Episode 0.5x03 - Submission Who: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester When: Sometime after Rest Stop What:When their positions are reversed, Sam finds out some strange things about his brother. Where: Hotel Room, USA
Another day, another town, another town, and another night in a crappy hotel. At least this one didn't charge by the hour. Sam strips off his shirt and twists awkwardly in front of the mirror, trying to see if he was mortally wounded anywhere. He didn't look to be, just bruised, so he grabs the ice pack out of the freezer with a resigned sigh. "Are you bleeding?" Dean calls from his bed, patching up his own cut from the day, a neat little gash across his leg. Not much to be worried about, just rather irritating. "Not unless I missed an important memo, no." He sits next to Dean on the bed, looking over at him, at his back, to see if he's bleeding else where. "You look good to me." "Yeah, it wasn't so bad. I wish we could meet a few clean monsters, though, so I didn't have to peroxide the hell out of every little nick." He scowls at his leg before rolling his pant leg down, glancing back to give Sam a once over, just to make sure everything is the way it should be. "At least all our limbs are more or less in the right place," Sam sighs, making sure he's not bleeding significantly before flopping onto his back. "Monsters are inherently unclean, but I think that's a philisophical debate for another time." "Come on, surely there's an OCD monster out there somewhere," Dean mutters, not bothering with the 'another time' bit. He sighs, getting up to put away the first aid kid. "If there is, we could show it the contents of your fridge, and it'd run away screaming." He rubs a hand over his face with a sigh, half watching Dean putter around the room. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with my food!" He puts it back in his duffel and goes to wash his hands, just to get the smell of peroxide off of them. Afterwards he starts sorting through his bag, trying to find some non-dirt encrusted clothes. "Once it enters your fridge, Dean, it ceases being food and starts being a science experiment." Sam tosses his shirt and socks into a small pile near Dean's duffle, "Just put your dirty clothes, there, I'll do laundry tomorrow." "I eat it plenty quick," he gripes, before doing as he is told, pulling his gross clothes off and piling them up. " Thanks. You're the best girlfriend ever." He laughs at that, half sitting up, leaning back on his elbows. "Get over here," he grins, trying (and not entirely succeeding) to make his voice a little more stern and commanding. Dean pauses for half a second, looking at him, before grinning and complying, bouncing to a seat on the bed with him. "What d'ya want?" he asks, tone playful. "You were too far away for me to kick your ass, before." Sam grabs Dean's arm, trying to wrestle him down onto the bed, determined to show him exactly how ungirly he is. Hey!" Dean laughs, fighting against him, getting in little pokes and jabs where he can. "Let me go, you big oaf!" "Not a chance," he growls, trying to roll Dean onto his back to pin him there. "You're mine." He stretches out on top of Dean, pinning his wrists above his head with a triumphant grin. Dean struggles against him, but there is a hesitation in his movements at Sam's words, a sudden shiver running through his body. He twists his wrists all the fiercer, afterwards, as if trying to overcompensate for the pause. ... oh. Sam presses harder against Dean, shifting to press his knees against the outside of Dean's legs, trapping him more firmly. "Mine," he says again, a little more breathlessly, his voice a little darker. "Alright, you win!" Dean rarely, if ever, admits defeat, but this is making is breath catch in all sort of awkward ways, and he is not sure he wants this to go any farther, not here, not with Sam. He stills, hoping Sam will let him go, trying not to think about what being his would mean. Despite knowing that this could get dangerous, Sam likes Dean's reactions, enjoys the way his breath catches a little. The way he admits defeat. Another shift, and Sam stretches out on top of Dean, pressing against him completely, their bodies lining up hip to toe. Slowly, testing the waters, he leans in and kisses Dean; lightly at first, and then more firmly as he grows more sure of himself. Ohgod. Dean cannot stop himself from kissing back, his body reacting of his own accord and parting his lips. Dark arousal is already uncoiling in the pit of his stomach at the feel of Sam over him, pinning him, trapping him against the bed. Sam moans and the kiss turns possessive, his tongue devouring Dean's mouth eagerly. He grinds his hips down against Dean's, tightening his grip on Dean's wrists, wanting to keep him there. A whimper escapes Dean's lips and he starts to move again, half wanting to push up against him, half trying to free himself, because god, this is too much like- he cuts himself off midthought, groaning. "No," Sam whispers against Dean's lips, scraping his teeth against his lower lip and pressing finger shaped bruises into Dean's wrists as he feels Dean start to struggle again. "Stay." He pulls back from the kiss just enough to glance at Dean's expression, to see if he likes this. He stills without a second thought, looking up at Sam, breath coming in pants between slightly parted lips. He is startled by Sam's behavior, but he has not been turned on so much in years. He should not let Sam do this, be like this, but all he wants to do is kiss him again. And Sam is just as surprised as Dean is. But the way Dean is reacting, submitting like this, is just too tempting to pass up. His usually totally in control brother. Dean, who takes care of everyone and everything, who doesn't take shit from anybody, Dean letting go like this. Giving himself up to Sam. It's intoxicating. He brushes his lips over Dean's jaw, scraping his teeth over his pulsepoint, wanting to see what else he can do to Dean, while he has him like this. Dean groans, closing his eyes and arching up against him. He shifts, not to escape anymore, but to rub against him, liking the warm feeling of his body against his, the warm feeling of Sam, god, at least his brain has not forgotten that this is his brother. Oh -- god yes. Sam moves his hands to twine his fingers with Dean's, pinning him that way. He rocks their hips together, this new sense of -- power, of control turning him on so much it scares him. He drags his teeth hard over Dean's neck, sucking at a mark on his shoulder to make it darker. "Sammy-" He tilts his head back, closing his eyes and just moaning. He squeezes his fingers around Sam's, holding onto his hands tightly, every new sensation sending thrills through his body. It hits Sam hard what he could do -- what he wants to do with Dean. He grips both Dean's hands with one of his, the other hand sliding down to grip the back of Dean's thigh, hooking Dean's leg over his hip and grinding against him again. "Do you want it?" he groans, rocking his hips again to show exactly what he means. "Do you want this with me?" Dean cannot speak for a moment, staring up at him, eyes slightly wild. God, he couldn't- he just- this was so wrong, so why was he forcing a 'yes' out of his throat? He says it again, unable to stop himself, leaning up to kiss Sam desperately. He's never seen Dean quite like this. Eager to fuck, yes, but never this -- wanton. Pleading. Submissive. Sam pushes at his own jeans, stripping down before wrapping an arm around Dean's waist, pulling his brother flush against him with a groan that's nearly a growl. "OhDean..." he sighs, trailing his fingers down Dean's spine, then down further to tease against his entrance, watching eagerly to see how Dean reacts. Dean is going to be embarassed about this later, he just knows it, but for now all he can do is spread his legs for Sam, all but begging for more. Sam being dominant, Sam in control, not having to worry or care or make decisions - he has not gotten to let go like this in years, not since John sent him out on his own, especially not since John left, since he died, Dean had to be the leader, the strong one - except for right now. Sam tugs open the nightstand drawer, nearly pulling it all the way out as he grabs the lube. Fuck -- it's not like he and Dean have done this a huge amount of times, and he just hopes he doesn't -- fuck it up, from this end. He slicks his fingers up and, as gently as possible, starts to push one into Dean, practically holding his breath. That causes a gasp; he wraps his arms around Sam, pulling him down further to kiss him again, desperate and loving and wild all at once. He digs his nails in without thinking about it, pressing his hip downwards eagerly. He'd expected reluctance. He'd expected Dean to tell him he'd crossed a line. At least some sort of snarky remark. Not this. Sam thrusts his hand slowly at first, then a little faster, his hips unconciously moving slightly with each thrust of his hand. He ravishes Dean's mouth, sliding their tongues together with a rough moan. He needs to pull away, God, tell him to stop before they go further, tell him so before they do this and can never take it back and he looks at him so much different, he knows he will. But he has given up his will to fight him already, let him take over, and now he has to let him do what he wants, what they both want, hell with the consequences. He makes red lines down Sam's back, groaning into his mouth. A second finger, spreading them, curling them to find that spot that could make Dean fall apart and beg, like Sam had done for him. Where each thrust of his fingers was agonizingly pleasureable, and he wanted more and couldn't take it, both at the same time. Sam's trembling and has to break the kiss to try and breathe, his eyes shut tight as he presses his forehead against Dean's. Dean reaches up to stroke his hair, to ask him if he is alright, but it is interrupted by a surprised sound, a cry barely bitten off in time. He pushes against Sam's fingers, gasping his name, ohgodmore,Sammy- he wants to say it but his throat's not working anymore. Sam's already panting against Dean's lips, and they've barely started. But each movement of Dean's body, each soft noise he makes pushes Sam higher, gets him hotter, and he can feel the sweat start to build up on the back of his neck, sliding down his spine. He braces a hand against the bed, grinding against Dean's thigh as he moves his hand faster, twisting his fingers. "Sam-" He swallows, trying to make intelligble words out of his moans and whimpers. Instead he just wraps a leg around him, biting at his own lip and Sam's both, and thrusts against his fingers again and again. He wonders if he could get Dean off, just like this, but God he wants him too much to try. He licks over the shell of Dean's ear, his voice low and rough with lust. "Tell me," he murmurs, biting at Dean's ear. "Tell me you want it -- please -- " The 'please' slips out with out Sam realizing it, his dominant demeanor sliding just a little before he twists his fingers again, trying to get his control back. The 'please' reverberates in his head, making him think again, god, he does not want to do that, not now, not in the middle of this, so he says "Yes," quickly, nearly barking it, luckily getting distracted again by the sharp movements of Sam's fingers. Sam takes his hand away, slicking himself up with a sharp gasp, closing his eyes for a moment. The hand against the bed twists against the sheets and the other grips Dean's thigh firmly. He hesitates only a moment before he starts to push himself inside Dean, biting down hard on his lip. Dean buries his face in Sam's neck, biting down at the soft skin there, gasping between his teeth as he marks the skin. His fingers slide in the sweat slipping down Sam's spine, so he digs his nails in too, leaving red half-circles behind. Once Sam is all the way in, he rests there for a moment, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist again. "I've got you," he whispers, turning his head to kiss Dean's neck, stroking his hand over his thigh. Dean feels amazingly, intensely good, and Sam's sure he's going to go out of his mind if they do any more than this. Dean's muscles tense all at once, everything he was trying so hard not to think of rushing into his mind like storm. He grips Sam tightly, feeling the sudden, ridiculous urge to cry, even as his body spasms with the pleasure of having Sam so close, having him inside of him, pressing against him- he bites down even harder, to stop any sound that might even think about arising. "Are you okay?" Sam gasps, as Dean's teeth dig into his shoulder. He doesn't -- want to keep doing this, if it hurts Dean, or if Dean doesn't want it, or anything like that. If Dean asks him to stop, he will. He withdraws his teeth, all the sudden, realizing that he is probably hurting Sam, not in a good way. He licks his lips, which seem way too dry all the sudden, but nods, not trusting himself to speak. He wants to tell Sam to get on with it, to just shut up, don't talk anymore, and for fuck's sake don't sound like him, but there is nothing he can do about that. Sam kisses him deeply, to make up for anything he may have done wrong, and gives a long, slow roll of his hips. Oh... dear god. He does it again, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting in as deeply as he can, moaning loudly and pressing his fingers against Dean's back. It's beyond -- anything. Anything he could have imagined. He'd never tried it with Jess; not that it hadn't occurred to him, but he was too shy to ask. Dean is so fucking tight, and the friction sends a shudder shooting up Sam's spine. All of Dean's thoughts burst away like sparks, and he is reduced to whimpers, knees pressing tightly against Sam's hips, wanting to keep him there, not wanting him to move but wanting him to thrust like that again, fuck him, tear him apart- he's touching parts of him that Dean did not even know existed, and suddenly this seems like the most right thing in the world. Sam's tempted to pin Dean's hands down again, though he loves the way his nails bite into his skin. So he tangles a hand in his hair, instead, dragging his nails hard over Dean's thigh as he starts up a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts as he pulls Dean into another kiss. Dean would be cursing with pleasure if his mouth was not otherwise occupied, frantic kisses slowing with the timing of Sam's thrusts. The movements are terrible, teasing, but they send shivers up and down his spine at ever movement. He nudges Dean's lips open again with his tongue, shifting, trying to get the angle of his hips right to make Dean moan the loudest. Sam loves the way their bodies move together; the intoxicating slide-pull of their skin, slick with sweat, as Dean moves to meet every thrust. Dean parts them, sucking at Sam's tongue eagerly, his moans becoming hums by the time they reach his mouth. He feels himself fall a little bit more in love with Sam, trusting him farther than he has before, letting himself be weak and wanton, and that trust in and of itself nearly drives him over the edge. Sam has never seen Dean be this vulnerable before, and it scares him a little. He speeds his thrusts, grinding his hips at the end of each one, his hand sliding up to grip Dean's ass for better leverage. Lightly, he nips at Dean's tongue, the hand in his hair moving down to wrap around his cock, moving in slow but firm strokes. "Ohfuck-" Sam's hand on him is too much, driving him straight out of his mind and he is making terribly embarassing sounds that he can barely hear, losing complete control. He leaves red streaks down Sam's back, trying to gain some purchase to steady himself. "Dean -- " Sam gasps, forcing his hips to keep moving, just a few more thrusts before he can't take it anymore, and clings tightly to Dean as his body shudders through its orgasm. He presses soft kisses to Dean's hair, wrapping his arms around him and holding him as close as he can, breathing harshly against his neck. Dean pants for breath, clinging back as his vision attempts to refocus itself. He strokes at Sam's back awkwardly, trying to get ahold of himself but failing admirably. Sam pulls the sheets over them, not pulling away from Dean just yet. He wants to say something about how amazing that was, how good and right it felt and how perfectly Dean fits against him. But he can't find the strength to form the words, only to nuzzle into Dean's neck. Dean just slumps against him, bone tired, and all but hides his face in Sam's hair, quiet. A very large part of him wants to jerk away, get dressed, and file this in the Never Speaking Of Again memories, but Sam seems so content that he does not have the heart to move. Carefully, Sam shifts so he isn't completely crushing Dean, leaving an arm around his waist and resting his head against Dean's chest, listening to his heartbeat. God it was -- good but strange; something about the whole thing felt a little off. A little frightening. The way Dean broke down like that excited and worried Sam at the same time. He gently toys with Dean's hair, closing his eyes and gearing up for a battle of wills to break through Dean's walls and figure out what just happened. "Dean...?" Dean winces at the sound of his name, shifting away from Sam a bit. "Are you going to say my name like that everytime we fuck?" he asks, irritated, his tone very much I-don't-want-to-talk,-so-shut-up-now. Sam wraps his arm more tightly around Dean's waist, trying to keep him there. "No, just when something like this happens." He knows Dean doesn't want to discuss it -- when does he ever want to discuss things? But Sam feels that they should. That this isn't something to keep buried. "Something like what?" God damn his brother and his touchy-feely nonsense. He would rather talk about them having sex in the Impala, having sex any other way, hell, he'd get right down and talk about his lovey-dovey feelings if Sam wanted, if it stopped him from having to talk about why this of all things had happened. "Like what we just did," Sam sighs, leaning up on his elbow in order to be able to look at Dean. "You -- letting me do all that. Letting me... take over like that." He's not quite sure how else to put it. Not in a way that makes sense, anyway. "So? You let me do it to you. Only fair, right?" Dean refuses to look at him, tense and unhappy. He is kicking himself for letting this happen, for being weak enough to let it go this far. "Dean..." Sam gently touches his brother's cheek, trying to turn Dean's face towards him. "That's not what this was, and you know it. You were... you were submissive." Dean sits up, pulling away, angry with Sam for pushing like this. "So what?" he snaps. "You made me your bitch and I liked it. Leave it the fuck alone, Sam." "Dean -- " He wraps his arms around Dean's waist again, resting his chin against Dean's shoulder. "Does it... does it have to do with the guy you mentioned? In your teens?" He just wants to understand his brother, to see what his boundries are so he doesn't cross them. "Dude, this is so not talking about him again!" That's a yes, whether Dean meant to say it or not. He wants to hit Sam, punch him really hard and make him shut up, but he knows he does not deserve that, god damn complicated, talking about feelings man. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just want to understand, Dean. I want to know what I can and can't do. Where the lines are." He strokes a hand soothingly over Dean's chest, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. "I love you, I don't want this to hurt you." Dean rubs a hand over his face with a sigh. "You didn't hurt me. It was fine." He swallows. "I-" He hesitates, and cannot help the slight disgust with himself that creeps into his voice. "Liked it. A lot. I just don't want to talk about it. Okay?" "If you don't want me to do it again, I won't." Sam liked it, too. More than he thought he would. But he doesn't want to push Dean past his comfort zone. Dean wants to do it again, oh god, does he. But it seems so wrong, asking that of Sam, especially when Sam starts to sound just like him. "I don't know, okay?" He sounds tired, not wanting to deal with this anymore. The feeling he got from taking over Dean like that, that rush of power, it was nearly intoxicating. It's not something he'd want to do on a daily basis, that could get overwhelming. But now and then... Sam wraps his arms around Dean again, smoothing his hands over his chest and stomach, pressing gentle kisses to the back of his neck and shoulders, finding comfort in the simple touches. "I'm sorry..." "Don't be sorry." His tone is still irate, but he leans back against Sam, letting himself be comforted. He does not know what to do now, or what to say, because he cannot admit to anything, or explain to him why it makes him uncomfortable even when he loves it. So he just sighs, placing his hand over Sam's. "Will you be honest with me, about what you like? Or -- don't like. And I'll do the same." He just wants this to work, so badly. Dean is all he has left, and if he loses him over something like this... over something he could have changed, or done better. "Yeah, Sammy. I will." He hates this, feeling like he has to lie to him, but he has no other choice. He turns his head and awkwardly kisses Sam's temple. "Okay..." He sighs, sensing this would be all he got out of Dean in this conversation. Sam shifts back, taking Dean's hand and trying to pull his brother with him. "Come lay with me?" Dean lets himself be pulled, stretching out beside Sam and laying an arm over him. He puts his head on his shoulder, hoping that the talking is over and they can put this behind them.