Title: Anchor Me
Content: D/s, watersports, catheter, enema
Warnings: None not covered by the content notes.
Summary: Sam likes to test Dean's limits. Dean gets something out of it, too.
Dean remembers, when he was younger, pissing against fenceposts at the side of the road, all in a row; Sammy, Dean, Dad; one post each. There were times when they had a schedule to keep, and there weren’t always rest stops where they were going. His Dad would say, pulling over, my back teeth are floating, and Sam would wrinkle his nose at the expression.
Back then, it was just an expression, but if you asked him now, Dean would swear sideways that he was full up to the back teeth. If he could talk around the gag, that is.
He’s been holding all day, just the way Sam likes it. Sam likes to reach over and touch while Dean’s driving. He’ll tuck his fingers under the waistband of Dean’s pants and rub, push in where Dean’s belly is a little bit soft until he finds the hard swell of Dean’s full bladder. He’ll massage it until Dean’s squirming, sometimes watching Dean’s face, sometimes just watching the road fly away under them while Dean’s going to pieces beside him.
Sam’s got a bit of a fetish. It’s okay. Dean has it too.
It’s Dean’s job to tell Sam when he thinks he’s going to lose it. It had been an hour into their stop at the latest motel. Sam had given him three glasses of water in rapid succession and had been watching him shift on the tatty vinyl chair, his eyes dark and intent, waiting. Then, when Dean had given in, admitted he needed it, Sam, needed to go now, Sam had asked if he could hold it for just five more minutes, and now Dean was sitting on the edge of the tub with a gag in his mouth and the cold edge of the tub digging into his ass-cheeks. Sam was kneeling between Dean’s thighs, his hands gentle on Dean’s cock as he fed a long, flexible rubber tube right up inside Dean.
Sometimes it was just a sound, Sam putting Dean in the tub and sliding the long, curved bit of metal inside Dean until it tapped up against the opening of his bladder. He might leave it there while Dean sucked him off, or he might touch the tip with a vibrator to see how long it took Dean to start begging. Other times it was a catheter, and Sam had more than one. Sam’s choices meant different things for Dean. A basic tube with a valve meant he just wanted to watch Dean drain all over himself, no control. Sam might leave Dean in the tub and make him drink to see how long it would take to get through his body.
Tonight, Sam’s choice means Dean isn’t getting relief any time soon. The thick rubber tube squeezes lube out around it as it sinks into Dean’s cock, and the only one of the three valves Dean cares about is set to closed. It’s cool, and smooth; a cold push travelling the wrong way into him. If Dean wasn’t so full of piss he’s sure he’d be hard from it.
He whimpers as it bottoms out, a hard, wrong pressure trying to get deeper. Almost there, Sam says, and puts that extra ounce of force into it that gets it all the way into Dean’s bladder, shoving a sharp cry out of Dean that escapes from the small hole drilled through the centre of the gag. Sam soothes him, stroking his hair, and then sets up the little bottle of water to fill the balloon that will hold the catheter firmly inside Dean. It won’t be going anywhere.
When that’s done, Sam fits another bottle, this time attaching a small hose to the gag so that the water will go straight into Dean’s mouth. Dean knows better than to not swallow. He can have as long as he likes, but he has to make sure it’s empty before Sam will do anything else. When he’s done, Sam gives the bottle a shake to make sure the last few droplets have gone down the hose, and detaches it. Movie time, he tells Dean, and helps him stand. The gag stays in, but it doesn’t do much to mask the urgent sound of Dean’s panting as standing shifts all the pressure inside him.
You’re okay, Sam says, cupping one big hand over the visible swell of Dean’s belly. He’s full from holding, and he’s full from drinking, and he has no idea where the water in his stomach is going to go. There’s no room inside him for anything more, but apparently Sam disagrees. Next to the little half-couch there’s a stand with the enema bag hanging on it, and Dean almost balks, slowing his steps just enough that Sam casts him a look, one raised eyebrow in a challenge Dean’s never been able to back down from.
Sam gets him down on his elbows and knees so he can still see the television; it’s going to be a showing of Creature From the Black Lagoon and Revenge of the Creature, which makes the total run time a hundred and sixty one minutes, nearly three hours. Dean knows how much Sam hates to interrupt a movie, so he tries to make sure he’s relaxed - hah - as Sam slides the nozzle into his ass and sets the water flowing, nice and slow. Sam’s given him the foam squab off the seat for his knees, and he’s as comfortable as he can be for a guy who’s not far from bursting.
The water’s cool enough that Dean can feel it trickling into him. He’s staring straight at the film but it’s just black and white flickers in front of him; all his thoughts are on the heavy, ever-increasing weight at his centre. The catheter is hanging down between his thighs and when he shifts, even a little, it swings and tugs at his dick from the inside. He tries not to shift. He’s filling up, skin too tight for his body, and the only thing leaving him is air when he exhales, quick little breaths through his nose, and the saliva he can’t control as he drools around and through the gag.
Every now and then, Sam leans forward and rubs Dean’s lower back, strokes over his belly. Dean’s too far inside his head to know if it’s supposed to ease the passage of the water inside him or if Sam just wants to feel how swollen he is, but he still pushes into the touch each time.
If Dean had been paying attention to the movie he’d know exactly how long it had been when Sam tosses the empty bag in front of him and hooks another one up to the stand, but the cramps have started and Dean’s riding them out. This is the worst part, but it eases if he can just get through it. Sam pets him, massages when the muscles in his abdomen tighten, and works in sneaky jabs at Dean’s bladder, the fucker. Dean’s protesting sounds just get him a little smirk and a pat on the head, and then Sam’s back to watching the movie while the second back empties into Dean, still at that achingly slow pace.
By the time it’s done Dean’s drifting, anchored only by the weight inside him. Sam lets him settle down until the movie’s done, lets him float there, unable to think about anything but the almost-unbearable pressure inside him. There’s nothing else in his mind with him; it’s quiet. Peaceful.
It feels too soon when the movie ends and Sam’s nudging Dean into a crawl toward the bathroom. He half-lifts him on to the toilet and then leaves while Dean voids, gives him the illusion of privacy. Dean’s bladder and belly still ache, but he still feels empty and light. Light-headed.
When he’s done and cleaned up, Dean calls Sam back in so he can wrap it up however he’s decided it’s going to go. He’s holding an inflatable plug and a saline bag, and Dean’s confused; thought they were done with the portion of the evening’s entertainment that involved his ass. He makes a face at Sam around the gag, questioning, but Sam just pushes Dean down over the sink. He whines high in his throat as the edge of the sink presses into his belly, writhes under the weight of Sam’s hand on his back as Sam slicks up the plug and pushes it into Dean. It doesn’t feel that weird, so Dean’s waiting for the penny to drop, and it does when Sam reaches between Dean’s legs and pulls the catheter back. One of the valves makes a clicking sound as it latches onto the plug, and then Dean’s moaning in the purest relief as the pressure starts to ease inside him. Sam’s turned the valve, and Dean’s piss is running through the tube; into his ass, he knows, but right now all that matters is that it’s running out of his bladder. Sam gives him a quick grin in the mirror and slaps his ass, tells him to stand up and rub his own belly.
It’s the best fucking thing Dean’s felt all day, rolling the heel of his hand against his lower abdomen and feeling it press in, easy, instead of the firm weight of his full bladder pushing back at him. It’s so good the way his ass is filling up barely registers. It’s nothing compared to the two bags he took; there’s more room in his ass than his bladder, anyway. He keeps pushing, massaging, until the flow finally eases off and he’s done. Empty, though he’s not sure for how long as there’s going to be more coming down the line from the water he drank earlier.
But Sam’s praising him, kissing his forehead, closing off the clamps and locking all that liquid away inside him, then taking out the gag so Dean can clean his teeth before bed. It figures that the catch with letting him void so soon and then plugging in such a small enema would mean an overnight hold, but Dean’s more than up to the task. He’s taken more.
Except when he turns around, Sam’s holding the small saline bag and reaching for the catheter again, and Dean had forgotten. Three valves on this one. One to fill the balloon inside him so it stays locked in place. One to drain the urine. And the third valve, for the third tube, usually used to flush out a bladder post-surgery, make sure there’s nothing clotting in there. This one, Sam’s hooking the bag up to and then letting it flow, and Dean can’t help the small, betrayed noise he makes.
I like you full, Sam says, and I know you like it too.
Not overnight, dammit, Dean says. All he’d have to do is reach forward and take the bag off Sam, let the valves go and pull out the catheter, and then he’d have all his control back. Just one move and he’d be in charge again.
He holds more tightly to the edge of the sink, and keeps his eyes on Sam’s face as the last of the bag drains into him. Sam twists the valve off and there it is, he’s full again. It’s not as bad as before, but come morning, he’ll be swollen and aching and ready to wake Sam up and beg to be emptied out right the fuck then.
He wonders if he will.