darkhavens | Holy Roller 1/1, Sam/Dean of Supernatural

Author: darkhavens
Title: Holy Roller 1/1
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Words: 1008
Archive: Sam/Dean Slash Archive
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Wincest, waxplay, possible blasphemy
Summary: Dean performs a ritual on Sam
Notes: Written for challenge #3 - Ritual at

kaz2y5.

Holy Roller

Sam lies face down, prostrate and bound at wrist and ankle, as naked as the day he was born. He wonders just how Dean managed to talk him into this, and whether that last beer had tasted off. Had Dean drugged him?

He squirms, and the sensitive tip of his cock drags across rough motel sheets, sparking a chain of recent, beer-dulled memories.

Huh. Not drugged then, but blown away. Sucked into insensibility in the parking lot of Jimmy's Bar and Grill in East Muskogee. Rat bastard brother.

The door clicks shut a few feet from his toes and Sam realises that he's been lying naked, ass-up, on display to anyone who'd dare to slip inside the room while Dean was out. Okay, so the car was just ten feet away, and Sam knew Dean would never leave him helpless, not on purpose, not like that, but still…

"Hey!"

The slap on his left butt cheek is unexpected, stinging like a bitch for several seconds.

"You're thinking too loud, man, that's why I sucked you off. You're gonna ruin the mood if you keep that up."

Sam watches awkwardly out of the corner of one eye as Dean moves around the room, double-checking the windows are locked and the curtains closed, the door shut tight and bolted, salt lines laid to block each and every entry point.

Then he begins to light the candles.

"Dean?"

"Shhh."

"Dean!"

Dean pauses, a ten-inch yellowish pillar of wax in one hand, his trusty Zippo lighter in the other.

"Sam, I'll gag you if I have to. I don't want to - I really love those little sounds you make in the back of your throat when you're coming - but I will if I have to. Now hush, and let me see if I remember how to do this right."

Cock twitching at the thought of being bound and gagged, Sam bites down on his lip to keep the whimper in. The last thing Dean needs is more ammunition in the solitary war he's waging against Sam's inhibitions.

"Okay, I think we're ready. Holy water, blessed candles, cinnamon lube for later - check, check and check."

With a satisfied grin, Dean starts to strip, slowly, directly in line with Sam's eye. He does it well.

Sam's rubbing subtly against the mattress by the time Dean's naked, trying to put the inch or two of leeway in the bonds to good use. A second stinging slap to his ass makes him freeze, and then Dean's on the bed astride his hips.

"You can't say a word, Sammy, but you can moan and whimper as much as you want to. I like that."

Sam growls and tries to buck his asshole brother off, but Dean just laughs and snatches up the candle from the bedside table - ten inches by three of pure beeswax, all godly blessed.

He grabs the holy water too, pops the top straight off and pours a puddle into the dip at the base of Sam's spine. It's cold - frigid - and Sam jerks and gasps and almost tips it all off.

"Hey, sorry, dude. I knew I forgot something. Too late now; it'll warm up soon enough, I guess."

Dean swipes two fingers through the icy fluid and uses them to trace arcane symbols on Sam's shoulder blades.

It tickles, but Sam bites his tongue and refuses to squirm. It's all ammo, dude.

A sudden splash of fire on his back snaps his head up and almost gives him whiplash as he yelps.

"What the hell did you think the candle was for, Sam? It's not like I need it this close to see you. Holy water and holy fire and holy freaking signs - that's the holy point of this whole ritual."

Another trail of wax crosses the first, and a not-so-cold squiggle of water ties them both together.

"It only burns but for a second and it doesn't scar. And it'll help keep you safe from some of the uglies on our tail, or at least let you know when one's around."

A fingertip taps a random beat on the vertebrae midpoint between the tips of Sam's scapulae.

"You feel this patch of skin back here start burning, it mean's you've got a demon on your tail. That happens, you come to me, Sammy. Don't think you can take it by yourself - you're not ready yet. You may never be. Okay? Don't speak. Grunt once for yes."

Sam snorted.

"I mean it, Sam. It's important. You've been out of the game too long and, hell, you never knew all the rules. I'm not gonna lose you now I've got you back."

Sam sighs and lets his head drop forward, acceptance in the curve of his neck.

"Good boy. Now, where was I?"

More water, warm as skin now, intertwines with fiery wax curlicues and trails and pinpoint splashes. Dean mumbles softly - Latin, Greek and ancient Hebrew, snatches of other tongues Sam doesn't recognise.

Sam focuses on what Dean's painting on his skin - recreating lines of fire and water on his inner eyelids. He recognises powerful runes and sigils from his childhood studies, holy words with power enough to spare to help protect his life. And then…

"Dammit, Dean!"

Sam throws his head back, trying to catch Dean's nose or chin or forehead, he's not picky. He misses - not even close - and Dean bounces knuckles off his skull and sets down, hard.

"Hey! I thought I told you you had to keep quiet. Are you trying to ruin my hard work back here?"

Sam swallows back a thousand different curses and grits his answer out through clenched teeth.

"Remember we used to play that game as kids where we'd spell out words and phrases on each other's backs with pencils? I always beat you, Dean."

"…Yeah."

"Yeah. So, if you've got any plans to use that cinnamon lube tonight you'd better pick your license plate number off my ass, and fast!"