Chapter Text
Dean tapped the steering wheel as he drove. The two-lane highway was nearly deserted, and the drive didn’t take much of his attention. His eyes kept straying to the innocuous-looking box on the seat next to him. Dean was on his way back to the bunker after a supply run to an eccentric “maker” whose sole source of income was fashioning unique items for Hunters, most commonly weapons and ammunition. The man, who whimsically went by Hephaestus, made other things, too. And he didn’t ask questions, being perfectly happy to make a living doing what he loved and having no interest in learning about the supernatural beyond wards that would help keep him safe from said threats.
He hadn’t batted an eyelash at Dean’s request. Instead, he’d instantly been interested in the design Dean had laid out and offered options to make it even better. Well, now it – they – were complete and sitting innocently next to Dean.
Dean licked his lips. He wasn’t sure if the items were more of a gift for Sam or for himself. He would make sure that Sam enjoyed them, however. After all, Sam had more than earned that. Dean shifted in his seat and let his mind drift back to the birthday gift that Sam had given him.
* * *
Dean’s birthday was off to a good start. He’d woken to the smell of bacon and discovered that Sam had also made up an omelet (with yolks) that was heavy with sausage, mushrooms, and real cheese, not the nasty stuff he usually made them eat. There was fresh coffee, and Sam insisted that Dean go off and shower and let him do all of the clean-up. He didn’t see Sam immediately after that, but that wasn’t unusual. Dean wandered to the Dean cave and watched a little Scooby-Doo as part of his plan not to do a single thing he didn’t enjoy on his day. (For the record, Sam had encouraged this plan.)
About halfway through the second episode, Dean’s phone buzzed. 'Need you in the garage' was all it said. Mentally shrugging about his weird brother, Dean sent back 'K' and headed that direction. He opened his mouth as he walked into the garage and immediately forgot what he was about to say. Actually, it was possible that he forgot what words were, because his endearingly shy don’t-look-at-me brother was standing next to the Impala gloriously naked.
“You said you wanted to, uh, bend me over the car,” Sam spit out, stumbling over the words and blushing all the way down to his nipples. Dean’s mouth moved but nothing actually came out. He vaguely noticed that Sam had something in his hands. “Er, you’ve also said, er, you find pictures sexy. And I don’t want any on your phone or the cloud or anything, but you could take a few on here if you want. If I never have to see them again, you know? For your birthday. And, uh…” Sam seemed to run out of steam.
Even though it physically hurt to look away from Sam’s body, Dean looked at the old camera Sam was holding. They’d discovered it quite early in their exploration of the bunker. It worked as fast as a Polaroid, but the pictures it produced were as sharp as any digital camera Dean had ever seen, though black and white. They’d performed a million tests on the thing and discovered that it really was just a camera, no curse or anything.
All of Dean’s blood had headed south, so it was pretty miraculous that he managed to say anything at all. It came out rather strangled. “Holy shit, Sammy.”
Then, finally, Sam had smiled, still looking horribly embarrassed, but also relieved. When he walked over to hand Dean the camera, Dean pulled him in by the nape for a long kiss. He didn’t dare touch Sam anywhere else, or he’d never get his pictures, and he had a feeling that the offer wouldn’t be extended again.
When Dean pulled back, he was pleased to see that Sam’s body had reacted as quickly as it always did to his touch. That would make the pictures a million times better.
First, Dean had Sam simply stand with his arms crossed and a hip leaning on the passenger door – his door. Sam looked horny and impatient and so damn hot that if Dean didn’t hurry things up, they were going to skip right to the fucking part.
Next, he had Sam sit on the trunk with one foot on the floor and the other heel propped on the bumper, knee tilted out. “Now lean back on one elbow,” Dean directed, almost drooling at the words. It was a shame that Sam’s deep blush wouldn’t show up on camera. His lust-blown eyes would, however. But in such exposed position, Sam’s erection was flagging a little from embarrassment. Luckily, Dean had the cure. “Don’t move,” he whispered, leaning in for another of those brain-melting kisses.
If not for the hard sides of the camera digging into his hand, Dean might have lost himself in that kiss. He forced himself to step back and looked over Sam. His posture was more languid now, and his lips were wet and slightly swollen. And his dick was back at full attention. Perfect. “Don’t move,” Dean ordered. The picture was...well, damn.
Dean couldn’t last much more, but he needed one more pic. He directed Sam to the front of the car and had him bend over with his hands on the hood, legs spread wide, and ass high in the air, just like he’d imagined so many times. He caught a glimpse of wetness between the perfect cheeks and palmed one. “Did you...prep yourself?” he asked hoarsely.
Sam squirmed but didn’t break pose. “Yeah.” Almost defensive. “’S your birthday.”
Dean found himself almost petting the skin under his hand. “Good boy.” Sam shivered at the words. For all he denied it, he had a thing for Dean’s praise, especially those two words. Especially in that tone that showed up when Dean was turned on enough that higher reasoning was beyond him.
Dean hesitated. This was so far outside of Sam’s comfort zone, and he’d done it all for Dean. Could he ask him for more? Dean cleared his throat and hoped Sam would deny him if he really didn’t want this. But it couldn’t hurt to ask, could it? “Uh, Sam? Think I could put a couple handprints here? Dark enough for the camera to see?” He’d never removed his hand.
Sam’s swallow was audible. “Uh, yeah, Dean. I mean, whatever you want today.”
Dean didn’t wait for anything more. He quickly laid half a dozen smacks to each cheek, not missing the fact that Sam’s gasps weren’t entirely from the pain. Another thing to remember. Then he couldn’t resist teasing that tempting hole with a single finger, so nicely framed by the warm, red skin. That already wet, stretched hole.
Fucking hell.
“Dean,” Sam groaned. “C’mon.”
“One picture,” Dean insisted, stepping back in an act of sheer will. His lips were freaking tingling from arousal. It took him a few fumbling tries to get the camera situated perfectly. The delay prompted Sam to look over his shoulder with barely-concealed impatience, and that was how Dean took the picture.
Later, Dean would have no idea how he’d retained enough brain cells to set the camera down carefully, get his jeans open, and even dump some lube over his rock-hard cock before burying himself balls-deep in Sam. He’d done a good job prepping, but Dean was big and it was tight but neither of them cared. Dean stretched over Sam, chest blanketing his back and hands pinning Sam’s to the car. Dean’s pace was hard and fast, and that’s how they both came.
It was officially Dean’s favorite birthday ever. He didn’t even complain the next day as he buffed out hand and other prints from Baby’s finish and carefully cleaned come out of her grill.
* * *
Dammit. Now he was hard, and he had a good hour yet to drive.
When Dean was finally back, he called Sam to help unload his purchases but made sure that that only he touched that one special package. He was on edge while they put everything away and discussed the items. Finally, Sam folded his arms (damn, Dean loved those arms) and propped a hip against a bookshelf. “Okay, Dean, out with it. What happened that has you so,” he waved a hand, “antsy or excited or whatever you are? You’re acting like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
Figured Sam had caught it. Dean was both excited and nervous. He retrieved the last box and set it on the nearest table. “I got something for you. Well, for us.” He traced a finger over the seam of the box. “I think this could be damn hot, if it doesn’t skeeve you out or anything.” Sam looked intrigued rather than worried, so Dean kept talking. “My, uh, birthday present gave me the idea.”
Sam blushed, which never failed to both charm and amuse Dean. What hadn’t they shared at this point? Yet Sam sometimes was adorably flustered. He mumbled something about the car, but Dean shook his head.
“Yeah, I mean I always wanted to fuck you on Baby, but that wasn’t what really made it jack off material since. It...you...just open the box.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, and he sounded seriously intrigued. That had to be a good sign.
He took the box and flipped the top open. Inside were a small remote with three unmarked buttons and two shiny, silver circlets that almost could have been wide bracelets except that they were much thicker than any bracelet would ever be. The edges were carefully curved and smooth so they wouldn’t cut into the skin.
Sam picked one up, and Dean’s heart picked up its pace in an almost Pavlovian response. He bit the inside of his cheek to force himself to wait and let Sam figure out what he was looking at on his own. Sam set both of the circlets on the table and sat down. Wearing his focused, curious expression, he picked up the remote. He looked at Dean, who just lifted his eyebrows and stayed silent. So Sam pushed the first button. The bracelets – manacles – split open wider revealing slim wires inside. Sam inspected them closely and Dean couldn’t help but shift his weight back and forth. Sam pushed the second button and the cuffs slid closed. He had his head tilted too much for Dean to make out his expression and it was about killing him.
Finally, Sam tried the third button. With a clang, the two cuffs slid together. Sam laid one wrist on the table and measured its size against the circles. “Magnetic handcuffs?” he said, not really a question. He was clearly going for neutral, but his voice had gone husky, and when looked at Dean, his pupils were wide.
“You can break them apart, if you work at it,” Dean promised, hearing how his own voice had gone lower just from thinking about Sam naked and cuffed. “And the whole thing will break open if you smack it real good on something hard.”
“So, I, er, could be bound, but there’s always an escape route,” Sam deduced, speaking carefully, the way he did when he wanted to be absolutely sure they were on the same page. His breathing had picked up, and Dean couldn’t help but notice not-so-little Sammy had taken notice, too. That was pretty much the best reaction he could have hoped for.
“Just in case it doesn’t...feel the way you expect it to,” Dean confirmed.
Sam fell silent, toying with the remote, and Dean started to get worried. Was it...too much? Too soon? After their experiment with edging, then later, Sam making his birthday dreams come true, he’d thought that this was what Sam wanted too.
“I promise not to be a dick about it if you say no, cuz I don’t want you to do something you hate or anything.”
“Dean.” Sam’s eyes were finally on Dean’s. They were soft and mushy in a way Dean hadn’t expected from a sexy gift. “This...this is amazing. Wow.” He set the bracelets down with almost reverence and put both of his big hands on Dean’s face to kiss him slow and deep and sweet. “I can’t wait to try them. Finally, you find a good use for that creative brain,” Sam said when they were both breathless.
He pulled back with clear reluctance. “Unfortunately, we have a case.” His voice was dripping with regret. “I’ll keep these in my room, if that’s okay?”
“Um.” Dean was working to coax blood back into his upstairs brain. He sighed. “Yeah. Case.”
The case took them to the tiny town of Falls City, Oregon and kept them busy for a couple of days. On day four after their arrival, they were getting ready to bed down in their tent for the night when the monster of the week, a sianach (which was essentially a very big, pissed off version of Bambi with glowing eyes and a hatred of all things human) had charged. They’d been in the middle of changing their clothes for the night and Dean didn’t even see it coming. Suddenly, a shirtless Sam dashed in front of Dean, grabbed the thing by its antlers and wrestled it to the ground like some freaking Apollo. Dean just barely kept from drooling long enough to shoot the deer in the head, then Sam slashed its throat. With all his muscles rippling, he was like the hottest possible version of Rambo.
The deer was still burning when Dean pushed Sam against a tree. They rutted against each other like a pair of animals themselves. They didn’t want sex sex out in the woods, but Sam wrapped his hand around both of their dicks and Dean fit his own hand into the spaces between Sam’s fingers and they came together in an almost embarrassingly short amount of time. After the most perfunctory attempts at cleaning up (since they were dressed again and their shirts were really a lost cause), Dean tugged Sam down onto his sleeping bag. He only reluctantly admitted his own growing addiction to cuddling, especially of the post-coital variety, but that didn’t mean he didn’t indulge it. Besides, Sam seemed to love it at least as much as Dean did.
In that quiet dark, coming down from the adrenaline of a hunt gone right (for once!) and a great orgasm, Dean’s guard was down. Sam was wrapped all around him and Dean turned his head to whisper into Sam’s ear. “That’s what it’s about,” he said, his lips touching Sam’s ear as he formed the words. “The idea of the handcuffs. You’re so...big, this bad-ass Hunter who can wrestle a freaking sianach. You’re so damn smart and pretty much good at everything and you don’t need help, like ever. And so fucking independent – I mean since you were a bratty teenager. So the thought of you choosing to give control to me, to lay out however I want to look at all those damn fine muscles and while you have to just wait for whatever I give to you...well, it’s fucking hot.” Dean finished a little lamely, perilously close to giving away too much. Or maybe well past that line already. Because just like Sam’s body was safe with Dean, Dean’s emotions were safe with Sam.
Dean turned his face forward and wasn’t surprised when Sam tilted his head so his lips were now at Dean’s ear. Some things could only be said when they were whispered in the dark.
Sam didn’t speak immediately, just breathed there for a moment. Dean knew he was gathering his thoughts and organizing them. It was so very Sammy that it made him smile.
“I, uh, I love our lives. But sometimes it still feels heavy,” Sam began. It wasn’t anything like what Dean had expected him to say, but he reminded himself to be patient. “The idea of just letting it all go, giving up all control and just feeling...that’s what it’s about for me. And it’s probably really twisted, but it sort of feels right because of the way you always took care of me.” Sam’s voice was so quiet that Dean couldn’t read the emotions in it. It didn’t sound like shame.
Fuck, Dean hoped it wasn’t shame.
Sam breathed quietly for another moment. When Dean stayed silent, he started again, just as softly. “Um, it feels like you see me as an equal now, and it’s...you aren’t taking care of me because you have to but because you want to. Well…” Sam gave a little chuckle that was more air than sound. “And being the 100% focus of Dean Winchester who wants more than anything to get me off? That is fucking hot.”
Dean couldn’t help it. He turned and kissed Sam, soft and gentle with a hint of heat beneath it. He could feel the evidence of Sam’s arousal just from their words, and that was hot too, even though there was no way they’d act on it tonight. “I’m gonna take you apart,” he promised darkly when their mouths separated.
“Big words from the little spoon,” Sam teased back, too breathless to sound believable. Besides, his shiver had given him away. And the spoon comment was meaningless, as they swapped spoon position by the night and sometimes by the hour.
“Just you wait,” Dean chuckled.
Sam didn’t have anything more to say to that, but his physical reaction made Dean wish that weren’t quite so far away from the bunker and his bed and those handcuffs that were sounding like a better and better idea.
But Sam was a killjoy who made them get up and sleep separately since they were still out in the woods and needed to be more alert than they’d be if they slept intertwined. He was right, but Dean still hated it. At least that meant he was the only one who knew just how close he’d come to having a wet dream in his sleeping bag.