I did not write this story. I’m sharing it from another website because I’d love to see Jensen Ackles in this situation.
Sam came to, chained against a fat, round, support pillar in the abandoned factory, head throbbing from the knockout blow. An LED lantern illuminated the area around where he sat on the hard floor; straight across from him, Dean was tied to a chair, head hung limply against his chest.
Dammit, Sam thought, there goes a quick rescue.
“Dean.” He croaked, softer than he had intended.
Sam was conscious when Castiel returned. He berated himself for not freeing the Winchesters before removing the monster and demon to Crowley. If Cass stepped from the veil now, there would be questions and no matter how logical his actions were, he couldn’t bring himself to admit to the boys he was working with the King of Hell.
“Dean!” Sam barked.
Dean groaned stretching the stiffness from his neck, “Okay Sammy?”
“How long I been out?” He felt as though he’d slept for a week and needed a piss nearly as bad as if he had. Dean’s shoulder was numb where the creature had bitten him, injecting whatever toxin it used to lay him out.
“Not sure.” Sam strained to twist in the chain wrapped around his chest, angling to catch a glimpse out of a high opaque window. “An hour – maybe – or a little over a day. The moon’s still high. I think.”
“Nice. Very reassuring.”
“You could see easier.” Sam snapped. Splitting up had been Dean’s stupid idea and was the reason they were in this mess.
“I’m still foggy from the venom.”
“Whatever that thing that jumped us was full of.”
“I was jumped by a demon.”
“Demons don’t have venom, Sam.”
“I know, Dean. I know demons, Dean. I’m telling you some black eyed bastard knocked me into the plumbing.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would a demon and a monster be here at the same time?” Dean was only half arguing.
“You tell me.”
The brothers stared at each other; their jaws clenched. Neither felt like having this same argument, Dean especially, who felt himself losing ground each round, wanted to avoid the subject when he couldn’t storm out.
“Whatever.” Dean dropped it. He jerked his elbows back trying to loosen the ropes holding his wrists to the chair’s arms. They didn’t budge. “Can you get lose?”
Castiel froze, wondering if all the little pieces would finally click together in their minds, but Dean’s question brought him back to his task: figuring out how to get them free without having to reveal himself. The angel saw three options:
1) He could find Bobby and come back once Bobby implied the boys were missing. It could be hours or weeks before Bobby got suspicious. Too risky.
2) He could wait for the inevitable prayer to save them but a niggling little doubt in the corner of his heart said this time there wouldn’t be one. Or,
3) find a weak point in their bonds and lend a little divine intervention as they worked to free themselves.
Castiel inspected the chain while Sam pulled against the post.
“I don’t know. Something went a little strap happy.”
Dean looked at Sam: hands drawn back on either side of the pillar, “Can you rub the rope raw?”
Sam tried pulling first one arm and then the other but got no give or shift. “I’m pretty sure they’re connected but I can’t get any motion.”
Cass saw what Sam felt. The demon wove the rope into the chain, securing the tension and offering no chance to chafe the rope. Annoyance burned his ears. Anything too overtly divine and he might as well step out of the veil shouting Crowley sent him.
“Can you,” Sam paused. “I don’t know, maybe rock over here? I bet I could reach that knot on your wrist.”
“I can try.” With his legs tied to the chair’s, Dean couldn’t do much more than jerk side-to-side, biting his lip against the increased urgency burning in his groin as his belt pressed heavy against his pulsing bladder with each lurch.
Dean’s cell phone lit up blasting Kashmir; knocked from his hand when he was attacked, it rested near the door.
“Thank God.” Dean halted.
“Is that Bobby?”
“It’s either you or him. I won’t answer. He’ll try you. We’re out in an hour.”
“So we’re going to wait?”
“Yes.” Dean affirmed. What he wouldn’t give to cross his legs, but he’d have to be satisfied with squeezing his thighs together.
Cass shouldn’t have glanced at Dean before blinking to Bobby. Dean rubbed his thighs together, slowly rotating his hips. The behaviour fascinated Cass. Dean bounced a knee impatiently. Castiel noted the increase in the hunter’s respiration rate but not that he had increased his own to match.
“Dean?” Sam watched his brother nearly as intently as the hidden angel. “Are you doing… the pee dance?”
“No.” Dean denied, stopping his knee bouncing. He shifted his hips trying to get his damned belt off his bladder. Sam raised his eyebrow. “I can’t help it. I need to take a leak.”
Cass jumped as a tingling sensation coursed through his vessel. He had spent so much time since the Apocalypse outside the realm of basal needs he’d forgotten them and the hold their fulfillment had on day to day human life. He didn’t understand how Sam could look away. Cass forgot freeing them, watching Dean alternate between sitting rigidly and squirming. On instinct, and despite being invisible, Castiel stayed in the shadow of Sam’s post, feeling another wave of electric pleasure remembering that they didn’t know he was there.
Sam watched the tension in his brother’s mouth, the nearly imperceptible flick of his hard eyes, checking the surroundings, and he knew Dean was scared. Sam was certain any monster or demon that had been here was with Crowley and never coming back, so Dean wasn’t in imminent danger. Bobby was surely on his way now, there was no fear of dying of exposure. This wasn’t a life or death situation. The only thing threatening Dean was loss of control and humiliation. Sam’s dick twitched and he looked away, convincing himself it was sympathetic bladder pangs.
The three stayed like this for nearly three quarters of an hour: Castiel intrigued by his vessel’s wanton response to Dean’s inability to satisfy his body’s primal demand, Sam trying not to stare. When he couldn’t help it, Sam wouldn’t think ‘Dean.’ He thought ‘my brother.’ ‘My brother is suffering.’ ‘My brother’s bladder is stretched to bursting.’ ‘A small squeeze would send my brother over the edge.’ It was meant to ease the tightness in his balls, but wasn’t working.
Dean hummed. He slouched and fidgeted, sat ramrod straight and perfectly still. Switching positions as soon as the newness wore off and the throbbing returned. At first it wasn’t so bad, once he’d established there was no bathroom to run to, the initial urgency he’d woken with eased, but as the seconds turned to centuries the fullness grew unbearable. He chewed his lips and strummed his finger tips.
“Say something!” He demanded.
“What?” Sam currently focused on slow deep breathing while he watched the pink tip of Dean’s tongue flick between bruised lips.
“A story. A recipe. I don’t fucking care. Distract me.”
“Uh.” It wasn’t that Sam didn’t have anything to say, but once he was put on the spot his mind only thought of tormenting Dean. He wanted to talk about geysers, and waterfalls, the one show he’d caught on the Travel Channel about the world’s most interesting urinals. Even though Dean was glaring in mock anger at the delay, he looked so vulnerable with his arms and legs chained apart, the crease in his brow growing deeper, Sam couldn’t do it.
“A cat can fall up to 32 stories and still has a 90% survival rate.”
“Animal trivia?” Dean’s voice dripped with annoyance.
“You need to remove eggs from the heat source before they look done.”
“I taught you that.”
“I regret not buying the book about Tiny Tim growing up to be a con man.”
“Once there were three brothers walking a lonely, winding road at twilight-“
“Are you even trying?” Sam was helping but listening quietly caused Dean’s ears to buzz and his muscles twitched begging to be relaxed.
“Remember the scene in Fantasia where the tower is so full of water it should be pouring out the windows but it doesn’t? The water stays contained filling the tower impossibly full as the brooms dump bucket after bucket on top of it all? Then the wizard comes and forces it all out? I always imagined it shot out the windows. Gush after gush of water flowing out the arrow slits-“
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Dean hissed, a fat drop of urine escaping into his boxers.
Cass pressed his body against the cool cement, watching the colour drain from Dean’s face, listening to Sam. Dean groaned, a little wet spot appearing near his zipper; Cass dug his nails into the concrete.
“Bitch.” Dean swore at Sam.
Sam’s retort was lost when he saw the dark blot on Dean’s khakis. Drawing his knees up, he held his breath, coyly watching to see if the wetness grew.
Dean struggled to keep control, cock pulsing with his heart. He balled his hands into fists pressing his nails into his palms, wanting nothing but to grab and squeeze, holding the flow back. Well nothing besides that or a nice long piss. Minutes passed before he trusted his control enough to speak.
“Where the hell is Bobby?”
Sam brought his gaze down from the ceiling, “He can’t be that far out, maybe 10 minutes, if he drove the speed limit.” He had been tracking time as a method of boring more than one semi-erection soft.
“I can do it.” Dean encouraged himself. His entire world shrunk to just the need to urinate and mastering it. Eyes watering, he finally understood the phrase “pee so bad my teeth hurt.” Carefully he pulled his hips back trying to move his hot pulsing head away from the damp cotton. “I’m going to lose it.” He moaned; a droplet of pee beading out and tickling as it rolled down the length of his cock.
“What?” Sam swallowed dryly, having heard perfectly.
“If Bobby isn’t here soon, I am going to piss myself.”
“Huh.” Sam managed weakly. Lightheaded from all his blood rushing south and thankful Dean couldn’t see the two-room tent he pitched.
Castiel thrust his hips against the pillar. From what little experience with the human excretory process he had, he’d learned it was unclean and private. Whatever combination of forbidden and dirty this was set every nerve on fire. More than just the heavy stiffness of an erection, there was an ache for the next level. He had to – needed to – have it.
Three miles away Bobby’s junker slowed and sputtered. The old curmudgeon cursed the car in one breath and begged it in the next. When it cut out entirely, he tried only once to turn it over. Grabbing his shotgun with extra salt rounds, Bobby grumbled, “I’m too old for this shit,” and started walking.
The brothers sat quietly. Sam traced the barely visible pinstripes in his suit pants, desperate to ease the demanding throb between his legs. No matter how self absorbed Dean seemed if he even imagined what Sam was going through there would be no end to the torture. Sam’d tried tracking time again but couldn’t concentrate. As the silence stretched on, the urge to fuck faded and his hard on softened.
Then Dean whimpered, low and strained, a pathetic intimate noise meant to go unheard, loud in the quiet room.
Cass petted the hair leading to his penis enjoying the flutter in his loins when he dipped low. Dean’s whine, almost accompanied by tears from straining to hold back, caused the angel to clench the flesh on his stomach. Should he touch himself now? Was that the next step?
“No.” Dean whispered as another golden bead dribbled out. Castiel presumed the command applied to him as well. “I am a grown man. This will not happen.” Dean growled defiantly at his body. Sweat dotted his brow; his mouth overflowed with saliva and he blinked back the tears flooding his eyes, his bladder so tight and full that the excess was trying to find any other way out.
Guilt tugged at the edge of Cass’ mind. He could’ve eased Dean’s suffering, relieved some of the pressure, but had decided to experiment with sexual arousal without Dean’s knowledge. What harm was it though – watching? Hadn’t God commissioned his garrison to observe mankind? Observation was pointless with interference. Castiel’s vessel ached with desire.
“Oh.” Dean gasped; the wet spot grew a quarter more. Dean panted while his two companions watched breathless. Every spurt of piss that escaped was the worst and best feeling; the pressure eased and swirled ready to shoot steadily out in a hot stream but he managed to keep holding in, and the disappointment burned angry in his prick.
“Dean.” Lost in the battle to keep control, he barely heard his name. “Dean.”
“No.” Passed the point where talking helped, he wanted this conversation over quickly.
“What?” Was Sam’s voice always so grating?
“It sounds painful.”
“Dean.” So much disbelief was conveyed in one syllable.
“Sam.” Couldn’t he just shut the fuck up?
“I won’t –“
“Shut your whore mouth!”Dean erupted, immediately regretting it, but too afflicted to apologize, plus, it worked.
Bobby was close; he could see the Impala reflecting the moon. The abandoned factory looked less like a discarded toy and more like the place some slimy hell beast would squat, slithering lazily over the senseless victims it drained dry. Bobby started to jog.
Dean wanted to curse; he wanted to cry. He wanted to pee. He wouldn’t let go. Sam would never let him live it down and what would Bobby think? What if that thing came back or worse, Sam’s demon? It’s going to happen, why continue suffering? The traitor voice asked again. Dean’s life depended on the fear associated with the Winchester name. Would you fear a man who pissed his pants? No. Dean would let Bobby pull it out and hold it before he gave in.
Dean hadn’t looked at Sam since he’d told him off. Sam greedily stared; if Dean caught him, Sam now had the ability to turn the guilt back on Dean. A tingle warmed his cold hands. Dean grimaced, his fingers tapping furiously on the chair arm. Absentmindedly, Dean spread his knees, parting his thighs. Sam rocked his hips, the slide of his boxers shooting tingles up his nagging cock.
Castiel should’ve been impressed with Dean’s self control. He had been – was sure it was a large factor in why his vessel responded – but they were flying through the second hour and a dull ache wrapped its self around his testes. Initially the new sensation was welcome but now he was vainly tugging at his erection through his trousers. Do it. Just do it, formed the infinite loop of his thoughts. Castiel wasn’t even sure who it was directed at or exactly what it was, only that it God-damned needed to happen.
Dean gasped as his bladder pushed in steadily. Drops of urine beaded out faster and faster. Dean clamped his muscles but a force kept pressing. A weak stream ran down the underside of his dick, wetting his ass cheeks. This was it.
“Oh, God” Dean panted mortified. His face beat red as a spurt dampened his boxers. “Sammy.”
“Yeah?” His little brother squeaked.
“Don’t watch.” Dean pleaded without knowing if Sam had been. A stronger shot soaked his crotch and that was it. No more dribbles or leaks. All of Dean’s muscles relaxed with only his half consent, he wanted to piss more than he ever wanted anything, but not like this – tied up in front of Sam. Pee gushed out wet and warm, filling his seat, running in rivulets down his legs into his socks and shoes.
“Fuck.” The brother’s exhaled simultaneously.
The stream noisily sprayed into the cloth, the darkness on Dean’s pants spread across his lap and down his thighs. Dean tilted his head back sighing in relief. Piss flooded his chair, the overflow splashing into the acrid puddle forming underneath. The heady stench of urine wafted through the room.
“Jesus.” Sam breathed quietly as Dean kept going. Sam’s cock fat and weeping at the sight.
Dean’s bladder quivered, nearly drained. His body throbbed in the climax of emptiness. If the bonds allowed, he would’ve collapsed onto the floor, every muscle weak and loose as if he’d just come. Dean kept his eyes closed as his breathing returned to normal and his body shuddered out the final drops. Steam rose from the soaked khakis. The drenched fabric sunk against Dean’s skin forming an obscene outline of his soft, twitching cock.
Cass growled in lascivious frustration. He devoured every second of Dean urinating all over himself, on display, dirty and dripping but Cass’ body only ached harder. Ripping his belt open, he shoved his hand in his boxers wrapping his fingers tight around the root of his dick. The need dulled; Cass sighed, varying the strength of his grip, not satisfied, but, content to explore his discovery.
The night air cooled Dean’s piss soaked pants drawing him back from his high. He felt good, almost happy – as long as he didn’t think about why. Sam had the decency to pretend he hadn’t been looking, jerking his head to peruse the wall when Dean’s eyes alighted on him. Sam squirmed.
“Sam.” Dean smiled. “You need to go now?”
“Yes.” Sam admitted with haste.
“So go.” Dean teased.
“What?” Panic pitched Sam’s voice up.
“Make me feel better.” Dean definitely shouldn’t feel so chipper sitting in his own stinking piss but his body still tingled from the release and he cherished it. Once it was gone he would be left with cold wet pants chaffing his sensitive areas and soggy socks.
“I don’t – not bad enough – can’t.” Sam stammered drawing Castiel’s attention away from Dean. Any guilt the angel felt about watching Dean vanished when he saw Sam’s erection.
Sam’s ears burned. He would feel better if he could see Dean getting a raging hard on because of something he did, then this whole awkward mess could be something mutual they never talked about. Dean couldn’t be serious though, right?
Sam was saved by the gruff shout of his name.
“Bobby!” He shouted back.
The grin left Dean’s face.
“Bobby! Bobby! We’re in here!”
“’In here,’ as if that narrowed it down.” The stocky figure of Bobby Singer appeared in the door frame. “What’ve you two idjits gotten stuck in?” He asked masking his worry with anger.
Dean wanted to blink out of existence, feeling as if he were nine years old again. Why hadn’t he held on just a little longer? Or tried harder to get free? He’d made the decision to wait to be rescued so he wouldn’t risk peeing in his pants. Well, he pissed them anyway. It would serve him right if they left him here until he freed himself. Hopefully, Sam wouldn’t reach critical overflow right before Bobby got him out. Dean didn’t need guilt to join shame.
Bobby took out his switchblade and headed towards Dean, the closer of the two.
Bobby stopped, furrowing his brow. Was Dean shivering?
“He – he needs to… go.” Dean explained.
Shrugging Bobby went to the youngest Winchester. To the untrained eye, Sam might’ve looked ticked off, but to Bobby, who’d known the boys since they were in training pants, Sam looked terrified. Crouching down to cut through the rope that held Sam’s hand, Bobby looked back at Dean about to ask what the hell was wrong with them but kept his trap shut when he saw. Dean’s jaw was clenched tight; he was glaring at the lantern, eyes watery from the light or suppressed tears. Bobby didn’t notice the puddle, but from here the giant wet stain spread across Dean’s lap told him everything. Bobby’s stomach knotted in sympathy.
“You’ll need to do the other side too.” Sam interrupted Bobby’s thoughts and he realised the rope had parted already.
Sam shoved his free hand, stinging with pins and needles from renewed blood flow, straight between his legs. Dean had given him an easy explanation to haul ass off alone and Sam wasn’t about to waste it.
Bobby noted how quickly the rope parted with each pass of his blade, barely three strokes was enough to lose Sam’s second wrist. The chain-lock even cracked easier than any other he could recall picking. Sam slipped out of the loosening coils, nearly sprinting for the exit, pressing his erection against his thigh.
Sam paused, looking back at Dean, “I’ll get spare…” He trailed off. Dean’s cheek’s burned with embarrassment and he looked at Sam as if Sam were about to abandon him. A moan constricted Sam’s chest and he shot out the door. Unseen, Cass followed.
Bobby wasn’t going to say anything but Dean shook as he walked over. Dean kept his eyes averted, face stern and shoulders stiff. All Bobby could see was the little boy tightening his lip accepting any punishment Bobby felt would make up for the broken dinner plate. Bobby hadn’t reprimanded Dean over that accident and he certainly wasn’t trying to make whatever the kid was going through now worse.
“Relax, son.” Bobby said calmly, seeing the veins popping up in Dean’s arms from his clenched fists. “I ain’t judging.” He refrained from adding “it happens to the best of us” because some stories you don’t share in any situation.
Sam shouldered into an office that still had a solid door and most of its blinds. The room was empty except for a broken, discarded desk chair. The thin rotting carpet looked as though this wouldn’t be the first time some drifter painted it – Christ, was he sexualizing carpet?
Fingers still thick from numbness, Sam fumbled with his belt, growing frustrated. He un-tucked his shirts dragging them up his torso, exposing his belly, his heart racing when his hand brushed bare flesh; he stuffed the undershirt hem between his teeth and attempted his belt again, managing to free himself of it this time. Tearing open his pants – button and zipper both – in one quick aggressive jerk, Sam shoved them and his boxers to mid-thigh. His cock sprung free, the bright red tip soaked with pre-come. Sam moaned softly into the improvised gag, thrusting into empty air and leaning back for support.
Castiel stood near the chair, copying Sam as if he were giving a how-to demonstration.
Sam held his shirts up, letting the hem fall out of his mouth. Sparks floated across his eyes as he gave a long wet lick up his right palm. Balling up the rest of the saliva in his mouth, he spit into his slick hand. Sam paused inches from wrapping his long fingers around his girth, letting the anticipation build ardor.
Cass couldn’t wait, gasping at the difference a little lubrication made, starting to slide his cock through his grip even before Sam had shown him how.
Sam clenched his fingers tightly, thrusting his prick hard into the curl. Pre-come mixed with saliva slicking up his entire length as he forced himself through his fist. The back of his head thunked against the door, his eyes closed as he tried to recall some of the women he’d slept with the past year – consequences be damned. He could cope with a piss kink but Sam wasn’t going to whack off to his brother.
Wouldn’t think about the hour spent watching Dean sweat and struggle, begging his body to hold on. Unable to do anything but hope and squirm as his bladder stretched tighter and tighter in his abdomen. Always-on-top-of-it-I-can-handle-anything-Dean finally losing control, breathing Sam’s name, begging him not to watch. Sam watched every second and Dean couldn’t stop him. Dean couldn’t even dominate his own rebelling body. All Dean could do was blush like a virgin on her wedding night as urine drenched his cheap suit pants and soaked his fat cock and tight, round ass. Sighing as release masked shame. Not wanting it, but powerless to stop the pleasure.
The build up in Cass’ stomach wound tight; Sam’s eyes were shut and his smile was wicked, the angel didn’t resist the impulse to peak at his thoughts. Cass hadn’t expected to be thrust back into the factory floor room, watching Dean in a fantasy recreation, where Sam wasn’t chained but, rather, leaned over Dean, a flat hand pushing on Dean’s abdomen. Cass watched as Sam envisioned himself forcing Dean to pee with one hand while he jerked off over his brother with the other, watching Dean moan with bliss as urine flooded his pants. Cass shuddered to his knees as the next level finally slammed into him and burst from his cock. Pulsing in ecstasy, Castiel couldn’t maintain his form in the veil, he expanded beyond perception.
Sam’s bare buttocks beat against the door as he frantically plunged his cock noisily into his fist, his balls pulling up as the growing tightness rushed to the point of no return.
When everything was slick with piss and the flow tapered off, Dean hadn’t been modest, keeping his legs spread like a porn star, thrusting up as he squeezed the last drops out, the wet cotton clinging to his hidden flesh, revealing so much he might as well have been laid out naked. “Sam.”
Sam came, shooting thick sticky semen over his fingers, adding his stain to the carpet. He slowed his thrusts, letting the tension coil up and release with each wave. As his orgasm dissolved to shivers and contentment, he slumped down smiling and staring at nothing; his hand still on his fading erection.
“Shit.” Sam exhaled, the image of his brother still hot in his mind. How long had it been?
Poor Dean. Sam thought as his own bladder demanded attention. He wiped his hand as clean as he could on the disgusting carpet and stood up, instinctively turning to piss down the mouldy drywall, careful not to get in the way of splash back. He shook off, and pulled his pants up, tucking his shirts in and rethreading his belt. He double checked that his zipper was up before opening the door, making sure to step over the soggy urine patch as he left the room.
“That was fucked up.” He commented to no one, heading to get fresh clothes for Dean – like he said he would.