Bunker Games (NSFW)
May. 15th, 2016 01:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
were_lemurSupernatural, Sam/Dean, for the SPN Kink Bingo Square "Role Play". Rape roleplay, explicit consent, bottom!Sam. Sam wants to try new things.
The best thing about sex with Dean is that he's so agreeable. He's just happy to be getting naked and sweaty with someone; he'll happily do pretty much whatever his partner wants. But sometimes, Sam doesn't want Dean to be agreeable.
Sam has been hinting ever since they moved into the Bunker that he'd like to start trying new things, like oh maybe Dean could throw him down on the bed and ravish him, but so far Dean's reaction to things like bondage porn has been a mildly interested "huh" and more enthusiastic fun-loving orgasms.
(Not that Sam is complaining about the orgasms.)
Sam decides: he's going to have to be direct. Like writing-it-on-a-post-it-note-and-leaving-it-where-Dean-can't-miss-it direct.
"Take me by force," he writes And then, because while he trusts Dean would never hurt him, he knows that Dean will hold back if he thinks there's even the slightest possibility of accidentally pushing Sam too far; "Safeword is Poughkeepsie."
He leaves the post-it note on the bathroom mirror and goes to prepare. He slicks his fingers and stretches himself out, then returns to the reading room, aching and hopeful. He bends over the shelf, trying to present as obvious a target as possible.
Dean walks in and pauses at the door. He looks nervous, so Sam gives him an encouraging smile. Dean straightnes his shoulders, settles his face into a menacing glare, and strides across the room. He grabs a handful of Sam's hair and jerks him around, then shoves him back into the wall. Keeping Sam's head pinned, he kisses him hard, grinding his whole body against Sam. His mouth is bruising, his tongue thrusts between Sam's teeth and takes possession of Sam's mouth and it's perfect.
Dean pulls back and starts kissing Sam's neck, and Sam gasps out, "Dean, what the hell are you doing!"
Dean stops dead, his eyes gone wide with horror. "Sammy, oh god, I, there was this note -- "
"Dean." He meets his brother's eyes, speaks softly, as if to a freaked-out witness. "Have I actually named any destinations?"
"No ... " Sam sees the meaning of the question sink in, and for a moment Dean just sags in relief. But then he slips back into character, his fist tightening in Sam's hair, his body pressing against Sam again, griding his hips against Sam's. Sam is already completely hard, and he can feel that Dean is getting there, too.
He risks putting his hands against Dean's chest and pushing. Now that Dean has figured out the rules of the game, he's willing to play; he doesn't stop even when Sam starts shoving in earnest. He alternates between bruising kisses and biting Sam's neck, and his hips are in constant motion against Sam's. Sam is breathless and he's afraid that if Dean keeps this up he's going to come before Dean can even fuck him, but finally, mercifully, Dean pulls back. He twists Sam around and slams him carefully face-first into the wall. Then he's back again, his cock rubbing at the crack of Sam's ass. He keeps his hand in Sam's hair and just grinds for a couple of long, frustrating minutes; pressed with just a few layers of cotton between his cock and the cold brick wall backs Sam off the edge.
Dean steps away again, and pulls Sam's hands to the small of his back. He's expecting handcuffs, but instead Dean folds his hands so that his hands are going opposite each other, and binds his wrists together with a folded bandana. It's loose enough that if he had to he could wriggle free fairly quickly, and Sam supposes that the habits of a lifetime of being under threat are going to take a while to change.
Then Dean grabs him by the hair again, and drags him out of the reading room. They end up in Dean's room, and Dean has prepared by draping a towel across the edge of the bed, and setting another one folded on the floor for Sam to kneel on. He throws Sam face-down, on his knees, bent over the side of the bed. Reaches around and undoes Sam's belt and the fly of his jeans, then yanks everything down around his thighs. Slides one hand down the cleft of his ass and brushes his fingers across the slicked, stretched hole. His voice is rough: "oh, god, Sammy ... "
"Dean -- please -- "
Dean's hands are gone, for just a moment; Sam hopes he's undoing his jeans because if he doesn't get fucked soon he is going to go completely out of his mind. Then there's another brush of sensation at the rim of his asshole, and then Dean drives into him in one, smooth stroke, and it's just this side of pain and just this side of Heaven and Sam hears himself whimpering.
Dean doesn't drop character, but he does hold still for a moment. Give him a chance to adjust, to call "Poughkeepsie" if he needs to.
Using the safe word is the farthest thing from Sam's mind. He starts to struggle, though, which just happens to grind him back against Dean. Dean grabs a handful of his hair again, uses it to pin him down while he starts to thrust. Sam can't thrust back, he can't take more, he has to take what Dean gives him. Three deep thrusts that drag over his prostate, then a change in angle to transform the stimulation into an agonizing tease. Sam clenches his hands helplessly, unable to pull Dean into him more deeply or touch himself. He grinds his hips, rutting against the bed, but Dean slaps his ass once, sharply, and then pulls back so that his dick is in open air.
"Bastard!" Sam gasps.
Dean's only response is a low chuckle, and a hard, deep thrust that forces a grunt from Sam. Sam spreads his legs in an attempt to get Dean's thrusts to hit there again; he's come just from being fucked before, not often, but right now it feels like that's his only hope.
The thought skitters through his head; maybe he call call Poughkeepsie and get Dean to let him loose and jerk himself off, but he's afraid if he does that Dean will be too worried to do this again. Dean shifts the angle again, and all he can do is curse and beg and then even those words start to dissolve into helpless moans, and then Dean shifts again, but this time it's to the perfect angle and Dean's fingers close around his cock, he holds his hand still and thrusts to fuck Sam into his fist, and Sam's vision whites out as he comes.
For a long moment, he just floats there, blissed out, but gradually he starts coming back to himself. Dean is draped, boneless, over him, pressing him down against the bed. He has to admit, the memory foam mattress Dean has been raving about makes it more comfortable that it would have been in a motel room.
Dean's cock is still inside him, but softening. When Dean shifts long enough to untie Sam's hands, it slips out entirely. Dean flops back onto Sam, and presses lazy kisses against his neck and shoulders. "So," he says, sounding as sleepily content as Sam feels, "got anything else you wanna try?"
The best thing about sex with Dean is that he's so agreeable. He's just happy to be getting naked and sweaty with someone; he'll happily do pretty much whatever his partner wants. But sometimes, Sam doesn't want Dean to be agreeable.
Sam has been hinting ever since they moved into the Bunker that he'd like to start trying new things, like oh maybe Dean could throw him down on the bed and ravish him, but so far Dean's reaction to things like bondage porn has been a mildly interested "huh" and more enthusiastic fun-loving orgasms.
(Not that Sam is complaining about the orgasms.)
Sam decides: he's going to have to be direct. Like writing-it-on-a-post-it-note-and-leaving-it-where-Dean-can't-miss-it direct.
"Take me by force," he writes And then, because while he trusts Dean would never hurt him, he knows that Dean will hold back if he thinks there's even the slightest possibility of accidentally pushing Sam too far; "Safeword is Poughkeepsie."
He leaves the post-it note on the bathroom mirror and goes to prepare. He slicks his fingers and stretches himself out, then returns to the reading room, aching and hopeful. He bends over the shelf, trying to present as obvious a target as possible.
Dean walks in and pauses at the door. He looks nervous, so Sam gives him an encouraging smile. Dean straightnes his shoulders, settles his face into a menacing glare, and strides across the room. He grabs a handful of Sam's hair and jerks him around, then shoves him back into the wall. Keeping Sam's head pinned, he kisses him hard, grinding his whole body against Sam. His mouth is bruising, his tongue thrusts between Sam's teeth and takes possession of Sam's mouth and it's perfect.
Dean pulls back and starts kissing Sam's neck, and Sam gasps out, "Dean, what the hell are you doing!"
Dean stops dead, his eyes gone wide with horror. "Sammy, oh god, I, there was this note -- "
"Dean." He meets his brother's eyes, speaks softly, as if to a freaked-out witness. "Have I actually named any destinations?"
"No ... " Sam sees the meaning of the question sink in, and for a moment Dean just sags in relief. But then he slips back into character, his fist tightening in Sam's hair, his body pressing against Sam again, griding his hips against Sam's. Sam is already completely hard, and he can feel that Dean is getting there, too.
He risks putting his hands against Dean's chest and pushing. Now that Dean has figured out the rules of the game, he's willing to play; he doesn't stop even when Sam starts shoving in earnest. He alternates between bruising kisses and biting Sam's neck, and his hips are in constant motion against Sam's. Sam is breathless and he's afraid that if Dean keeps this up he's going to come before Dean can even fuck him, but finally, mercifully, Dean pulls back. He twists Sam around and slams him carefully face-first into the wall. Then he's back again, his cock rubbing at the crack of Sam's ass. He keeps his hand in Sam's hair and just grinds for a couple of long, frustrating minutes; pressed with just a few layers of cotton between his cock and the cold brick wall backs Sam off the edge.
Dean steps away again, and pulls Sam's hands to the small of his back. He's expecting handcuffs, but instead Dean folds his hands so that his hands are going opposite each other, and binds his wrists together with a folded bandana. It's loose enough that if he had to he could wriggle free fairly quickly, and Sam supposes that the habits of a lifetime of being under threat are going to take a while to change.
Then Dean grabs him by the hair again, and drags him out of the reading room. They end up in Dean's room, and Dean has prepared by draping a towel across the edge of the bed, and setting another one folded on the floor for Sam to kneel on. He throws Sam face-down, on his knees, bent over the side of the bed. Reaches around and undoes Sam's belt and the fly of his jeans, then yanks everything down around his thighs. Slides one hand down the cleft of his ass and brushes his fingers across the slicked, stretched hole. His voice is rough: "oh, god, Sammy ... "
"Dean -- please -- "
Dean's hands are gone, for just a moment; Sam hopes he's undoing his jeans because if he doesn't get fucked soon he is going to go completely out of his mind. Then there's another brush of sensation at the rim of his asshole, and then Dean drives into him in one, smooth stroke, and it's just this side of pain and just this side of Heaven and Sam hears himself whimpering.
Dean doesn't drop character, but he does hold still for a moment. Give him a chance to adjust, to call "Poughkeepsie" if he needs to.
Using the safe word is the farthest thing from Sam's mind. He starts to struggle, though, which just happens to grind him back against Dean. Dean grabs a handful of his hair again, uses it to pin him down while he starts to thrust. Sam can't thrust back, he can't take more, he has to take what Dean gives him. Three deep thrusts that drag over his prostate, then a change in angle to transform the stimulation into an agonizing tease. Sam clenches his hands helplessly, unable to pull Dean into him more deeply or touch himself. He grinds his hips, rutting against the bed, but Dean slaps his ass once, sharply, and then pulls back so that his dick is in open air.
"Bastard!" Sam gasps.
Dean's only response is a low chuckle, and a hard, deep thrust that forces a grunt from Sam. Sam spreads his legs in an attempt to get Dean's thrusts to hit there again; he's come just from being fucked before, not often, but right now it feels like that's his only hope.
The thought skitters through his head; maybe he call call Poughkeepsie and get Dean to let him loose and jerk himself off, but he's afraid if he does that Dean will be too worried to do this again. Dean shifts the angle again, and all he can do is curse and beg and then even those words start to dissolve into helpless moans, and then Dean shifts again, but this time it's to the perfect angle and Dean's fingers close around his cock, he holds his hand still and thrusts to fuck Sam into his fist, and Sam's vision whites out as he comes.
For a long moment, he just floats there, blissed out, but gradually he starts coming back to himself. Dean is draped, boneless, over him, pressing him down against the bed. He has to admit, the memory foam mattress Dean has been raving about makes it more comfortable that it would have been in a motel room.
Dean's cock is still inside him, but softening. When Dean shifts long enough to untie Sam's hands, it slips out entirely. Dean flops back onto Sam, and presses lazy kisses against his neck and shoulders. "So," he says, sounding as sleepily content as Sam feels, "got anything else you wanna try?"
