?

Log in

No account? Create an account

The Immortal Writings of Nara Kagerou

Strange Glue, Sam/Dean, NC-17

naradragonfly

jensen

Strange Glue, Sam/Dean, NC-17

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
batman
Title: Strange Glue
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spanking kink. Also, Sam's 15 in this.
Author's notes: For vivaesprit, because she's a sick puppy and a terrible influence on my already questionable morals. Title is from the song "Strange Glue", by Catatonia.


Normally, Dean would never lay a hand on him, even gets on edge if their father tries to lay a hand on him, but right now, Dean's so pissed off he's going to put the fear of god into his brother, going to kick his ass so bad he'll remember it for years, so that he'll never, never run off like that again, without answering his phone, without telling anyone where he'd gone. Dean can still taste the bitter iron tang of fear on his tongue, when he couldn't find Sammy, couldn't call Sammy, and he ran into that fucking ghoul, covered in blood. He remembers all but tearing the thing apart with his bare hands, dreading, just knowing that Sam was lying in shreds somewhere in a dark alley. He remembers sitting on the curb in front of the motel, staring at the gore on his hands and shaking, the only reason he wasn't sobbing or puking because his body couldn't figure out which he wanted to do first.

Then Sam walked up, long and lanky at fifteen, laughing and unsteady on his feet. Dean lifts his head and stares, watches Sam stop under the street light and say goodbye to his friends (his friends? where did he even meet these people?), two guys and a girl. He feels his stomach bubble with relief that quickly rises into rage, because he thought Sam was dead. He wants to cry because he's so grateful Sam's alive, and even though he knows how Sam feels, knows how much the ache to be normal gnaws at them, claws apart his chest from inside, he's going to make sure his brother never forgets that they can't be normal, they can't relax and laugh and blow off their family for a night, because if they let down their guard for even a moment, one of them is going to die.

He watches Sam walk up the steps to the second floor, let himself in the motel door, hears Sam say "Dean?" It only pisses him off more that Sam wasn't paying attention, wasn't on his guard, because if he'd looked around even once he'd have seen Dean already. Sam's just let the door fall shut behind him when Dean's there, catching the door before it closes and slamming it shut, shoving his brother against the wall so hard he hears his head crack against the plaster.

"You stupid little bitch," Dean hisses. He's covered in gore and some stranger's blood that was on the ghoul, some stranger who could have been Sammy. "I thought you were fucking dead," Dean yells, not caring if someone hears through the thin motel walls.

Sam winces, but he doesn't complain, knows better than to talk back to Dean while he's this pissed off, covered in blood and gore and face smeared with snot and fear.

"You don't run off like that," Dean shouts, face inches from his brother's. "You keep your damn phone on, you keep it charged, you tell me where the fuck you're going and when you'll be back. You don't act like a fucking five year old who needs to be kept in a crib at all times, or I will treat you like one. That what you want?"

"No?" Sam cowers under his brother's wrath, trying to make himself smaller, sliding down the wall and wishing he could disappear into it. He knows that he's in trouble, but it's so rare that Dean ever punishes him, Sam doesn't know what to expect.

Dean's eyes flicker over his brother's face, trying to decide how he wants to let out his wrath, what punishment will be suitable enough that Sam will remember, harsh enough that he won't be able to forget, and the fear will keep him safe.

"I think that's just what you deserve," Dean exhales the decision, grip shifting on Sam's shirt. He can feel Sam's heartbeat race under his hand, sees Sam's breath catch with fear at whatever Dean has in mind. He's still taller than Sam by several inches, although who knows how long that'll last, so it's not too much trouble to haul Sam over to the table and slam him down on top of it, pens and newspaper cut-outs fluttering in the wake of Dean's anger. Sam struggles, panic flashing red-hot through his chest, but Dean's faster--stronger--pinning Sam's hands together behind his back and holding him down.

"You're going to remember," Dean tells him, testing that his grip is sure, leaning his weight into the hand on Sam's wrists, keeping him in place. He doesn't pause a moment longer than it takes to make sure, and then he draws his hand back and brings his palm sharply against Sam's ass. Sam twists, because Dean's got a hell of a swing and he's not holding back, bites down a curse and fights him, body wrenched with the blind need to escape, but Dean doesn't stop, spanking him again and again.

It's more than the pain. It's the humiliation, the rage of being held down and treated like a child, by Dean; his hero, his protector. Dean knows he won't forget this, being helpless and trapped under Dean's grip, and he'll remember it every time he sits down for the next week, because Dean fully intends to leave bruises.

Sam writhes against the table, swears and begs and fucking whines for mercy, nails digging into his palms so hard he thinks they might be bleeding. Dean ignores that, ignores every sound out of Sam's throat, doesn't even reprimand him for the language, until Sam makes this sound that Dean's never heard before, and he freezes in place, hand still half raised for the swing.

It was so quiet, Dean's not even sure he heard it, but that wasn't a sound he'd ever heard from Sammy before, not a sound he'd imagine.

"Dean," Sam whispers, throat thick, voice begging.

Dean slaps his hand down again, and Sam makes that sound again, slightly louder, a sobbing whimper laid over the harsh edge of a moan. A moan, and as many times as Dean has heard moans from girls while he's got his hand inside their panties, he's never heard one quite like that. Rage evaporating, Dean stares down at his little brother, and his next slap is lighter (though certainly not gentle). He sees the way Sam grinds down against the table, because at some point his struggles to escape turned into ... something else.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes, so completely blindsided by this he thinks his brain may have just shut down on the spot.

Sam squirms under his grip, twisting around so that he can get a glimpse of Dean's face, and his lips part just enough to let out one word, a rough whisper, raw with tears--"again."

All the blood in Dean's body rushes out of his brain and into his cock in the space of one single heartbeat. He leans heavier onto Sam's back to keep from falling over, because he's not sure if he wants to never hear that sound again, or if he wants to make sure he never stops hearing it. "Fuck," he whispers, bracing himself against the table with his free hand. "Sammy, you kinky little shit, are you getting off on this?"

Sam's apparently so far gone that not even a scrap of inhibition remains, eyes wide and dark as he cranes his head to get a better view of Dean, lips wet and swollen from biting. "Please," Sam whispers, voice breaking.

Dean lets go of him in an instant, still reeling from the shock. He watches as Sam drags his arms forward, pushes himself up, sees the way Sam shudders, face flushed nearly purple with blood. Watches Sam pull himself together enough to take a step, then another, heading for the bathroom.

He doesn't get three steps before Dean's got him up against the wall, pinning Sam's wrists with both hands.

"Promise you won't ever leave me worrying like that again," Dean snarls, and he can feel his pulse in his neck beating so hard he thinks his head might explode.

"If I do, will you touch me?" Sammy murmurs, trying to bargain.

Dean pulls him forward and slams him back again, making Sam wince. "You fucking promise me that you won't ever make me worry like that again," Dean orders, leaving no room for negotiation.

"I promise," Sam whispers, not even taking the time to think about it, and Dean drops his hands, kissing him so hard he thinks he might get brain damage from the lack of air. He's never once thought about this, never once realized he might want this until Sam breaks the kiss, says his name in a voice so thick with lust he thinks he's going to come all over his boxers.

"Dean," Sam says, and the look in his eyes says that he's thought about this, he figured it out long ago, he's just been waiting for Dean to catch up, because the next words out of his mouth are "can I suck your cock" and Dean has to bite down on his own arm and think about corpses to keep from coming right that second.

Dean's grip is loose, so Sam doesn't bother waiting for a response, just drops to his knees and goes for his brother's zipper. "Holy fuck, shit, Sammy," Dean hisses, bracing himself against the wall.

Sammy clearly has no fucking clue what he's doing, and Dean doesn't know whether he should talk him through it like he does with girls, tell him what to do and how to use his tongue, or if he should shove him off right now and forget that any of this ever happened. He wants so bad to push his brother away, but then Sam tries taking him deep, cheeks hollowing as he sucks, and Dean loses it, just barely croaking out a warning before he comes. Shaking so hard he's not sure how he's still upright, Dean can't look away as Sam licks his lips, throat tensing as he swallows. His knees hit the floor exactly two seconds later, head pressed against the wall as he shakes, wrought with waves of guilt and sick desire.

"Dean," Sam whispers, and Dean forces himself to turn, one eye wrenching open to look at his brother. Sam shudders, then he grabs Dean, pulling him close, still young enough to need to cling to Dean when he's upset.

"I promise," Sam swears, says it again and again until Dean believes him, trusts him bone-deep that Sammy knows how much Dean needs him.

"I've gotta take care of you, too," Sam says, and it's the last thing Dean hears as he passes out into his brother's arms, dead to the world with exhaustion and worry.
  • "If I do, will you touch me?" Sammy murmurs, trying to bargain.

    That is so fucking hot. Holy jesus shit YES.

    "Holy fuck, shit, Sammy," Dean hisses, bracing himself against the wall.


    NNNNGGHH. THAT IMAGE. THE HAND BRACED ON THE WALL, AND SAM JUST DROPPED INFRONT OF HIM. THAT IS SO FUCKING HOT. WHEN ANY GUY HAS SOME GIRL OR GUY PINNED TO THE WALL AND HE/SHE JUST DROPS TO HER KNEES AND HE HAS TO LEAN ON THE WALL TO KEEP UP I FUCK. I JUST. I HAVE AN ORGASM I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD.

    God you are so sexy. YES YOU. YOU AND YOUR BRAIN AND YOUR HAIR AND YOUR BRAIN AND YOUR IDEAS AND YOUR EVERYTHING AND YOUR HERMY GOD THAT I CANNOT REMEMBER THE NAME OF. I AM PIMPING THIS AS SOON AS I GET TO MY OWN JOURNAL HOMEPAGE.ALKSJDLJ

    AMAZING.

    SO GOOD. Just. Man - you hit like, five kinks. LOL You're fucking incredible and your attention to the emotions not the pleasure is just. It's such a great mix with the physical actions of spanking and just. YES. I love this so hard.

    Also, no one has ever written anything FOR me before. *BLUSH* It's like. REALLY NICE OF YOUOMG. THANKYOUTHANKYOU.
    • I love that MY HAIR got a special mention there. (And it's Agdistis. AGDISTIS. THERE WILL BE A TEST.)
  • (no subject) - ianthe_aveira
Powered by LiveJournal.com