they hadn't gotten this particular bag out in awhile. Which meant that Sam really could've put anything in there and he wouldn't even know.

"Our bags - " Dean started, thinking of his duffel and Sam's backpack, because he felt like he should. Sam interrupted him.

"Later," he said, his already-deep voice gone deliciously husky in a way that made Dean want to mewl for attention from the sex-god that was his younger brother. "This is all we need right now."

Once he had him inside the motel room - one king-sized bed, which had been a source of pride for Dean when he asked for it at the front desk, Sam at his side - and had let go of his collar, Dean was pretty sure he knew how this was gonna go. His boots and socks were off in seconds, then his jacket, his jeans, his flannel button-down - So many goddamn clothes; why do I wear so many goddamn clothes? he though furiously - his T-shirt. It was when his hands went to the waistband of his boxers that he realized that Sam was right behind him. He turned, desperate and oh-so-ready to go to bed with him, and kissed his full pink lips, tugging insistently at his brother's jacket. He tasted Diet Coke. Sam, playing pool for money and planning on driving later, had been drinking soda. Dean felt a swell of exasperated love and knew that he wanted, more than anything, to please him exactly as he had in mind.

Sam laughed a little, breaking the kiss, and cupped Dean's face with those massive, surprisingly-nimble paws that he called hands. Dean stared up at him, fully aware of how vulnerable he had to look. His green eyes were wide and almost certainly dilated with arousal, his lips were slightly parted to reveal the tip of his tongue, and his cock was very obviously tenting his boxers. Sam smirked.

"That's much better than you were acting at the bar," he murmured approvingly. "Y'know, I'm curious, Dean..." Sam nipped at his stubble-covered chin, and Dean closed his eyes with a shudder of pleasure. "That blonde guy you talked to first, before anyone else. Would you have stripped all your clothes off as fast as you could for him?"

"Nah, I'd've made him help me," Dean replied. "You don't have to prove anything, though, Sammy - c'mon, you know I'm yours."

"Try to remember that." Sam kissed him, the gesture possessive and commanding, then turned him around and sent him in the direction of the bed with an assertive slap on the ass. Dean jumped, then resented that, since Sam was the one with the hypersensitive backside. He found himself wishing that he got to take advantage of it more often. "Meanwhile, I'm gonna try and burn it into your brain tonight."

Sam had just shrugged off his jacket, and was now kicking off his boots while wrestling with his T-shirt, so Dean stepped out of his boxers. Feeling cool air against his finally-freed cock sent a frisson of simple pleasure up his spine. Now, he was completely naked except for the collar Sam'd put on him earlier and his amulet, which he never took off if he could help it. Not even for sex. When he thought about it, he realized it was really its own type of collar, signifying how much he loved and belonged to Sam just as well as the metal-and-plastic band currently pressing down on his Adam's apple.

He sat one the edge of the bed, waiting, as Sam - naked and, as always, gorgeous in a tall, tan, muscular way - scooped up the bag he'd gotten out of the trunk and beelined for him. He caught Dean with a rough kiss, shoving him down until his back was pressed against the rumpled bedspread. Gasping, sucking, and biting, Sam leaned over him, grabbing at his hips and ribcage. He was guiding him further onto the bed with nips and squeezes - and the occasional dominant growl, which both raised Dean's figurative hackles and sent a bolt of violent pleasure through him.

Once Dean's head and shoulders were pressed down into the pillows by Sam's weight, they were close against each other, hearts all but beating in sync and bare cocks rubbing in a lather of sweat and precome. Dean was seconds away from coming when Sam pulled his mouth away, breathing hard, and rose up onto his hands and knees. Dean groaned.

"You - " he started to complain, but Sam cut him off with a sharp, stern sound from deep in his throat. He wasn't even sure how he'd made it, but it was impressive enough to shut him up.

Sam placed a hand on his sternum, pinning him down, before reaching for the bag with the other. Dean turned his head, highly interested in what he was doing, but his view was blocked by pillows. He heard a zipper, some jingling that honestly perplexed him, and then Sam's hands were fastening something onto the front ring of his collar, movements sure and efficient. He raised his head, but whatever was going on was happening right under his chin. So, obviously, he couldn't see a thing.

"What're you doing, Sammy?" he grunted, reaching up with one hand to try and feel this new addition to his collar, but Sam pushed it back down. That slight movement produced a faint jingling noise. "What'd you put on me?"

"A bell," Sam said smugly. He gave it a flick, producing another jingle. Dean blinked, rising up onto his elbows, and swallowed, feeling the collar cut into his throat and the thing on the front of it tremble. A bell?

"A bell?" he parroted incredulously. He had a bell on his collar now? Like a... like a freaking cat? Oh, man, Sam'd better not start treating him like some sort of animal, or this whole thing would turn into a non-sexy type of wrestling match pretty soon. Besides. He was allergic to cats.

"Relax, Dean." Sam's voice was an amused purr. He brushed a hand over one of Dean's nipples, pinching at the dusky skin as it hardened and contracted into a warm pebble. Dean couldn't hold back a sound of pleasure, tipping his head back into the pillows and making the bell jingle a little as he did. Sam had sort of a fascination with his nipples, which he couldn't help but encourage; they were sensitive in a good way. "There's a reason for it, believe me. Every time that bell rings..." He lowered his head to Dean's chest, and drew his tongue over Dean's other nipple, taking the hardening skin between his teeth and squeezing. Dean gritted his own teeth. With so much attention, he was hard-pressed to focus on anything but his approaching orgasm, but he did his best. "...that's another minute that you don't have my permission to come."

"That's a force of nature, Sammy, it's not really something you can control," Dean said huskily, grinning up at the ceiling. Sam's commanding tone, though, his self-assured dominance...it'd sent a bright, warm blaze of pleasure up from his balls to his stomach and chest. Part of him wanted his baby brother to take complete control, and keep dragging this out.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I can, Dean," Sam replied with a broad, superior smile that Dean couldn't see but could still hear in his voice. There was rustling as he dug around in the bag again, and then Dean felt something on his cock. It was dropped down to his base, cold and heavy against his shaft, and then tightened painfully - a ring. Dean raised his head, staring at the steel circle that was squeezing his dick and almost definitely keeping him from coming. Eyes wide, he really couldn't hold back a whimper this time. "This'll come off when your time's up and you've earned it. Because right now, Dean, you don't deserve to have me make you come; you still need to be punished for acting like a slut."

That stung a little, and Dean growled something that not even he could make out, deep in his throat as he shifted in pure discomfort. Sam lowered his ass onto his thighs, though, to hold him still. He still had something in his hand, loops of vinyl made to look like leather with a clip on either end. He leaned forward ("Just one more thing I need to do right now,"), the flushed head of that big, gorgeous cock of his rubbing teasingly against the underside of Dean's own, and put something in place. When he was done, a short leash tethered Dean into a prone position, with one clip on a ring on the back of his collar, and the other attached to one of the bars of the wrought-iron headboard. It wasn't even long enough for him to sit up. The restraint made him swallow and shiver, undeniably aroused.

Using his knees, Sam nudged his legs apart and knelt in the "V" they made. Dean raised his head to see what he was doing, feeling the tether snap taut and then hearing the bell ring. Just a little, but he winced, and Sam grinned.

"I'm thinking half an hour for what you did at the bar. And, now...that's thirty one minutes," Sam told him, sounding eager in a way that made Dean's dominant parts want to snarl. The rest of him wriggled and cooed excitedly, and he tried to blame it on the alcohol going golden in his bloodstream. "Keep it up, Dean, I can make you wait forever."

He pushed his head down (Dean moved slowly, to keep the bell quiet) and kissed him, roughly on his already-bruised lips. He was crouched over him, and the heads of their cocks rubbed together with the movements of Sam's hips, Dean's swollen and sensitive. He moaned into the kiss, getting his brother's name out into his mouth as Sam sucked and lapped at his tongue. He bucked his hips, just once, unable to help himself - the movement was powerful, sent an explosion of strained pleasure through his body, and made the bell ring.

"Thirty-two." Sam broke the kiss to growl that, and moved his attention down to Dean's chest. Dean shut his eyes as a hot, wet mouth bounced back and forth between his nipples, giving each equal attention until they were hard and raw, lapping appreciatively at the ridges of muscle around them. He did his best to breathe steadily and stay absolutely still, even though his frustration at not being able to come was mounting quickly (maybe Sam should've given him a safeword...but, nah, he trusted him, to a certain extent, and no one'd ever died from being teased). He just didn't want the bell to ring again.

In this position, Sam had access to his cock, which meant that he was lazily tracing every vein on it with one hand while he sucked hickeys into the sensitive skin of his chest. Occasionally, he'd pinch his head, or rub a thumb over his slit, or move his hand down to fondle his balls. It felt good. No, screw that, it felt amazing, and he kept making all these soft, happy, impressed noises. Like he really didn't want anything more than to play with his older brother's cock. It was driving Dean crazy.

"Sammy..." he panted. "Sammy, c'mon, I can't do this. Man, you've gotta let me - "

"Twenty-seven minutes, Dean," Sam interrupted matter-of-factly. "Don't rush me. I'm appreciating you - you're absolutely gorgeous, you know that? No wonder everyone was so willing to flirt with you."

Dean groaned, shifting his shoulders to be more comfortable - and the bell rang. Oh, goddammit -

"Oops. Twenty-eight minutes, looks like." Sam's voice was incredibly amused. "Calm down. Don't you think I can take care of you? You'll be just fine as soon as I'm through teaching you."

"Please," Dean implored, a pathetic, whiny note entering his voice. He mentally cussed himself out for being so weak in front of his (apparently self-appointed) dom. His dom. Now those were words he hadn't ever expected to think. "Want you inside me, Sammy. I want that perfect cock to make me come."

Sam made a low, approving humming noise as he planted a kiss right between Dean's solid pecs and reached for the bag of "gear," with one hand. The other was wrapped around Dean's cock, calluses warm and rough against the tender skin there, pumping up and down so slowly he might as well not be moving at all. Then it disappeared for a second. Dean jumped when two fingers returned to him - specifically, to his puckered, twitching opening - with a healthy dose of cold lube, making the bell on his collar ring again.

"Twenty-eight, again," Sam announced. "Hey, d'you remember that brunette you talked to after we'd been there awhile? The one who bought you that cocktail?" He slicked Dean's entrance, letting the lube warm up before working his index finger past the ring of tight muscle, up to his first joint. Dean clenched in immediate reaction, then opened right up, spasming a little with pleasure that couldn't amount to anything.

"Nnf," he grunted, eyes squeezed shut, back arched just a little with every muscle taut, and hands clenching fistfuls of the bedspread. This was torture. It literally hurt, being forced to hold his orgasm back - he'd never wanted to come more in his entire life. "Yep. Sam..."

"I'm just wondering if you would've begged her to make you come," Sam said with a casual shrug, easily working in his middle finger now. Dean was well-conditioned. He had to be, for when Sam wrestled him into a submissive position for the night and plunged his considerable girth into him. Which'd been happening more and more frequently as time went on...how had he not noticed that?

"Sammy, seriously, I - shit!" He'd managed a third finger. And all three of them were crooked so that their tips were pressed against the overly-sensitive, pulsing bud of his prostate. When Sam rubbed at that sweet spot, Dean shouted and swore again. His balls ached, and his cock throbbed. "Don't wanna bed anyone but you, ever," he gasped out, quickly. By some miracle, he hadn't made the bell ring again, and he all but held his breath, determined to keep it that way. "So perfect, little brother - trust me, I don't even think about letting anyone else touch me like this. 'M yours, Sam, totally yours." He raised one hand, taking a handful of Sam's thick, silky hair and stroking. It was damp with sweat. Maybe he wasn't the only one getting frustrated here.

"C'mon, Dean, no touching - you've just gotta take it, for now," Sam cajoled. Having worked him open, he pulled his fingers out of his opening with a wet, satisfying pop and grabbed onto his wrist. Three of the fingers of one hand were still slick and warm with lube and Dean's own internal juices, as he dug that one good pair of handcuffs out of the bag and then leaned forward to attach his wrists to the bed's headboard. Dean grunted in slight discomfort. with both his neck and his hands bound now, and shifted his head slightly. He froze as the bell jingled.

"Twenty-five minutes. You're getting there, Dean, it's just...taking forever." Sam tugged at the cuffs, making sure they were secure. The short chain was looped over the top bar of the headboard, holding Dean's hands securely above his head, and the cuffs themselves were locked tightly. If he wanted to, he could probably slip them, but...Sam wanted him restrained, and he wasn't going to screw with his plan. Not after the way he'd reacted when he'd tried to stave off boredom at the bar. "Let's try to have some fun, in the meantime."

Dean watched, warily, as he reached for the bag again. The cock ring and the short leash...tether...whatever it was had been totally new, and he was half-excited and half-apprehensive to see what he'd pull out next. And he definitely wasn't disappointed. Sam's long fingers came out wrapped around a rounded pillar of rubber and plastic, marked with veins and a mushroom-like head and colored exactly the same as their one plug. A...he had a dildo? Seriously? Dean wasn't exactly worried, seeing as that thing was actually smaller than his well-endowed brother, but they'd never used anything like that before. Never even talked about it.

All of that was forced out of his mind when Sam ruthlessly shoved the entire length of the toy up inside of him, the hard rubber of it hitting his prostate with delicious force and gliding over it. He sucked in a deep breath, trying not to howl, or - God forbid - get the bell ringing again. It was cold, inside him, unyielding; obviously, nowhere near as good as the real thing. But it definitely could've made him come if his cock wasn't wrapped with a ring. Especially when Sam started to fuck him with it, movements steady and powerful, and lowered his mouth to his chest again. While Dean moaned and yelped with explosions of strained, almost-painful pleasure, Sam kissed and nipped his way down his sternum. On his flat stomach, he traced the vaguely-defined shapes of his abs with his teeth. Dean's arms and chest were well-developed from lifting heavy loads and fighting, and his legs were padded with muscle from running and climbing, but he didn't use his middle for a lot. As a result, it was the least-muscled part of him, but still lean and strong.

With flicks of his wrist, Sam kept pumping the toy into him, keeping a strong grip on the ridge of one of his hips with his other hand. Dean's toes splayed as he shuddered with pure pleasure, and his back arched when Sam's warm tongue dipped teasingly into his navel. The bell rang. Dean hissed in dismay, and Sam mumbled, "Twenty-one minutes," around his tongue. But, hell, it was worth it - this felt good, even though he couldn't come. He was okay with it being drawn out for a few more minutes. He loved the tendency that Sam had stick his tongue into every hole he could find during sex, and was more than willing to encourage it.

"Mmmm..." Dean moaned, relishing the denial and the teasing despite himself, and rolled his shoulders luxuriously. He almost unconsciously drew his legs up, knees bending and - he noticed with a flicker of guilt - getting in Sam's way. With an exasperated sigh, Sam pulled the dildo entirely out of him and straightened up, pushing his legs down.

"No, Dean." His condescending tone sent a slight prickle of anger through him, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Within a couple minutes (during which his bell didn't ring once), Dean's ankles were robed to the bottom two posts of their bed, and his ass was plugged. The ropes were smooth, colorful nylon, which he could definitely appreciate. The rough, standard stuff they'd used before now had left raw burns on both him and Sam, and while they were both tough-as-nails senior hunters who could get a limb torn off and not shed a tear, it was still hell to wear socks or a watch the day after a bondage session. His legs were forcibly spread, completely exposing him. He flexed his ankles in appreciation of how well-executed the knots were.

"What's next, Sammy?" he asked, his voice full of that throaty, aroused purr that he knew for a fact got his younger brother going. "Blindfold? Ball gag?"

Sam stroked a thumb over Dean's still-leaking cock, grinning. Dean gasped at the sensation, on the verge of begging again just from that one touch, and only barely managed to bite back another plea for release. "Not unless you can't dial it back, just a little. If you yell any louder, people are gonna start banging on the wall to get you to shut up."

"Promise I'd stop yelling if you'd just let me come," Dean panted, wiggling his hips as best he could with his ankles bound.

"Not yet, Dean. If I just let you off as easy as you want me to, you'd never learn a thing," Sam pointed out reasonably, leaning forward to plant a quick, somehow-possessive kiss on his lips. "You need to realize that you're mine, and you don't have my permission to come yet."

Sam held onto Dean's hips as he returned his attention to his stomach, running the tip of his tongue around the rim of his navel before kissing the top of the thin, neat trail of dark-blonde hair that ran from the bottom edge of his belly button to the triangle of pubic hair above his cock. He drew his tongue and teeth slowly down that trail, making Dean whimper (he didn't care about seeming pathetic anymore, he was too far gone) and squirm with need. When he reached his dick, he licked slowly up the thick shaft of it, all the way from that stupid metal ring that was digging into him to his head. Sam made eye contact with him before he kissed it, and gave it a long, slow, luscious lick. Dean whined and panted out, "Sammy, please, Jesus..." as his brother thoroughly lapped all the precome off the head off his cock. But he didn't let the bell ring.

Once Sam was finished tonguing his slit, he raised his head and smiled at him. "Ten minutes to go, Dean. I've got an idea. But, first, you're gonna have to answer a question for me."

"Shoot," Dean grunted, literally shaking with sexual frustration.

"It's about that redhead that I dragged you away from." Alice. Who was probably gonna have either nightmares or dreams about Sam tonight - maybe both. "Would you've let her be on top, if you'd actually had her take you home?"

"Oh, hell, no," Dean snorted, offended. He was a top...just, obviously, not with Sam.

"What about me?" Sam smiled seductively, hazel eyes hooded in a way that made Dean all but drool, and cupped and fondled his balls.

Dean swallowed. He panted, bruised lips open and tongue sticking just a little, eyes wide open and (he was sure) shining with lust. His chest and stomach were red from Sam's less-than-gentle attention, mottled with hickeys and bite marks he couldn't help but be proud of. His cock was only a few shades off purple.

"Come on, do you even have to ask?" he replied skeptically, lifting his hips a little. "Don't you own me, Sammy?" He grinned, still breathing hard and certain that he must look beyond desperate. "I'm yours. Use me. Fuck me."

"Mm...not quite. Not yet." Sam reached into the bag, pulling out their lube, a (weirdly enough) small bottle of expensive-looking lotion, and another dildo. No, wait a minute. This toy was different. Exactly the same size and shape as Sam's admittedly-impressive cock, and with a switch on its base...oh. Vibrator.

Guys used those? He'd thought they were only for girls.

"But I'm so glad you're learning. I told you that you'd be fine once we were done," Sam said approvingly. He was totally focused on the task at hand. He slicked the vibrator with lube, and the muscles of Dean's hole clenched and fluttered around the plug that was already stuffing him until Sam pulled it out. Once the other toy was in place, he groaned and tipped his head back with a jingle of the bell ("Six minutes,"), twitching around the plastic that was filling him so completely. Almost like his brother. He bit his lip in anticipation as Sam reached out a hand and lubed up his cock, straddled his hips - and lowered himself. He took his entire length without a hitch, the muscles of his hot passage pulsing around Dean in what felt almost like welcome. Dean just stared at him, doing his best not to cry out like a little bitch. His brother was sitting on his cock, nipples hard and pupils dilated until there was only a thin ring of hazel around him, with Dean tied to the bed and no better than a fucktoy for him. He was Sam's. Sam controlled every aspect of him - even his orgasm. Had he ever been so turned on before?

"How could you even think I wanted anyone else?" he asked. Love and sex were only rarely related for him, and Sam was the one person who was worthy of both in their relationship. Didn't he understand that?

"I guess I'm just a little - ahh - possessive," Sam replied breathlessly, leaning forward and wiggling around until Dean's head was resting firmly against a blazing-hot little nub that he'd learned to recognize: his baby brother's prostate. Sam put a hand on either side of his torso, stabilizing himself. "Four minutes, Dean. You can make it four minutes, can't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he reached behind and under himself and flipped the vibrator's switch.

Dean yelled, unable to help it, because Sam had started moving the second that the vibrator had. That plastic cock buzzed powerfully against the sensitive inside of his ass, and its flesh-and-blood counterpart (same size, too) bobbed in front of him as Sam rocked his hips, faster and faster. He was all but bouncing on Dean's cock, bottoming out against the ring on it and reminding him, with every movement, that he couldn't come. Helpless, Dean just cried out his name over and over as Sam fucked himself - hard - on him. His little brother, on the other hand, was snarling out some of the filthiest, most dominant talk Dean had ever heard from him.

"Mine, completely mine, from this massive cock to those soft pink lips - " Sam's hair was shaking in dark waves as his body jerked and he threw his head back. Dean's bell jingled with the force of Sam pounding onto him, but he either didn't notice of just let it go. "No one is allowed to touch my property. Understand that, Dean? You're only a slut for me." His mouth was open as he gasped for breath. Sam was in great shape, but, hey, sex (especially sex this rough) took a lot of effort. "You're my brother, my boyfriend, my helpless little cockslut. Mine alone to fuck and touch and do all...sorts...of...naughty things to."

He drew that last sentence out a little, as he slowed down just a bit to marvel at all the bruises and marks that his mouth had left on Dean's pale, freckled skin. But he was riding him again, fast and hard, with in seconds. He was gripping his torso so hard that there'd be bruises in the morning, and tiny cuts in the shape of his fingernails, on his belly and back. His tan skin was slick with sweat, his hands were dark against Dean's own, fairer coloring, and every muscle bulged and rolled with the effort of doing what he was. He was...well, at the risk of doing Sam's job for him and turning into some sort of romantic, Dean was willing to call him magnificent. With the vibrator in him, and Sam on him, and his eyes just drinking all that in, he knew he couldn't last long. And he didn't.

"Sammy - c'mon - Sam - please, please let me - oh, Jesus - let me come," he begged brokenly. "Time's gotta - time's gotta be almost up, and Iiiiiiiiohhh shit do that again - let me come. I've been good. Learned my - Sammy! - lesson. Really can't take it anymore, please - "

"Five," Sam replied huskily. Dean was about to scream at him, say that there was no way in hell he had five whole minutes to go, but then he added, "Four." And he got it.

"Three." Waiting was agony.

"Two." But he had to.

"One." He had no choice.

Sam immediately lifted his hips, with lanky grace that, even now, made Dean want to roll his eyes a little. He dropped onto his knees between his spread legs, and Dean whined, as his hands shot towards his cock. He pulled the ring off so fast that Dean was sure he took a layer or two of skin with it, then mounted him again with no hesitation.

Dean was barely even inside him when he climaxed, with a shout he abruptly cut off and a snarling hiss that, somehow, turned into Sam's name near the end. His cock pulsed, and pumped come up into Sam, as he settled himself back into his original position and Dean completely released.

He was positive he'd never had a better orgasm. Hot, almost-excruciating waves of pure sensation pounded out from his groin, and it felt like every nerve in his body had suddenly turned into a pleasure receptor. His back arched and his head was pushed deep into the pillows, the bell ringing incessantly as his every muscle spasmed. The cuffs dug deep furrows into his wrists, the ropes chafed at his ankles, and the collar choked him a little, but the pain was pleasure right now. He was coming so hard he hadn't known it was possible. The force of it blurred his vision into nothing but shapes and colors, and it might've gone totally black once or twice, but he wasn't exactly paying attention. He tried to buck his hips, but he was tied too tightly for that. And Sam was pinning him down. His balls had tightened so much that it felt like someone was squeezing them, and his cock was still spilling seed into his brother.

Almost an hour of waiting and torture. God, it'd been so worth it.

Sam must've finished, too, because thick, bright-white come was congealing on Dean's stomach, chest, and collar when he finally came down from the aftershocks and the endorphins. The ropes were puddled loosely around his ankles, his wrists were out of the cuffs, and his collar had been unclipped from the tether. Sam was snuggled up against him, probably asleep judging by how still he was. Sam was a real sucker for cuddling. Dean would never admit it, of course, but he liked it, too.

"Sammy," Dean said. His voice still sounded pretty rough. Sam stirred.

"What?" he asked sleepily. Dean rolled onto his side, to face him.

"Feel like getting cleaned up and going to bed? 'Cause that - whatever the hell it was, it was awesome - all but K.O.'d me," he said. Sam grimaced a little.

"Uh...yeah...sorry," he said uncomfortably. Dean laughed, though it took a lot of effort.

"Sam. No. That was amazing, and I probably deserved it." He grinned. "Damn, you can get possessive when you wanna, can't you?"

"Sorry..."

"C'mon," Dean complained happily. "Nothing to be sorry for." Though he knew Sam well enough to tell that he was a little embarrassed and concerned, but mostly proud, satisfied. "Now..." He rolled onto his back, as Sam pushed himself up on his elbows. "I'm yours, right? Which means you've got an obligation." He gestured to the come on his chest, grin widening.

Sam snorted, but swung his bare legs off the bed anyway. "Yeah, fine...a shower for two sound all right?" Dean raised his eyebrows in a "do-you-seriously-have-to-ask" expression. Sam smiled. "Great. Let's take that collar off you, clean up, and then I wanna get lotion on your wrists and ankles. They look pretty sore - you must've been tugging at your restraints." He nodded to the small bottle of lotion, then helped Dean to his feet, because he was shaky with exhaustion and still floating from endorphins. "Sorry if I made them too tight." He gave him a kiss for encouragement before leading him towards the bathroom. It was soft, gentle, and had barely any pressure at all to it, or any feeling but love.

Dean felt himself a little disappointed.