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Sam, in his usual research ways, figures out that Alpha/Omega, aside from being a world that runs parallel to theirs, according to Rowena, is also a subset of fanfiction among the Carver Edlund fandom. Especially, as it pertains to his Supernatural book series. As much as he doesn’t want to read about him and Dean doing the nasty every which way, there is one fic that Sam reads, however, that has him all hot and bothered.
It’s a short Kinktober fill by someone called DeanSamLover55. He very briefly considers and then abandons the thought that the 55 may imply that the user is, in fact, a potentially 70-year-old who is imagining him and Dean in their late 40s as Alpha and Omega doing unspeakably debauched things that even make Sam blush when he reads it.
“Okay, hand it over. You’re blushing so hard you could melt ice cubes on top of your ears,” Dean jokes and makes grabby hands for Sam’s laptop.
The story has very few tags and is marked explicit, a pairing between Dean Smith and Sam Wesson. “What the fuck? It’s not enough for them to write about us, you know, actual us, but they even bring our angel-induced alter egos into it?”
Dean flies across the well-written story and is fully invested after the first few paragraphs. The entire thing is only a thousand words, but by the end of it, his skin color matches Sam’s.
“Hkm…I - you wanna do that to me or have that done to you, Sammy?” Dean’s hope bubbles up in his belly as he asks the question, very much wishing to be Dean Smith right now.
***
The package arrives three days later, thanks to express delivery that Sam paid $15 extra for. Dean brings the delivery back from his food run, having grabbed it from their mailbox in box, and the brown box sits there teasing him and Sam the entire time as they dig into their respective meals from the local diner.
“Ok, I’m done. Can we please open it now?” Dean asks impatiently.
“Yes!” Sam drops his fork with a clatter on the Corningware plate, reaches for the innocuous-looking parcel, and rips it open. The items are exactly as ordered, and the smell of rubber, latex, and leather hits them like a wall when they open the individual bags. There are three larger items plus two small things in individual Ziplocs.
“Alright, Dean, go shower and I mean really shower, do your business, clean up, and I’ll get these things ready for you,” Sam commands, and Dean has never cleared the table as fast as he does right now. “Meet me in my bedroom when you’re done.” Sam reminds him before he walks out of the room.
***
Dean walks in about 20 minutes later, freshly-showered and hair dried with Sam’s fancy blow-dryer he’s been teasing him for since the day he bought it on sale at a drug store.
The items ordered are sitting on paper towels, lined up beside each other on the top of Sam’s dresser, and the biggest item is laid out, straps neatly spread on the bed. A black abyss of material just waiting to gobble Dean up, and the idea of how helpless he’ll be, how completely Sam’s he’ll be, sends a pleasant shiver down his back while his hunter instincts push quite fiercely..
“Ready for this?” Sam asks, looking right into Dean’s soul as if he can read the warring emotions without much effort at all.
“Yeah.” His voice is high-pitched to his ears, and yet he can’t seem to settle now that this is finally happening. The way the fanfic author described the experience hasn’t left Dean’s mind. That sense of contentment and floaty feeling that comes with being like this. He wants all that, and yet the nerves are unsettling.
Warm hands wrap around both of Dean’s upper arms, with Sam just a few inches from him, looking down at Dean with understanding in his eyes. The intensity of the moment makes Dean swallow emptily.
“Anything feels wrong, you call red. If you can’t speak, you shake your head back and forth vigorously and grunt as loudly as you can again and again, and everything stops immediately.”
The idea of being restrained so severely that he can’t even speak makes Dean’s cock twitch within the confines of the cock cage that has become a familiar weight.
“You’ll look amazing, I just know it, all of your holes plugged up, every sense removed, reduced to a silent, mute, scentless, sightless cocoon, the straps holding you immobile, all you can do is simply take it until I’m done with you.”
Sam caresses Dean’s balls while he talks and pinches one of his nipples.
“Your body’s mine to play with, and I’ll be able to worship you the way you deserve.” Sam leans down and kisses Dean, pulls him in close, naked big brother against fully-clothed baby brother. The soft fabric of Sam’s flannel whispers across Dean’s skin.
***
The process is quite lengthy, but Sam guides Dean through it with sure hands and a definite tent at the crotch of his cozy pajama pants. He starts with the gag, a butterfly gag that fills Dean’s mouth even when deflated, sitting across the front of his teeth inside the lips, and has a spherical rubber bladder that sits on Dean’s tongue. Sam gives the pump an experimental squeeze and keeps going. Dean’s hand jumps up to his lips to try and yank the thing out when Sam takes him all the way. When fully inflated, the gag actually cuts off his breathing entirely.
Sam thwarts his hand motion with a tight grip on his wrist. “Hold your breath, counting down from ten. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.” The relief is immense when Sam allows the gag to deflate.
“Unless you’re safe wording, I’m calling the shots, Dean. I will not do anything we haven’t discussed.” Sam pulls the gag out so Dean can answer him.
“I-I didn’t realize that it would cut off the air completely.” Sam did tell him, and yet he’s still surprised that it’s actually true.
“We’ll go to your boundaries today, Dean, and perhaps push beyond them a bit. Are you okay with that? Do you trust me?”
“Yes, and I do,” Dean answers immediately. There have been times in their lives when that answer would have been a lie, a fake-it-til-you-make-it kind of answer, but where they are right now today in their lives, he can say it with conviction and mean every syllable of it. Not least of all, since they started this ridiculously hot Dom/sub and kink dynamic between them.
The gag goes back in Dean’s mouth, and Sam reinflates it with the rubber bulb and hose attached to it and stops, carefully listening to Dean’s breathing. “Comfortable like this?”
Dean’s yes is garbled around the large gag, but Sam sees his clear nod for yes.
“Good. Now let’s try these before you’re completely tucked away.”
Sam holds up a pair of nipple clamps that look like tweezers with rounded pads where they clamp down on the nubs and have a small ring that can be moved along them to either tighten or loosen them. Dean stares at them, sucking on the rubber bulb in his mouth lightly for comfort as he watches Sam’s hands apply each of them to his nipples. The initial sensation is pleasant, like Sam squeezing each nipple lightly, but then he slides the devious ring toward the top, and he yelps out in pain as the two padded tips clamp down incredibly tight around each of the pink, red, vulnerable buds.
“That’s about halfway, gonna leave them there for now.” Dean whimpers but doesn’t protest; he can already feel the sharp pain lessen. Every step of prep, every comment of Sam’s as he works him toward where they are going today makes Dean’s cock harden a little more. It feels as if the unforgiving plug in his urethra and the cage around him are shrinking when he knows that that is not actually the case.
***
Controlling him down to the most basic human needs when they are here in the bunker amongst themselves, has become something Sam thrives on, and at the same time Dean is taking to the caretaking and dominance in a way that he’d be hard pressed to explain to anyone out loud. Sam figures it may be to do with how fast he had to grow up when they were little, but Dean wouldn’t admit to that being the case, and he kind of regrets having brushed the notion off as a chick flick moment. Dean would have liked to actually talk about it with Sam and maybe at some point he will.
He’s been telling himself that it’s all just kinky fun, and that worked for a while, but he knows there is more to it. Knowing that he always has an out, knowing that he’d never allow anyone else to do this to him, makes it okay for Dean, and he can give himself the subjective permission to actually enjoy all of this without being ashamed or self-conscious. Any trace of negative types of emotions, Sam usually manages to praise and hug away, every single time. That last thought fills Dean’s chest with warmth and his stomach with butterflies like he’s a teenager whose crush finally pays attention to him.
“Whoa, what’s going on, Dean?” Sam asks when he returns with lube and the plug they’d selected for Dean to wear during this. Shocked by the tears slowly rolling down Dean’s cheeks, Sam deflates the gag and gently removes it. A string of spit connecting Dean’s lower lip to the bulb of it.
“All of this, it’s kinky as fuck, you’re kinky as fuck and bossy.”
“Yes? Why are you crying?” Sam of course doesn’t let him hide behind a joke.
“I feel loved, Sammy. You take care of me, and I take care of you, and it’s always been us against the world. Now,here in the bunker, this is all ours. There isn’t a person in the world I’d ever trust, respect, or love enough to be vulnerable with like this. Just wanted you to know that.” Dean can’t hold Sam’s gaze any longer once he’s finished saying his piece. When did I get so damn mushy?
“Hey now, look at me, Dean.” Sam gently cradles Dean’s chin in between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up until those gorgeous sparkling green eyes are on him, and wipes his tears away with a tender touch of his thumb. “Everything, all of that and more right back at you. I feel like words aren’t enough to describe how intertwined, connected, and ridiculously in love I am with you, Dean. What we do here, I can see how it affects you, the inner peace that comes from it, the softer edges it brings out in you. Know that I take none of this for granted. It makes me feel like the richest man in the world.”
“Alright, alright, alright… enough... hmrph!” Sam slides his thumb into Dean’s mouth and presses down on his tongue, stopping him from completing that sentence.
“No cheapening the moment, Dean, not anymore. Open up for me.” Dean does exactly as told after giving Sam’s thumb a sensual lick all over, which makes Sam gasp in surprise. The gag slides back in, and Sam makes him hold his breath again for ten seconds before he very slowly lets out just enough air for Dean to breathe freely.
Dean looks at him plaintively but doesn’t safeword his cheeks bulging, the gag lodged behind his teeth. Even without a strap to hold it in place, he wouldn’t be able to remove it. Sam makes a big gesture of disconnecting the air hose and pump valve mechanism, which means that Dean’s stuck like this until Sam decides otherwise. He moans around the rubber in his mouth, and the sound is muffled, barely audible except for how it resonates around his own skull.
Sam flicks at the nipple clamps, which makes Dean yank back out of reach, and Sam lets him because in the not-too-distant future, Dean will be all his. He guides him over to the bed and has him kneel at the bottom of it, ass up and shoulders down on the bedding. The position makes the bed sheet rub against his tender nipples and he makes a muffled moaning sound.
Dean’s caged cock hangs between his legs, swinging freely, no contact with anything as Sam works him open on those thick, long fingers of his. When he has him lubed up and spread open enough, Dean hears a rustle of fabric, and then there is the heat and velvet skin of Sam’s cock at his entrance. He braces himself with his hands beside his head as Sam slides all the way in, taking his time. Dean’s rim stretches hungrily for every inch of baby brother cock, and when he tries to push back to rush Sam, he receives a hard slap to his ass for his troubles.
“Those muffled groans and noises you make, Dean, fuck had me diamond hard since the moment I slipped that gag between your lips again. Wanna keep you plugged, fill every hole of yours until you’re nothing but the physical sensations I choose to give you. Keep you helpless and undulating in your bondage while I watch TV or read a book. Your whole world reduced to darkness and restraint, completely at my mercy for as long as I please.”
Dean has to focus on what Sam is saying because all his blood is rushing south when Sam hits his prostate dead on with every powerful thrust of his hips, knows that this is going to be over very quickly, and that he himself will get absolutely no satisfaction other than knowing how much he turns Sam on by doing this, by being like this. And he wants it, all of it, to be Sam's.
Sam’s cock feels massive, fills him up just right, and he continues his praise-filled dirty talk like bestowing it on Dean is his life’s purpose, like a religion, as the words keep flowing over Dean, possessive, domineering, and right.
The sound of skin slapping against skin, Dean’s helpless, needy grunts and Sam’s guttural groans fill the room when his rhythm falters and he slams home one last time and fills Dean up. Makes a point of telling him how he’s marking him from the inside out and Dean fucking preens beneath him at the possessive, primal implication of it. Instead of just pulling out, Sam grabs the large, inflatable, knotted dildo and slicks it up with lube. The rubber sex toy has a large, thick flange that will keep Dean’s rim distended by about two inches while he wears it.
During the thorough fucking, Dean has risen onto his elbows, but Sam presses down on his shoulder blades until he collapses back down, so that his shoulders are pressed into the bedding, his body supplicating and offering his ass to Sam like he’d read about the Omega doing in that fic.
“Don’t let anything spill, you hear?” Dean focuses on clenching hard when Sam pulls out and quickly replaces his flesh and blood cock with the knotted rubber version. The black toy looks obscene against Dean’s freckled pale skin, the handprint on his ass is still visible from where Sam slapped him earlier, and he takes his time inserting the massive butt plug into Dean. He wonders if it will go deep enough to cause a belly bulge.
Dean’s noises are like those of a wounded animal, keening whimpers from his throat, and Sam asks him for his color, asks him if he wants to safeword, but there is no head shaking, no repetitive grunting. Dean’s eyes are half-lidded as he lets Sam do what he knows he was going to do until the toy finally settles with his rim stretched around the toy.
“Your hole looks absolutely obscene, spread around a toy so thick, it must feel like having a beer bottle up there. Bet I can see it bulging through on the other side once I inflate it.” Sam chuckles when Dean whimpers at the reminder that this is not how thick the toy is going to stay, but just the beginning, before Sam inflates the knot part of it and locks it inside of him. “Keeping that load of mine in your tight hole the entire time. Should make you go out in public filled up and plugged up like this. Nobody would know, but concerned Lebanonians would ask you if you were okay as you stand in the beer aisle with flaming cheeks because I’d be vibrating your ass from a few feet away with the remote control.”
Dean’s cock painfully pushes against its metal prison; he closes his thighs to get some friction on it, but that only makes it worse, as the movement makes his body move and a fiery pain explode in his nipples that promptly turns into more arousal.
“Oh, sweetheart, we’re almost there, kneel up for me on the bed and keep those knees apart so I can see your needy, caged cock.”
Dean does as he’s told and feels like an obedient pup sitting at attention for his owner, and to his utter shock, he doesn’t mind it, not a single bit. Sam owns him, owns his orgasms, owns his ability to take a leak, shit, and eat or drink anything. He is Sam’s, and the realization triggers another wave of intense emotion that makes his eyes sting.
“You are all mine, aren’t you, Dean?”
The question is possessive and gentle at the same time as Sam cups Dean’s bulging cheek with one of his large paws and waits for his reply. Dean nods.
“Tell me.” Sam whispers against his ear. Dean doesn’t roll his eyes, but it's a close thing as he muffles out a garbled and unintelligible yes around the thick rubber bladder in his mouth that reduces him to breathing through his nose.
“Once we put this on, along with the ear padding, you won’t be hearing me anymore. Remember, if I tap you twice on the shoulder, that’s me asking for your color. One grunt is green; two grunts is yellow, and continued grunting means red, and all of this goes away. If I get no reaction at all that’s red. Do you understand?” Sam holds out the sensory deprivation hood to Dean for visual inspection as he talks.
Dean learns quickly and this time he doesn’t nod but muffles out another yes. Sam makes him demonstrate the three colors until finally Dean sees the soft inside of the mask come toward his face. Sam carefully inserts the rubber tubes into Dean’s nostrils. The tubing distends his nose slightly, creating a clear and guaranteed breathing channel even if Dean were to tear up or get all snotty. It also mutes his sense of smell, the first of all his senses that Sam will strip away one by one. The only smell he has left is that of the plastic from the medical-grade breathing tubes.
Sam inserts a set of professional musicians’ earplugs into Dean’s ears, not the electric kind but the ones that actually do fill up the ear cavity and truly reduce ambient sound by about 80% according to the write-up.
It’s disorienting to see Sam do things that should be audible, but it’s like Dean’s watching reality on TV with the sound turned way down to level 2 on the remote. The main part of the sensory deprivation hood comes next, and Sam smooths it up and over Dean’s head, taking away his sight and dropping him into absolute darkness. The material wraps softly around every inch of his head, and he can feel Sam’s fingers bringing it together at the back of his throat and the back of his skull. It has a leather string closure that functions much like a corset, where the tighter the strings are pulled, the tighter the mask will sit around the wearer’s head.
Sam makes sure that the hood sits right and goes so far as to pinch the breathing tubes shut for a few seconds, which makes Dean’s hands fly up to his head, which is one large leather-covered oblong sphere, all features removed. Sam gently grabs Dean’s wrists, kisses each of his palms, and places them down on the bed beside Dean’s thighs. The soft and sure touch tells Dean, “I gotcha, you’re safe.”
Dean feels the hood tighten a bit more, Sam’s fingertips pressing in against his scalp gently as he pulls the leather string that will make the hood sit like a second skin. Once Sam’s hands disappear, Dean just sits with it, and wouldn't have a clue if Sam is even still in the room or not.
He brings his hands up to his head, and all he feels is a smooth leather surface. He eventually finds the nostril tube openings and pads his fingertips over them, immediately feeling the lack of air when he seals one off. The enclosure is absolute; all ambient sounds from the bunker are cancelled out by the earplugs and the hood. A constant static fills his ears, his own blood and heartbeat pulsating, and he can hear his own finger when he scratches over the top of his right ear.
Sam’s hands return after a while, Dean having no idea how much time has passed. He exists in darkness without external input or stimuli and finds himself relaxing into the contentment of having no responsibilities, no expectations placed on him, except to just feel and be exactly where he is right this second. It is a liberating feeling, while he is about to be more limited and constrained than he’s ever been in his life.
He follows where Sam’s hands guide him and feels the soft inside of the leather sleep sack he’ll be strapped into. His fingertips brush over the coolness of the belt buckles that will tighten the thick, robust material around him from neck to toes, and, using his hands, he figures out where he needs to go exactly. While holding on to the hemmed edges of the sack, he slides his feet into the lower section of it, the material instantly hugs around him gently as he fills the void within it. He winces when his own arm rubs against one of the nipple clamps that he’d completely forgotten about as he reaches across his own chest to bring the sleep sack material up and over his own shoulder.
Wanting to explore, he gently feels his way to his own nipple with his hand, and the indentation the nipple clamp is making into that sensitive nub of skin feels odd to his fingers; he keeps tapping slightly on the clamp until he finds the ring that loosens and tightens it.
He’d worn nipple clamps before, and taking them off is often more painful than putting them on. He’s curious if he could handle them on the tightest setting but doesn’t have the best grip on it, doing this blindly while he starts to slobber into the hood from the butterfly gag that seals his mouth off, but also keeps it forced open, causing saliva to slowly drop past his stuffed lips. His index finger slips, tacky with perspiration, and he slides the little ring all the way toward his nipple, which makes him scream out in agony as the already compressed skin is tortured even more. Sam decides that Dean doesn’t get to undo what he just did.
He feels Sam’s legs clamp down around his waist, pinning both hands against his torso, and feels him lean down, the soft fabric of his shirt dragging against the nipple clamps, making Dean whimper as it twists his nipples just a touch.
“I’m going to tighten the other one just as hard, you ready, Dean?” Sam’s voice is quiet and barely audible as he speaks directly into Dean’s ear.
He shakes his head side to side, no grunting, no safeword, but he hears Sam’s voice muffled beside his ear. “Grunt your color to me, Dean,” Sam commands, and Dean grunts twice for yellow.
“Good boy.” Sam pats the side of his face, and Dean’s body relaxes when Sam moves the ring back to what Dean can only assume is its previous position and moves the ring of the other nipple clamp in a little bit to match while he holds Dean’s nostril breathing tubes shut, completely silencing him and preventing any kind of protest or noise.
His hips jump up, and he can feel his aching cock rub against Sam’s ass that sits astride his hips, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Sam is applying pressure on his cock deliberately.
Ultimately, Sam’s body weight shifts, and Dean can just barely hear what he says right into his plugged ear. “Imagine if you weren’t caged, way I’m sitting, you could drive right in, make me ride you, but as it is, you can’t even be milked, no, you’re all plugged up, reduced to a moaning, groaning, needy, helpless bundle of human. You have no voice, no sense of smell, no sight, and soon you will not be able to move a muscle. You should see my cock in my pants right now. There’s a big wet spot right at the tip because of how turned on you and how much your submission turns me on. When I take your hearing away completely, keep in mind that even if you can’t detect my presence, I will never leave this room. I am keeping you safe and constrained. Nothing can hurt you when you’re like this, and all I ask is for you to feel, to let go, and just be separated from the world. No heavy weight of responsibility on you, no family business, no people to save or monsters to hunt. All you are right now is my sub, my willing big brother who lets me take complete control of him.”
The words start floating together in Dean’s mind, their meaning reaching him on a level that goes far deeper into his psyche and soul than normal. His body is thrumming with light pain, his jaw aching from being held wide open, his eyes and ears straining to obtain a signal to deliver to his brain when there are none. Once Sam adds the secondary ear protection padded discs of leather held around Dean’s head with a buckled strap, the outside world falls away entirely except for Sam’s touch on his body.
Dean breathes through his nose, deep and slow, counting upward in his head to simply relax into the situation, to just let himself feel what Sam wants him to experience, what he has yearned for ever since Sam suggested it.
The padded leather gloves go on each of his wrists, taking away his dexterity, no gun handling, no wielding of machetes, no grabbing his own cock to piss or do much of anything for himself. The severity of the very comfortable material wrapping snugly around his fingers and forcing them to remain joined and straightened dawns on Dean with acute clarity that only makes him fall deeper into this state of segregation and complete surrender to Sam. Dean is present, starts to see random flashes of colors, and the sound that reverberates in his ears becomes a constant hum that is both grounding and peaceful to him. His body is like a rag doll in Sam’s hands, who moves him this way and that as he slides his mitted hands into the leather arm sleeves that are sewn to the side of the body portion of the leather bondage sleeping bag.
Dean’s heart beat is steady, his stomach swooping as he feels the heavy material close over top of his naked skin, slowly swallowing him up whole from his legs upward until he feels and more than hears the click of the padlock that connects the collar of his bondage hood with the neck opening of the bondage sleep sack. He wiggles his toes and finds resistance in all directions, but this isn’t so bad, he thinks to himself. The material pulls against his efforts when he bends his knees that are pinned together. His arms are held down alongside his torso in a natural position, and he can only lift them about a half-inch until the material stops them.
He moans in contentment around the gag in his mouth, which is like a very kinky version of an adult pacifier to him, something to chew on, something to keep his mouth busy while he’s kept from all forms of communication and reduced to an undulating leather statue for Sam’s enjoyment.
There is a moment of slight panic when the belts start going around him and tighten, removing all slack and freedom of movement. Sam starts from his shoulders this time, and with every broad strap of leather he removes a little more of Dean’s wiggle room, only to give him leave to let his mind soar as he sinks deeper into a state that is indescribable, fuzzy, coddled, warm, and sweet.
The zing of pain in his nipples when Sam tightens a belt right across them makes Dean’s back arch up and a guttural groan vibrate across his vocal cords, but the red, hot fire of the pain morphs into a flowing ribbon of euphoria and arousal.
It’s like every good thing he can think of wrapped into his present state of mind; his soul is smiling, his body is alive and thriving, while to the outside world, he looks like the most owned, restrained, and helpless creature in existence. He doesn’t even feel touch anymore, other than that of the soft inside of leather wrapping around him. His skin tingles, his limbs feel heavy, and the entire situation feels like an incredible hug all around him; grounding, safe, and loved.
The last belt fastens just above his ankles, and Sam’s hands roaming his tightly restrained form are the final touch. Every ache and pain of Sam pressing in against his nipples, pushing the heel of his hand against Dean’s caged cock, drives Dean deeper. Pain turns into pleasure; pleasure coalesces into a tingling floatiness before he sinks into a meditative calm. All of Dean Winchester is right here, right now, so completely contained and centered that it makes him try to giggle around the restrictive gag and not being able to only stokes the same euphoric reaction higher.
Sam touches him, how often or with what frequency Dean cannot tell, but he is reassured that he is not left alone and that he is safe to ride this wave of self-discovery without guilt, without time pressure.
***
Watching Dean’s beautiful body move and breathe in all that leather, the content, happy little sounds he makes around the obscene gag in his mouth, and seeing his caged cock twitch once in a while under the bulge of leather at his crotch is utterly fascinating to Sam.
Dean presses into him whenever he feels his touch, and it reassures Sam that Dean is with him, that Dean is present. After some time, his movements lessen, his breathing is calm and steady, chest rising like clockwork beneath the thick leather and belts that have all but swallowed him up. Sam surmises that Dean may have reached sub-space or even dozed off. It’s not unheard of that a submissive, especially with sensory deprivation involved, loses touch and lets themselves go, dropping deeper quicker than they would if they still had visual input.
He settles beside Dean with the TV remote, back against the headboard, and makes sure to keep the outside of his thigh alongside Dean’s shoulder for when he wakes up. He navigates to Netflix and throws on an episode of Chicago Fire. Dean has his Dr. Sexy show; Sam has a thing for firefighters, and there is no way he’d be caught dead disclosing that to Dean anytime soon. The griping would be endless. Although the more he thinks about it, a side benefit could be for Dean to show up in full FD gear to roleplay his kink with Sam.
“How about it, Dean, perhaps you pretend to save me from a burning building and have your way with me, or maybe I should be a morally gray firefighter and you’re the cop that figures me out and cuffs me to take me to the station.” Sam huffs out a laugh at the fact that he’s essentially having a conversation with himself.
He checks that Dean is breathing and well by holding his palm across the nostril breathing tube openings and can feel the warm puffs of air. Caressing the side of Dean’s face yields a nuzzle into his hand from Dean, and Sam knows that his brother is enjoying his journey into extreme sensory deprivation.
A good while later, the signs that Dean has been asleep and has now woken up become violently apparent as he huffs panicked breaths in and out of the breathing tubes and wriggles his whole body like a worm. His muffled screams and keening sounds are locked in his throat by the gag and barely audible to Sam on the outside.
He grips Dean by the chin, frames his jawline, and presses down hard on one of his nipples, which makes his entire body tense up like a tightly strung bow. Sobbing, muffled noises behind the brutal gag that Dean’s been wearing for over two hours now.
Sam’s goal is three hours, but he is going to let Dean go as long as he can and wants to. As much as this is pleasurable and rewarding for Sam, this is about giving Dean an opportunity to completely unwind and let go of the weight that sits on his shoulders every day.
The pain in his nipples and the threat of being strangled make Dean quiet down, hot air puffing from his nostrils, chest heaving, and arms struggling against the confines of the sleep sack. Sam taps Dean’s shoulder with their non-verbal safeword check, but gets no reaction in return, which is unacceptable.
He undoes the buckle on the ear covers and leans in close. “Dean, you’re safe, we’re playing you and me in the bunker, remember?” The words make Dean mewl behind the gag as he still tugs and pulls against the sleep sack.
“Give me your color, Dean. Safeword if you want to get out, one grunt if your color is green.” Sam tightens his hand slightly on Dean’s jaw, lets his fingers trace down to the leather-covered throat, and can feel Dean’s Adam’s apple shudder beneath his touch, his pulse racing.
A single, solitary grunt follows, and Sam lets go. He watches as Dean thrusts helplessly and fruitlessly against the leather spanning his crotch, little muffled noises every so often a credit to how swiftly he settles, now that Sam has assured him he’s safe.
Sam wants to test and see how fast he can get Dean back into that headspace he was in moments ago. He rubs his palms across both of Dean’s nipples and feels him press into the pain-inducing touch. Sam straddles him again and settles his pajama-clad butt right over top of Dean’s plugged and caged cock.
He can feel Dean’s entire body undulating and his hips pulsing as if seeking release when there is none to be had, and he simply lets him. Sam grinds his ass down on him, offering counter pressure while his right hand slips inside his waistband to stroke himself lazily.
Dean embodies pure submission right now, no shame, no embarrassment; the only thing he has is what he feels and what his mind conjures up as he floats and endures his situation. However, Sam’s unsettled, his hands jittery and cold sweat breaking out the longer it all goes on.
They make it past the 3-hour mark, and then Sam calls it. He unbuckles the ear cover belt from the bondage hood and leans in close so Dean can hear.
“Red, I’m pulling you out of this, Dean. Need to make sure you’re okay.”
Dean grunts once again and holds still for Sam as he unwraps him, taking his time to give Dean as much dwelling in sub space as he can, but speeds up for his own sake. Sam’s fingers are jittery with ever-increasing thoughts of what if the gag and lack of air give Dean brain damage, what if one of his hands has circulation issues. The terrifying scenarios are spinning out of control, and Sam rips through the bondage as fast as he can by opening the belts at lightning speed and unbuckling the neck portion of the hood from the suit. It was never actually padlocked together, far too dangerous for Sam. But he could tell by the shake of Dean’s body that the vibration of the padlock he closed in thin air must have reached him.
The leather sack remains closed over top of Dean’s body, even with all the belts loosened, and Sam slowly peels it away from sweaty, freckled skin. He is being extra cautious when he pulls the material off of his nipples, which are a red, angry color by now. He leaves the clamps and the bondage gloves on Dean as he undoes the leather string to uncinch the sensory deprivation hood and pulls it away from sweaty, dark blond strands of hair that stick out every which way. The odor is a mix of leather and pure sweat, about as musky as can be.
The weight of Mount Everest drops from his shoulders, no, from his soul, when half-lidded blinking green eyes gaze up at him like he hung the moon.
“Shmmmmy?” Dean tries to ask, but it’s all garbled, and Sam looks for the release valve and can’t immediately find it, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, as tears well up from his eyes, overwhelmed with failure at not being safe with Dean.
Warm leather paws wrap around him from behind. Dean hisses a bit when the clamps brush against Sam’s shirt. It’s not an embrace, it’s Dean holding Sam together, grounding him. Dean’s arms feel tight as steel and he’s not giving Sam an out as he crumbles on the inside, breathing shallow and heaving sobs breaking loose from his throat.
Dean pulls Sam against him, no option, no refusal tolerated as he pets his hair with his still mitted hands and wraps a thigh around Sam’s hips as they settle in on their sides.
“Shm…ooheee.” Dean points to the bedside table with his mitted hand, and sitting there perfectly arranged for quick access and use are the tube and bulb attachment to release the air in Dean’s gag. Sam wipes his eyes aggressively with the knuckles of both hands and runs a frazzled hand through his hair before he leans over and grabs the small contraption.
He gently inserts the metal valve connector piece into the soft tube that sticks out from the gag and twists the metal release screw, exhaling himself along with the air whooshing out of the rubber bladder in Dean’s mouth. Dean obediently spits the gag out into Sam’s outheld hand and shimmies his jaw left to right until it cracks, jump scaring Sam.
“I’m sorry, Dean, I- I’m so sorry,” Sam says and watches as Dean takes deep lungfuls of air through his mouth. Dean doesn’t react or acknowledge his apologies, but holds his hands out for Sam to undo the mittens. Sam knows Dean’s going to be angry with him, and can’t even meet his eyes.
However, he focuses on what he can do and undoes the buckles and loosens the belt on both wrists before gently slipping the leather mitts off of each hand. There are no marks on Dean’s hands, no indentations, no friction marks. Sam checks with steady fingers as he reclaims ground and finds himself in caring for his big brother. A role he feels at home in.
“Does any part of me look like you have anything at all to apologize for?” Dean prompts and looks Sam in the eyes. Sam looks away and realizes the nipple clamps are still on, and they look supremely painful. He reaches for them before he can think better of it, and Dean bites down on his own arm to muffle the scream of pain when blood rushes back into them.
Sam inspects Dean’s cock, and to his shock, it is completely flaccid, like this had done nothing for Dean, and Sam immediately jumps to the conclusion that Dean suffered the entire time. “Oh God, Dean, why didn’t you safeword? You, you, fuck, no, no, no, no…” Painful tight wails of misery push their way out of Sam’s throat, as he rocks back and forth where he sits.
“Sam! Hey! Sam, eyes on me.” The deep tone in Dean’s voice calls forward a Pavlovian response, it’s the kind of pitch Dean uses when he needs Sam to listen and not argue back, the tone he uses when a vampire is about to attack him but Sam hasn’t seen him yet, that kind of command. Sam immediately stops blabbering and waits for the next instruction. “On the bed, on your back, grab the blanket if you feel cold and stay put.” It wasn’t a question, and Sam does exactly as he’s told, grabbing his cotton blanket with him, because he realizes he is freezing; in fact, all 6’5” of him are shivering.
He watches Dean leave the room and makes himself comfortable in bed, looks aimlessly around his own room that he still has barely decorated, and simply waits because Dean told him to. For a while he stares at the ceiling, analyzes all the specks of slight discoloration on it. There is some noise coming from the kitchen, but nothing alarming; it sounds like Dean making Sunday breakfast. Sam realizes how exhausted he actually is, his eyes struggling to stay open as he lies there, feet warming up, and the comfort of his own bed lulling him into a superficial sense of normalcy. But how could they ever be any kind of normal after this massive screw up?
***
A full body shudder jerks through Sam when Dean, dressed in a pair of sweats, reenters the room with a tray in hand. Sam can’t quite make out what’s on it, but rubs a hand gingerly across his face from forehead to chin and smooths his hair out of the way.
“What’s this?” Sam asks shy and unsure.
“This is Dean’s post-Dom drop special, the Sam version. I’ve got fruit salad, an egg white omelet, and a bottled vanilla latte coffee on ice, and to round things off, I’ve added a protein bar, birthday cake flavored.”
“Dean, you shouldn’t have. I don’t know what went wrong. I was enjoying it all, and then my thoughts went into a doom spiral, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get out of it. You were relying on me, you were trusting me with all this, and I let you down.”
“Sammy,” Dean pulls the chair over from Sam’s desk and sits on it across from where Sam is now settled on the edge of his bedl. He frames Sam’s face in both palms and waits until his little brother is looking at him.
“What you’ve given me today was something I had no clue I really needed or wanted. I’ve been itching, vibrating in my skin all wrong for a couple of weeks now. Well, until you showed me that damn fanfic piece. What was it for again? Kingtober was it?”
“Kinktober,” Sam corrects meekly.
“Yeah, that. The reason my cock wasn’t hard when you released me isn’t because you hurt me or did something wrong. I had an out-of-body experience, Sam. I swear it was like being on mushrooms but without the drug, like circles closing that had been too broken to even consider being made whole. I know I sound like a crazy person right now, but it felt like my soul, body, and mind were at peace with one another, you know?”
Sam hesitantly nods, and Dean notices how his eyes flit back and forth between taking in his entire face and his eyes. Like he’s reading Dean, figuring out the pun or prank he’s lining up. Dean smiles at that, an honest smile that feels right on his face, sincere.
“You-you really mean that?” Sam asks, voice a bit raspy with a slight uptick at the end, like he dares to entertain a little bit of hope.
“Every word.” Dean leans in, telegraphing his intent about as clearly as spelling it on his forehead with a sharpie, and Sam smiles softly, the shorthand between them taking care of the rest as Dean kisses Sam chaste and reassuring.
Dean puts on a compilation video of wins on YouTube, which has them both laughing within a few minutes, and keeps feeding Sam his favorite aftercare foods and drinks. It’s Sam that is snuggled against Dean’s side this time around as he obediently eats whatever Dean’s fingers hold out in front of his lips. Just about halfway into the 1-hour video, he’s softly snoring against Dean’s chest.
“You did amazing, Sammy. Want you to know that,” Dean whispers and kisses the crown of Sam’s head, exactly like he used to since they were little, but with the grown-up love of a soulmate behind the gesture.
To be Continued…