Chapter Text
Pulling in a deep breath, you look at yourself in the mirror. Hair pulled back and braided. Face scrubbed clean and moisturized to a healthy glow. A hint of pink gloss on your lips to match the sheer babydoll top that conceals nothing whatsoever and the lacy little bikini panties that are more suggestion than underwear.
The whole effect is an adult playing a caricature of innocence. You take another deep breath and your bosoms heave, dragging your supersensitive nipples against the material. The sensation makes you shiver all over. Perfect.
A light robe goes over your ensemble, and you walk out of the bathroom.
There’s your bed, heaped with pillows. There’s the goodie bag, zipped up. And there’s two chairs. Dean's sitting in one, leaned over with his elbows on his knees and studying you with those wild eyes. You gulp. Your blood pounds under your skin, sings in your ears. It's been a long time since you had an audience, live and in person.
Sam's saying your name. You jolt yourself out of your woolgathering and pad to where he stands by the bed. "Hi Daddy," you say, getting into character.
"Hi baby." Sam's arm goes around you. You lean into him, taking confidence from his warmth, his solidity, all the things that make him your Dom. Trust and obey. Sam will take care. "Go ahead and get on the bed."
You haven't been told to take your robe off, so you don't. Sam's stacked the bed with a whole bunch of extra pillows and you lean back against them with your arms spread, striking a pose. You lift your knee and your robe slips open, uncovering your leg to the thigh. In your peripheral vision you see Dean's throat work down a gulp and you smile.
Sam squats next to the bed, his face hard and stern. You bite your lip. Did you make Daddy angry?
With a finger along your jaw, Sam tips your head for a soft kiss. "Can you be a good girl for me?" You nod, wide eyes staring up into Sam's. "Good." Keeping his voice soft, for your ears alone, Sam says, "I'm gonna pick out a toy, and we're gonna watch you play with it."
You nod, trembling all over. "May I come?" you whine, ever so softly. From the soft gasp, Dean heard that.
"Good girl, asking first," Sam praises, and the trepidation in your stomach eases a little. "And yes you may." With another kiss on the end of your nose, Sam turns his attention to the goodie bag. The sound of the zipper slowly peeling apart makes you prickle all over. He reaches inside and pulls out a vibrator. It's one of the old-fashioned D-cell battery ones, transparent hot pink silicone shaped like a big veiny cock. "Wow. This is a big girl toy."
You pout. "I have to practice for Daddy's big cock." A pointed ah-hem from the other side of the room and you leave it at that. Dean's still not completely at ease with your little girl schtick. Will tonight's exercise change that? You don't know, and you're not sure which outcome would be better. On the one hand Dean's a powerfully attractive man, and you'll confess to having . . . thoughts. On the other, there's that wildness in his eyes. You aren't totally sure if you can trust him, the way you trust Sam.
"Behave yourself," Sam reminds you. He reached down and unties your robe belt, shifting the lapels aside like he's unveiling a piece of art. From the hunger in his eyes, he appreciates the work.
Your top is split down the front, held together with a pink ribbon tied in a bow over your heart. Staring deep into your eyes, Sam trails his knuckles down your bare belly, down to your tiny lace panties. The faintest pressure, right on your swollen clit, and you gasp. Sam's fingertip slides up and down the lace-covered split of your pussy, slow and teasing. What's more, you feel Dean's eyes, like a physical presence over your body. Per the pre-scene meeting, you keep your focus on Sam. Dean's role in this is strictly observational, you remind yourself. Just to watch.
So. You sigh, feeling the heat in your belly build. Sam's stern face softens, just a little. Two fingertips massage you gently, circling your clit. Not for long, just long enough you can feel yourself all hot and wet. "Good," Sam approves, a look of pride in his eyes. He kisses you, soft and brief. "Now give us a show baby."
You touch his jaw, feeling beard shadow scrape your palm. "Okay Daddy," you promise.
With a last kiss, Sam enthrones himself in the other chair.
Dean hasn't moved. He just keeps studying you, a big cat tucked away in a piece of shadow. Watching for prey, something small and soft and helpless. Looking him straight in the eye, you slip the elastic off the end of your braid. The plaits unwind and your hair falls loose and wavy. Slow, teasing. The bow holding your top shut slides apart as you pull the end, and with your hair partly concealing your chest you slip the top off.
Dean's seen you undressed before, but not like this. He's a predator all right, one held back with nothing but an iron will. Is he safe? God you hope so.
A slight shift in your peripheral vision and you remember yourself. A performance. Sam wants to see your pleasure. Sam wants to show off your pleasure.
You pull your hair out of the way, baring your tits to his eyes. A hand slips down between, caresses. Adult insecurities are irrelevant here. Daddy's girl is beautiful, head to foot. You recline deeper into the stack of pillows, sprawled out and on display. You burn, all cunt and needy, desperate for something to touch you. You bite back a plea. You have a responsibility, and you want to be a good girl and make Daddy proud.
Shifting your legs apart, you caress the front of your damp panties. Daddy's fingers are big, they cover so much of you. Your own fingers are comparatively tiny, laser-focused. Wetness seeps through lace, mixing with the scents of warm skin and fabric and sweat. Your panties are the string kind, held in place with a bow over each hip. You tug the bows apart and pull the wet lace off, baring your pussy to the air and to his eyes.
Their eyes. Not Dean's eyes here and Sam's there. You feel them everywhere. You want their eyes everywhere.
Stripped to the skin, all naked and hot. You run your hands over your body, savoring the sensation of touch. Taking pleasure in yourself. Falling deeper under this spell you're all weaving together.
An idea occurs to you, and you flip over and get your knees under you. You hear two soft noises as you caress yourself open, your ass in the air and flexing. A little focused attention on your clit, then your fingers slip inside, teasing your soft inner lips. Up onto your knees and you arch back, rearranging yourself to lie on your back, your head pointed at the foot of the bed. One of them, you don't know which and it doesn't matter, curses as you take your tits in hand, pressing and kneading and pinching at your nipples. It all feels so nice.
You flip onto your front and glance up through the drape of your hair. It's . . . how can you meet two pairs of eyes at the same time? You don't know but it's happening. Two sets of eyes, looking at you. Studying you. Devouring you. Under their hot, longing gazes you feel exposed, more naked than naked, wanton, crazy, aroused, vulnerable--
Powerful.
Small, soft, weak, submissive. And powerful. The force in the room, in this space you've made-- it's under your power. They're just as much your slaves as you are theirs.
You pick up the pink vibrator and set it to your lips, licking and suckling it to get it wet. You get up on your knees to put yourself on full display, loose hair and bare tits and sopping cunt dripping your honey down your thighs. The vibrator works down your throat until tears run down your cheeks. Out of your mouth slowly and down it slips, over your throat and in between your breasts. With a naughty little smirk, you pump it through your cleavage and see both of them squirm in their seats.
A twist of the red plastic dial in the vibrator's base and it buzzes softly in your hand. Sam picked this one on purpose, your real and adult self knows. It's big, it's visually striking, and it's not as intense as your preferred toys. It's going to take work to get yourself off with this.
So what? You could do this all night long. You're having fun.
With a pillow behind your back, you lay down and part your legs. The vibrator slips between your smooth cunt lips, wetness adding to your spit to make it nice and slippery. The buzz feels so nice, so warm. One of them adjusts himself in his jeans. They're both ragingly hard, you can tell. Uncomfortably confined and they can't do a damn thing about it.
You fuck the toy inside you, breathing hard at the stretch. You spread yourself wide and fuck yourself with long, hard strokes. Every sense but touch-- you want them to see it, hear it, smell it. You want to tattoo the image on their retinas, burn it in so they'll see it every time they think of the word sex. The idea makes you moan and you let go of the toy to rub at your clit until you're panting and sweating and just there on the edge.
And stop. Stillness. The toy can't get you off by itself, just hold you there. You pant, heaving as you take hold and the tension settles and the edge backs away. Your whole body heaves.
"Holy shit," a voice pants, and another shuts it up. Hoarse, and deep, and God if they start talking you'll come without any other help at all.
When you've caught your breath, you withdraw the toy. You think a second, and a stroke of wicked inspiration hits you. You take a bolster throw pillow that crackles a little under your touch. Under the case, it has a waterproof bag. When you'd showed Sam why, he'd laughed.
He's not laughing now. You shift onto your front, giving them a quarter-profile view, and throw your leg over the pillow, straddling it. The smooth cotton pillowcase rubs against your cunt, oh God it's rubbing you just right.
Your honey's salty and sticky as you lick it off the vibrator, suck it down and fuck you throat with it. Your hips sway and you shiver as your pussy drags over the pillow. Once you're satisfied the toy is clean, you set it aside. Your hands take the pillow in a death grip, so hard you feel your fingers go numb. The rest of the world fades completely into irrelevance, there's just here with you and your lovers.
Moaning, your hips pump and grind your pussy against the pillow. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," you chant. Hot and sweet and charged with power, held secure in their eyes. The pillow's rubbing you just perfect, right where the magic nerves are. You're in the special place, where everything feels good and you feel like you could fly. Oh God--
It all gets to be too much and you squeal as you come and come hard. You fall over backwards. They can see everything, every moment of your pleasure.
"Rub your clit." The order is harsh, deep, and you're obeying because you must. The touch makes you howl, you're so sensitive, it's too much. Your other hand seizes your tit and your fingertips clamp down on the nipple, Christ it hurts. "Keep going," a different voice but the same voice really, "keep going baby, you can do it."
"Oh God!" you wail as your body snaps through some last barrier. A spurt of hot fluid soaks into the pillowcase. You throw your hands away from your body, spreading them wide as your body bows and seizes. Sparkles fly across your vision and the room echoes with your scream.
You lay there as you come back down to yourself, heaving for breath. It takes a while, just laying there as your lovers hold you in their eyes. You can feel your body creak as you turn your head to look at them. Sam's got a hand on his upper thigh, squeezing the muscle as he fights to keep from touching himself. Dean . . . Dean's sitting back with his legs apart, a lump straining against the front of his jeans and his eyes burning witchfire green. He's not moving. He's barely breathing.
The moment you look him in those wild eyes, something breaks. The chair under him squeaks as he bolts upright, and the door slams behind him as he runs from the room.
"What's wrong?" you cry out as Dean's boot heels clomp downstairs.
Sam's jeans are already open. "Nothing," he pants, fumbling his cock free with one hand and spitting into his other one. "Nothing at all," he repeats as he jacks himself hard and fast, coming loud and messy in seconds.
---
Downstairs, late. By the light of the microwave and stove clocks, you grab a granola bar and a glass of juice. Sam's sleeping like a stone, after a long and soothing aftercare of washing and snuggles. You're lighter, freer. The itch is scratched, you're at peace.
Almost.
You rinse out the juice glass and put it in the dish drainer, and damn near leap out of your skin when you see a body on the living room couch. It's Dean, out cold, his plaid shirt laid out over him like an inadequate blanket. Inadequate is the word too, you notice. Dean's lying on his side and curled up tight like a dog preserving heat.
"He went straight for the downstairs shower," Sam had said as you'd dressed for bed. "Surprised you didn't hear it.”
Blushing a little at the heat of the fresh memories, you think it over. Dominance and submission is, at the heart, about faith, you remember Mistress Fiona lecturing as rain sheeted down her living room windows. Faith that partners can trust one another with fantasies and play that, from the outside, are shocking and taboo. Even dangerous in the wrong hands.
Trust and command. Trust and obey. At all times and in all roles, trust. You trust Sam, absolutely. He's earned it. He's careful with you, solicitous of your pleasure, cruel when you need it, quick to apologize and correct mistakes.
Which leaves the last question, you think as you watch this other man sleep cold and alone on your couch. Can you trust Dean? What's the truth of him-- the joking asshole who really can't bring himself to care about his partners after he's through with them, or the man who could have stepped over the boundaries set for him and didn’t?
You ponder the question as you fetch a blanket from the linen closet. Soft as down, you lay it over his clenched body. You watch him, you heart beating hard and fast. What if he wakes up? What are you going to say to him? What's he going to say to you? Should you even be speaking to each other without Sam?
You hold still, try not to breathe, try not to even think too loud.
He could've just whipped his dick out right there in the room; he hadn't. He could've jumped into his car and made for the nearest bar and willing woman; he hadn't done that either.
Dean shifts position, relaxes under the blanket as his body heat builds. Some of the pinched weariness eases from his face. You smile when you notice how the corners of his lips turn up in his sleep. He really is very beautiful when he lets himself relax a little.
It's tempting to wake him for a kiss. Or to invite him upstairs, to your nice warm bed. Because you want him there.
Neither of those things are your place. You leave him like that, alone but a little bit warmer.
---
Sam's shaking you awake. "Morning sleepy baby," he teases.
"Good morning Daddy," you say, receiving a soft kiss. You take a sniff. "Bacon?"
"Yeah. Dean raided your fridge." Sam sits on the edge of the bed. "Okay, end scene," he says, his affect changing the way it does when he slips in and out of character. You feel yourself shifting too, adult self back in place. "How are you feeling?"
You blow out a breath. "Good," you sum up. "Little sore. How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," he shrugs.
"Sam." You take his hand. "I need more than that."
"I'm serious," he says. His hand turns in yours and grips. "I-- I mean, that was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life."
"And Dean being here? Add, subtract, neutral?"
Sam doesn't answer right away. His thumb rubs into the cup of your palm, gentle and soothing. "Can we table that question for later?" he finally says. "I need to think about it a while."
"Okay," you nod. When Sam asks you the same thing, you say, "Positive." After a long pause for some thinking of your own, you say, "I don't know what it was. For a second there, it was . . . more. I can't describe it, I mean I've been on display before, I've been watched before, but . . . I don't know, there's something about the two of you that's more . . . intense, I guess." Dean's deep voice rasping orders; it speaks to you, the part that lives to obey. The same melody in a different key, the two together making a harmony.
Cupping your face, Sam kisses you. "You're amazing. You know that?"
Touched, you kiss him back. "Uht-oh," you say when you pull back and see the look in Sam's eyes. "You gotta go to work don't you?"
Sighing, Sam nods. "We got time for a quick breakfast but then we gotta hit the road. I'm sorry baby."
"Dammit. Stop," you say, putting your fingers over Sam's lips as he opens his mouth to speak. "You're not telling, I'm not asking. I was just--"
"I know." Another kiss. "Come on, we'd better get downstairs before Dean eats all the bacon."
"How much bacon can one man eat?"
---
"You dared me!"
"I didn't think you'd actually do it!"
"How?" you ask. You like bacon as much as the next girl but a whole entire pound? Your stomach clenches.
"Dedication, effort," Dean grins as he washes a mouthful down with some coffee, "half a bottle of Maalox, and a night on the can shitting out my intestines."
"Gross."
"Dude we're eating," Sam says.
Glancing at his watch, Dean stuffs the last three bites of toast into his mouth and bolts his coffee as he gets to his feet. "Come on, we gotta hit the road," he says, grabbing his duffel bag and heading for the door. "I wanna be in Albuquerque before it gets too dark."
Sam blinks. His eyes dart to the side, and he wrings at his hand. It's a nervous tic you've noticed in him before, rubbing hard into the hooked scar in his palm. His eyes snap back when Dean repeats his name. "Sorry."
"Dude. Road. Case. Shag it."
"Go. I got the dishes," you say, getting up and stacking plates.
Standing, Sam slides a hand along your back, winding his arm around you like a vine. He sets his forehead to yours. He's breathing hard, and his heart's beating too fast. "Sam?" you whisper. "Are you okay?"
Nodding, Sam presses a kiss to your forehead. "Would you do something for me?"
"Of course."
Not meeting your eyes and speaking so softly you almost can't hear, Sam says, "Kiss Dean?"
Confused, you pull back. "Sam? Truth-- are you okay?" You look over at the door, where Dean waits with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He's gone stonefaced, his eyes intense with that wild look. The one that says he could get mean, and love it.
"I just . . . I want to see it," he says. "Please."
It's Sam requesting, not Daddy ordering. You can say no. You almost do. The . . . more, between them, it could get dangerous. Any new partner is a gamble, and you've rolled snake eyes before. More than once. The stakes are especially high; alienating Dean carries the risk of losing Sam, and that will break your heart.
And yet. Your imagination flashes back to the night before, bound and held helpless by nothing but their will. What if they'd done more than watch?
You walk to where Dean's waiting, slippered feet padding on the floor. Close up, he's big. You note the differences-- shorter here, wider there. You lay a hand on his chest, feel his heartbeat. Steadier than Sam's, you realize. He's still as a statue as you slide your palm up his neck, the skin smooth and silky from his morning shave. Soft brown hair tickles between your fingers as you cup the back of his skull. You go up on your toes, and Dean meets you halfway by bending his knees, meeting your lips in a kiss so soft it's almost chaste--
The world whirls and you're backed against the wall, Dean's body a hard weight against yours. His soft lips pry yours apart and his tongue sweeps in, claiming the space for his own. A broad thigh presses in between your legs and your knees fail. If Dean didn't have you pinned you'd fall.
Dean's hand slides into your hair and makes a fist, pulling just enough. Your head arches and Dean's lips slide from yours down your neck. A little whine peeps from your throat. He's scraping his teeth along the skin, enough to sting without being enough to mark. He knows what he's doing, exactly.
You can feel yourself getting warm, and hungry. Your body flexes into his. If you had time and-- the itch, it's there, and Dean, he can scratch it. You want him to.
The sound of a shoe scuffing reminds you that you're not alone. Dean for his part, pulls away. Sweeping his lower lip with his tongue, he says, "Sweet." He looks over to where Sam stands, watching you with his eyes showing green and intense, laser lights. He tips his chin down in a tiny nod and a look of relief crosses Dean's face.
An exchange strictly between them. You've noticed them before. Is that normal between brothers? You're an only child, you don't know.
Pulling you close, Dean plants another kiss on your lips. "Last night was awesome," he says, low and raspy. "And thank you for the blanket," he says, even lower and staring straight into your eyes.
You swallow around your dust-dry throat. "My pleasure," you say, your voice shaking.
With a cocky grin saying he knows full well who came off better in the exchange, Dean picks up his bag. "Be waiting in the car," he says as he breezes out the door.
You stand there shaking. You'll admit, part of you had wondered how much of Dean's bedroom eyes and heavy-handed flirting was for show. All mouth and no trousers, as the English say. Now? You think he might actually be able to cash those checks his mouth's been writing. You want him to.
You turn and Sam's there, yanking you close and kissing you like he has something to prove. Thoughts of Dean wipe clean out of your mind as you grab onto Sam's shirt and hang on. You moan into Sam's mouth as he picks you up off the floor. Your mom's Song dynasty vase goes crashing to the floor as he sweeps the whatnot table by the door clear.
"If I had ten minutes," Sam starts, cutting himself off when you cup and rub the front of his jeans.
"Do it Daddy," you whisper. "Do it please."
Instead Sam kneels, and you choke off a curse when he yanks the crotch of your panties aside and-- and-- you bite down hard on your hand as he scrapes his teeth on your sore cunt. Daddy's not being gentle. He's in a big damn hurry.
Three fingers plunge into your pussy and rub you just perfect. You wail as you come, right there in the entryway. You're still in the throes when you hear an impatient honk from outside.
Sam hops back to his feet and kisses you, his lips salty and slick. "Behave yourself," he orders.
"I will Daddy, I will, I promise," you babble.
"Hey!" Sam grabs your face, locking your eyes to his. "I mean behave yourself. Like a good girl. No naughty movies. No playing with yourself." You're having trouble breathing. "Bedtime at ten. Behave yourself." Another honk, this one a long blast that rattles the windows. Cussing, Sam kisses your forehead. "I'll call you."
---
Your mother is, as you would expect, livid.
"That was a nine hundred year old Chinese antique," she hisses when you finally confess that her vase is broken.
You don't ask why in the hell she gave it to you if she liked it so much. Such questions are better left unasked.
---