Obsidian

Oct. 19th, 2013 01:42 pm
grianchloch: (The Kiss by sweetgirl7808)
[personal profile] grianchloch
Title: Obsidian
Pairing/character: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2764
Warnings: Knifeplay, bloodplay, top Sam
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Beta: Un-beta'd
Notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] salt_burn_porn for the prompt "sucky birthday"

Summary: Dean's birthdays often suck. Sam makes sure that this one doesn't.



Dean always likes visiting Hanks ammo supply store. Hank is a legit weapons dealer, who has a soft spot for hunters, and has the contacts to get whatever is needed. There’s not many people, hunters or otherwise, that Hank would let roam the heavily secured warehouse that his store fronts, but he’s known Dean since he was a kid, tagging along behind John and holding on tightly to baby Sammy’s hand, so Dean always gets a pass.

Dean leaves Sam to go through their order with Hank, and wanders through the hidden vault Hank keeps for hunters.

“He’s like a kid in a candy store,” Hank comments as Sam checks his list one more time before handing it over to Hank.

Sam leans over the counter as Hank continues to smile fondly at something next to the cash register, and Sam sees that it’s a CCTV monitor. Dean wanders from screen to screen, stopping now and then to admire something on a shelf, or to pick something up and turn it over in his hands.

“Hey, Hank, do you think I could take a look at that? His birthday’s coming up and you know how he’s a sucker for weaponry.”

“Sure.” Hank turns the screen around and shows Sam how to zoom in and out. He takes the list from Sam and leaves Sam to it.

As Sam watches, Dean admires a sniper rifle, eyeing up the latest laser sights, and pursing up his mouth. Sam grins, reckoning Dean just let out a low whistle of appreciation. He wanders off, and arrives on another screen, the one focusing on a rocket launcher displayed in the middle of the room.

Sam knows that it’s not just guns that Hank keeps away from his regular patrons and the authorities, and Dean’s next stop is in an aisle dedicated to every type of blade imaginable. Every metal is represented, and every culture that ever made a sword, dagger or dirk. There’s a decent selection made out of various rocks and minerals too and although Sam knows that most are ceremonial, the one that Dean picks up is also deadly. It’s a black obsidian atheme, the edges worked to be sharp and deadly, if the way they are glinting in the light is anything to go by.

Knives aren’t Dean’s weapon of choice, so when he admires it for longer than the others, Sam has a good idea what’s going through his head. Sam makes a note of the aisle, and zooms in to get the shelf number.

Dean’s next stop is a surprising one. He’s never been one for wearing holsters, but he lingers for a long time by the shelves with the thigh and shoulder holsters, pulling on them as if he’s testing their strength. He holds up one shoulder holster, puts it back, then picks up another that’s obviously designed for someone with a broader back.

Well shit, Sam thinks, and makes a note of the shelf number. This is a new kink that Dean’s never mentioned. Sam’s eyebrows raise as Dean next picks up a thigh holster, and seems to be eying it up for size, if the glances between it and his thigh are anything to go by.

“Okay Sam, everything’s here.”

Hank’s voice pulls him away from the CCTV screen, and he gives Hank his extra order, arranging for it to be sent to his post office box in the next town over from the Batcave.


When Dean’s birthday rolls around, they are in the middle of a hunt. They don’t get back to the bunker until late afternoon, and Dean heads straight to the shower, muttering under his breath. Sam’s sure he hears “another sucky birthday”, and can’t help smiling to himself. He did wish Dean a happy birthday earlier, but it’s not like they had the time to stop for celebratory pie. Now Sam can give him the birthday he deserves.

He lays out the holsters and the atheme in it’s sturdy leather sheath on their bed, and goes to grab a shower too. When he’s done, he pulls on a clean pair of boxer briefs, and one of Dean’s shirts. He leaves it open, and wanders back to their room. He finds Dean with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking over the things Sam had laid on the bed.

Sam watches as Dean’s fingers run down the leather sheath of the knife, then move across to the straps of the thigh and shoulder holsters. Sam pads barefoot across the room until he’s close enough that Dean shivers at the breath on his neck. His arms snake around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer. He nuzzles his brother’s ear, drinking in his clean scent.

“Happy birthday.”

Dean reaches back and digs his fingers into Sam’s hair. He’s got the shoulder holster in his other hand.

“How did you know?”

“CCTV’s a wonderful thing,” Sam smirks.

“You were spying on me,” Dean mock-accuses.

“I like to think of myself as a voyeur.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean shivers and grips the straps harder. “Back at Hanks, I was thinking how good this would look on you.”

Sam doesn’t have to see Dean’s face to know he’s blushing.

“Put it on me.” More than a suggestion, not quite an order, but Dean’s happy to take it as one.

He picks up the shoulder holster and turns around to face Sam. He smiles, his tongue peeking out to moisten his lips and he pushes the shirt from Sam’s shoulders, following it down his arms with his hands, tracing the contours of Sam’s biceps before he lets the worn cotton fall to the floor. Dean pulls on the straps in his hands, as he’d done back at Hanks.

He takes a hold of Sam’s left hand, guiding it through one side of the holster. He slips it up Sam’s arm as he walks around him, standing behind him as he takes Sam’s right hand, slips it through the other half of the holster and pulls both sides up onto his shoulders. Dean fusses with the buckles, getting them just right, making Sam grin and flex his arms to make sure his movements aren’t restricted. The straps emphasize the cut and swell of Sam’s muscles, making his shoulders look even bigger than they are. Dean runs his fingers down the edges of the straps, doing another circuit and admiring the view from the back.

Sam flexes, and Dean can’t resist placing a kiss between his shoulder blades as he reaches down to cup Sam’s cotton clad ass. Sam purrs appreciatively and reaches back, hand finding Dean’s hip and pulling him closer. He turns his head and finds Dean’s mouth, kissing him sloppily and grinning when Dean’s fingers begin exploring below the waistband.

“Your turn,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s mouth.

Dean nips at Sam’s lip, then he’s throwing himself on the bed, pulling off his Metallica shirt and reaching for his own boxers with no finesse. He wants to be naked, wants Sam’s hands on him sooner rather than later, but Sam stops him.

“Let me.”

“Control freak,” Dean mutters, but he takes his hands away and props himself up on his elbows, watching as Sam casually walks towards the bed.

Usually, Sam would be all for manhandling Dean, pushing him further onto the bed and fucking him senseless, hard and fast. But Dean was the one who bought the holsters, and the knife, so even though he’s protesting, he wants more, and Sam knows just how to give it to him.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s briefs, and eases them down, grinning when Dean’s dick springs free, and licking up the length of it. Dean curses up a storm, hands digging into Sam’s hair, but Sam pushes him up the bed, until he’s lying against the pillows. He takes hold of Dean’s hands and wraps his fingers around the slats of the headboard.

“Don’t let go.”

Dean nods, and watches as Sam finishes pulling off his boxers and picks up the thigh holster. He fastens the first strap around Dean’s waist, testing the fit, then moving lower. He slips the straps under Dean’s thigh, which earns him a moan. He smoothes the straps around Dean’s leg, then fastens each buckle with care, leaving them firm against Dean’s skin. When he ducks his head down to lick at the edges where strap meets skin, he can feel Dean’s whole body tremble with lust.

“Lie still.”

This time, it is an order. They’ve played like this before, and it’s one of the few times Dean relinquishes full control to Sam. When Sam’s about to put a knife to his skin.

Sam pulls the obsidian blade from it’s sheath as he walks back to the bed, whistling at the way the edge has been honed. It glints when he turns it, reflecting the light from the lamp on the nightstand and his eyes widen in awe. It’s the first time he’s had a chance to see it up close and It’s a beautiful thing, beautiful and deadly, just as Dean is.

When he looks at his brother, Dean’s gaze lingers on the blade. There’s a hunger in Dean’s eyes that Sam understands. Sam adjusts his grip on the hilt, getting a feel for the weight of it. Dean’s almost panting in anticipation and Sam strokes his ankle with his free hand.

“Easy,” Sam soothes. “I’m gonna give you what you need.”

Dean nods, and his breathing evens out. His hands are still clenched around the slats on the headboard, knuckles white.

Sam splays his fingers over the straps of the thigh holster, and pushes Dean’s leg out and up. Dean’s cock twitches, already leaking again, straining tight and hard against Dean’s belly.

“Lie still.”

It’s a command, and Dean takes it, swallowing as Sam lowers the knife to the tender, exposed skin of his inner thigh. The stone is cold, but Dean doesn’t shiver at the touch. Sam scrapes it over skin and Dean’s eyelids flutter, but don’t close. He needs to watch, needs to see every second.

With a featherlight touch, Sam draws the edge of the blade across Dean’s skin. Dean stops breathing at the sting that leaves a fine red line behind it, fine and perfect, the pain and pleasure mingling and making his body sing. Sam lifts the knife away and looks up at Dean.

“Okay.”

Dean lets out the breath he’s been holding. It leaves his chest like a punch and his stomach hollows as he tenses then releases, his back arching and now when he looks at Sam, it’s with eyes that are glazed.

Sam smiles and puts the knife down so he can run his hands down Dean’s sides, grounding him, pressing his thumbs against Dean’s hip bones as he lowers his mouth to the cut that’s barely a graze and presses his lips to it. Now Dean moans, a ragged and aching sound that hitches and dips when Sam runs his tongue down the cut he made, savoring the taste of lifeblood in his mouth.

“Again,” dean pleads.

Sam smiles, and nuzzles Dean’s balls. Sometimes, they both need it to be quick, but Sam likes to take his time, to take Dean further down with each cut, to make him wait, to plead, sometimes even beg for the knife.

“Please.”

Dean squirms, moving his hips, pushing into Sam’s touch. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see the atheme lying on the bed. The blade commands respect, and it found it’s way into Dean’s hands for a reason, so Sam wants to give it that respect, and make Dean work for it.

“Sammy … please, fuck, please …”

Sam’s fingertips ghost over the graze on Dean’s thigh, making him shudder and moan. Sam follows with his tongue, leaving the tender skin damp so when he blows over it, the area cools, making it ache, and Dean keens, the rest of his skin heating as he thrashes on the bed.

“Please …”

Sam pulls back and takes hold of the hilt of the knife again.

“Lie still.”

Two words, and Sam takes back control. This time it takes a moment for Dean to compose himself. Sam helps, putting his free hand on Dean’s chest, giving him something to ground himself with. Gradually, he calms, pulls back the control he’d let loose, and Sam knows he’s ready.

Sam scrapes the flat of the blade over his skin again as Dean watches. He turns the razor sharp edge so it rests on Dean’s skin, then lifts it up until the point is firm against Dean’s flesh. They both know enough about anatomy to know that if Sam as much as lost his grip on the knife, it’s weight would be enough to take it through the delicate layer of skin into the flesh beneath, slicing through capillaries towards more vital blood vessels.

Sam lets the point break the skin. Blood seeps around it as Dean stops breathing, holding the air in his lungs as if it might be the last breath he ever takes, watching the tiny pool of crimson well around the tip of the stone blade as if it’s an offering to whichever God it was made to serve.

Sam eases back, and draws the blade across Dean’s thigh, parallel to the first cut, staying between the straps wrapped around Dean’s leg. Dean whimpers but Sam knows he wants to yell, and squirm. Another heartbeat and Sam takes the knife from his brother’s skin and puts it down on the bed. With a word, he gives Dean permission to move.

“Okay.”

Dean’s body spasms, his thighs trembling as he opens them wider in a clear invitation, his hips thrusting up, and his neglected dick straining against his belly. Sam lunges forwards, big hands pressing Dean’s thigh down to the bed as his mouth latches onto the small wound. Without the command to lie still, Dean pushes into the touch of Sam’s lips on his skin, groaning as Sam’s tongue works over the marks he left behind, cleaning them and savoring the rich flavor of pure Dean.

“Fuck, Sam, ah fuck, Sammy, please …”

Dean’s wanton as he writhes on the bed, all splayed out and desperate, and Sam can’t resist. All thoughts of taking it slow are gone as Sam slicks up two fingers with lube and pushes them inside Dean, fucking him open as he sucks on the head of Dean’s cock.

“Yeah, god yeah Sam, c’mon …”

Sam stands up to pull his boxers off, then sits back, and grabs a hold of the strap around Dean’s waist with both hands. He pulls Dean further down the bed, making him yelp in surprise and let go of the headboard. Sam doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes are drawn to Sam’s shoulders, still defined by the straps of the holster. He puffs his chest out a little, displaying himself for Dean, as he presses Dean’s thighs wide apart, and lines up his dick. Sinking into Dean’s tight heat, Sam groans, long and low and bends his head to capture Dean’s mouth in a less than gentle kiss. Dean shifts below him, trying to wrap his legs around Sam’s body, but Sam presses them back to the bed, fingers tracing the edges of the straps against his skin and pressing against the cuts.

Dean bucks, his own hands grabbing onto Sam’s shoulders, as Sam rocks into him, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in again, over and over until Dean cries out, his untouched cock jerking as he comes, spurting over his stomach. Sam curses as Dean’s ass tightens, making it almost impossible to hold out any longer, He grabs Dean’s hips hard enough to bruise and fucks into him, hard and deep, but it’s the touch of Dean’s hand on his face that finishes him. He looks down into Dean’s sated eyes and his own flutter closed as with one more thrust his body shudders and he fills Dean with his come.

After, they lie side by side, and Sam’s fingers slide through the mess on Dean’s belly.

“This birthday didn’t suck,” Dean observes.

“That can be arranged,” Sam smirks.

When Dean’s cock gives a half hearted twitch, Sam’s fingers move lower, slipping easily into Dean’s ass. Neither of them are ready for round two yet, but Dean squirms, and pulls Sam towards him, kissing him soundly and fingering the straps still around Sam’s shoulders.

“Best present ever!”

That Sam can agree with.


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