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Submissive Just This Once	By : roguebitch Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6916 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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A/N: Title comes from the song “In My Command” by Crowded House.

Summary: Sometimes Dean needs a reminder as to whom he belongs to. Sam is happy to provide.

******

Sam shoved Dean into the motel room by the collar of his jacket, propelling him through the doorway.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice what you were doing?” Sam growled, voice low and intense.

“Let go, Sammy, what the fuck --?” Dean twisted and slipped out of his coat, which Sam threw to the floor.

“Shut up. I saw you at the bar with those two girls. Touching them. Giving them your best fuck-me smile. Did you honestly think you were going off with either of them?” Sam advanced on his brother, who finally had the sense to look uneasy.

“I was hoping for both, actually,” Dean tried on a leer, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were wide and annoyed.

“You’re getting neither,” snapped Sam. “What you’re getting is a reminder.”

Sam, who could be quick despite his size, grabbed Dean around the wrist and hauled him over to the wall. Dean resisted, but Sam had the height advantage, plus he was sober. Dean’s happy-drunk feeling was draining out of him in an adrenaline rush.

Sam pinned Dean’s wrists together with one hand. He pulled Dean’s t-shirt over his head, down his arms, and wrapped it around his wrists with a deft twist. With the other hand, Sam unfastened Dean’s belt and undid the fly on his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. Sam pushed Dean’s boxers down, and Dean’s dick sprung free, completely erect.

“What’s this? Is this for Yvette? And Vivian?” Sam sneered. “Or whatever their names were?”

Dean shook his head, silently, knowing there was no good answer to this question and it was, in fact, a trap.

Sam pushed Dean up against the wall, his hands pinned above him, dick brushing against the cheap paneling. Dean stumbled over the clothing puddled around his ankles. Sam was pressing right into him and Dean could feel Sam’s dick through his jeans, hard against his ass.

It was hard to believe his little brother could be like this. Exciting, too.

“Wrong answer, Dean.” Sam’s hand stroked down Dean’s back to his ass. His hand swung away and hit the left cheek with a loud crack. Dean grunted in pain and surprise, jerking forward, his dick bumping the wall painfully.

“What’s the right answer, Dean?” Sam’s voice was gentle beside Dean’s ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there. Dean squirmed. He pressed his forehead into the wall, his mouth clamped shut. He wouldn’t give Sam the satisfaction.

Dean sometimes forgot just how big Sam’s hands were. One hand was more than large enough to cover one of Dean’s ass-cheeks, as he found out when Sam smacked him again. Dean grunted again, and swore, “Goddammit, Sammy.”

“I don’t think you’re grasping the situation here,” Sam replied. “You’re in trouble. You’ve done a bad thing. And yet you’re swearing at me?”

“What’d I do?” Dean was defiant. A guy could blow off steam in a bar after a long day, couldn’t he? Have a beer, flirt with a pretty girl or two, was that a crime?

“You know what you did.” Sam’s voice low in Dean’s ear made him shudder. His dick twitched. He was having a hard time breathing.

Sam’s right hand caressed around Dean’s hip, cupped his balls, the thumb stroking just above at the base of Dean’s dick. Dean leaned his head back into Sam’s shoulder, staring blindly at the ceiling.

“This…is mine.” Sam said. “No one gets to play with it but me. Understand?”

Dean shook. If it weren’t for Sam’s other hand pinning his wrists to the wall, he knew he would be buckling at the knees, begging Sam to get him off.

“Understand?” Sam asked again, with an edge to his voice.

Dean nodded.

“I didn’t hear that, Dean.” Sam’s hand retreated, went back to fondling Dean’s ass. “I think you need to be a little bit louder.” Swifter than fire, another crack on the ass, and Dean yelled.

“Who gets to play with your dick?” Sam asked, punctuating the question with another slap.

“You.” gasped Dean, feeling the impact shoot straight into his dick, which was throbbing.

“And do you get to whip it out for just anyone?” Sam smacked him again.

“No, Sammy, just you,” Dean ground out, pain and pleasure spiking through him.

“Who does it belong to?” Sam’s hand stroked Dean’s ass-cheek, and then slapped it again. Dean was dizzy.

“You.”

“And who do you belong to?” Smack. Dean’s ass felt like it was ablaze, the blood pounding in it to the time of the pulse in his dick.

“You,” Dean whispered.

“What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you.” Sam tapped his fingers on Dean’s ass.

“You, Sammy, I belong to you.” Dean looked over his shoulder at his brother, eyes wide. Sam braced his feet.

“Damn. Right. You. Do.” Sam said, punctuating each word with a hard smack to Dean’s ass, driving him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

Sam jerked Dean away from the wall, using the twisted t-shirt around his wrists as a leash, and pulled Dean to him. “Now get down there and blow me,” Sam spoke against Dean’s lips, yanking the t-shirt downward.

Dean dropped onto his knees in front of Sam, shaking his hands out of the shirt, and fumbled open Sam’s belt and fly. He pulled Sam’s dick through the opening in his shorts and got to work.

Now, Dean wasn’t a size queen by any means, but damn if he wasn’t proud of the fact that Sam was blessed. Even if it meant that he sometimes gagged. He swallowed Sam’s dick like it was his job (which at this very moment it was) and felt Sam tilt his head up slightly.

“Open your eyes, Dean.” Sam ordered. “I want you to see me when you make me come.”

Dean looked into Sam’s face as he worked, swirling his tongue around Sam’s dick, flicking it across the slit, doing all those things he knew Sam liked. Sam’s hair framed his face while he looked down at Dean, mouth moving silently, saying things Dean couldn’t quite hear, but he could guess. Sam had such an expressive face, and it had been years since Dean couldn’t read him like a billboard.

Sam clenched his hands around Dean’s head, not moving it, but letting Dean feel the power and restraint Sam was exercising in not fucking Dean’s mouth. Dean could tell from the way Sam was biting his lip that he was close to shooting, so he quickened the pace and suddenly Sam was talking.

“God, Dean, such a talented mouth you have…if you think I’ll let some barslut have it, you’re crazy. I’m gonna come, any second now, shoot right down your fucking throat…Dean. Dean!”

Then Sam did hold Dean’s head very still while he fucked Dean’s mouth, a couple of hard thrusts and Dean felt the hot fluid hit the back of his throat, and he swallowed.

Dean loved it when he could drive Sam to swear. Sam was such a good boy most of the time, it was totally gratifying to drive him off the cliff of propriety.

Dean stayed on his knees, Sam’s dick slowly softening in his mouth, until Sam’s hands wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Sam’s mouth covered his own, his tongue thrusting into Dean’s mouth, making him gasp. Sam broke the kiss suddenly and slid his palm over Dean’s cheek, his fingers skating over Dean’s swollen lips before he held his palm out for Dean to lick. Dean obediently slathered it with spit and traces of come until Sam dropped his arm, fingers wrapping tight around Dean’s aching cock, pulling just right.

Sam curled his hand around Dean’s dick and said, “You want this? Want me to jerk you off?”

“Yes,” Dean mumbled.

“What was that?” Sam didn’t move his hand, and Dean twitched his hips. “Don’t do that.”

“Yes, I want you to jerk me off.” Dean looked at Sam brazenly.

“Hmm…I’m not convinced. Are you sure?” Sam rearranged his grip so he was barely skimming the skin, and Dean groaned.

“Please, Sam.” Dean said.

“Please what?” Sam’s look of enjoyment was, in a history of dealing with those kinds of things, positively unholy.

“Please jerk me off, Sam. Please let me come. Please, please, please.” Dean babbled, all attention focused on Sam’s hand around his dick, his aching balls, and his need to relieve the unbearable pressure.

“Now that’s better,” murmured Sam into Dean’s ear as he pulled Dean in. Sam moved his hand up and down Dean’s dick in an expert jerk-and-twist as Dean thrust his hips. It wasn’t going to take long, not after all the night’s events, not long at all.

Dean’s hands gripped the front of Sam’s shirt as he buried his face in Sam’s shoulder, saying, “Please.” and “Yes.” and “Sammy.” and “Yours.” in a tangle.

Sam said, “Come on, Dean, give it to me,” and suddenly, Dean did, hips jerking staccato, come pumping out over the front of Sam’s jeans, spilling over the open fly and Sam’s dick. He collapsed into Sam, gasping for air, knees wobbly.

Sam’s arms wrapped around Dean, and he backed them up to the bed. Dean kicked off his boots and pants.

“C’mere,” Sam said, lying down. He wriggled out of his clothes and got them both under the blankets. Then Sam held Dean and stroked his chest until his breathing slowed.

“Your ass is hot.” Sam finally said.

“I know.” Dean was smug.

“I’m not too tired to give you another beating, jerk.” Sam sounded drowsy.

“But I’m too tired to let you do it this time. Go to sleep, Sammy.”

Sam scooched around and made those grunting, getting-settled sounds that Dean found so endearing (but would never EVER tell anyone) as he settled himself against Dean.

Dean fell asleep to the sound and feel of Sam’s breaths on his neck.

**

Sam kept giving Dean little self-satisfied smirks every time Dean shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat of the Impala. It aggravated Dean so much that he couldn’t wait until Sam found someone he liked. Then it would be Dean’s turn to show Sam who was really boss.
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