Fic: Maid Service
Title: Maid Service
Author: Safiyabat
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Sexual content, spanking, crossdressing
Pairing: Wincest
Word Count: 3,763
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester.
Summary: This is essentially a porny coda to 11.02, "Form and Void." [Spoiler (click to open)] When Dean walked into the bunker and said, "We need a maid," Sam's mind immediately went there. And maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was sleep deprivation, but Sam was feeling brave.
Sam took a quick look at the mirror. It had been years, a lot of them, since he’d bought this ridiculous outfit. The distance showed. The top didn’t fit quite so well as it once had; it looked too big in the pecs, not terribly so but enough to notice. When he’d bought it - well. He’d been a different guy then, bigger, more confident. Thought it would be fun, nice to give Dean a little something lighthearted and distracting after Hell.
Thought that he could be lighthearted and distracting, after Dean’s return from Hell. Heh. The angels had seen to thas.t, had taken Dean back in time and shown him Sam’s secret shame. Dean hadn’t ever wanted to touch him again, could barely bring himself to put his hands on him to check on injuries never mind getting back to what they’d had, and the little costume had sat at the bottom of Sam’s duffel, hidden away in a box disguised as the dullest of books and never worn.
“You’re unclean in a biblical sense.”
Yeah. Okay. He hadn’t had any response to Billie’s comment, because it was true. Why waste words arguing about it? He knew what he was. So did Dean. And Dean had made his thoughts, his intentions clear. He didn’t want this anymore, didn’t want Sam as anything but a subordinate. This was stupid. Offering himself like this again, putting himself out here like this, was stupid.
Dean hadn’t come back to his room yet. There was still time for Sam to steal a pair of sweats and a tee shirt from Dean’s stash, his brother would probably never notice. He could sneak out of here and Dean wouldn’t have to know he’d shamed himself like this. He could escape with a little bit of his dignity intact. Right?
The doorknob rattled and turned.
Sam’s heart froze in his chest. Shit shit shit. He hadn’t meant - he didn’t need for Dean to see this. Well, he had but not really, more like the desperate hope mixed with euphoria that came with success and bone-deep exhaustion. It was the kind of impulse that rode the wave of curing the infected and coming out on top. Nothing more. He didn’t think that Dean would actually want him.
“Too little, too late.”
The door cracked open, just an inch, a dark line against the wood.
Sam swallowed. The outfit looked absurd on him now, not like it had in the store. If he’d wanted to… to seduce Dean back into his bed, or whatever he wanted to call it, he shouldn’t have done it like this. He should have picked something less humiliating, like shaving DEAN into the side of his head or standing outside the bunker in the nude with his feet in buckets of manure until Dean said he could leave, not this. Sam knew he’d never been the best looking guy but now, now that he hadn’t had anyone to make sure he ate or slept or did something with his hair that didn’t make it look like a helmet - well, Dean would just laugh at him until he stopped breathing, and where would be the seduction in that? Sam fought to control his expression, balling his hands into fists at his side. He could keep it together. He could.
Dean walked in the door. “Heya Sammy.” He tossed his jacket onto the chair that Sam had just straightened and flopped down onto the bed, massaging his face with his hands. “Christ, I could sleep for a month, I don’t know about you.”
Maybe Sam could get out of this after all.
Dean froze on the bed and sat up, hands still over his face. He parted his fingers enough to show his eyes, which stared out at Sam without blinking. “Sam?” he said finally, voice muffled behind his hands. “What the fuck?”
“You said you wanted a maid.” Sam shifted, keeping his back straight and his tone neutral. Well, he strove for neutral. He knew it probably came out closer to “flat,” but there was only so much he could do between humiliation and exhaustion. “I did something stupid. It’s… it’s dumb, it’s stupid, I’m just going to… I’m gonna go.”
Sam turned on a heel and darted toward the exit, but Dean moved fast for a guy doing his best impression of a pole-axed ox. He jumped off the bed and lunged for Sam, grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip and jerking Sam back and throwing himself between Sam and the door.
Sam swallowed, heart racing. That might have been from his flight-or-fight response kicking in, because he’d already worked himself up into a fine little mental semi-panic before Dean blocked him in and slammed the door, and it might have been because Dean had his hand on Sam’s bare wrist and wasn’t taking it off and that - well, it was what Sam had wanted in the first place. Thank God - or whoever - for the frilly petticoat underneath the maid costume’s short skirt, so at least Dean didn’t have to see his arousal.
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean softened his tone. “You got something you want to tell me?” He still hadn’t moved his hand from Sam’s wrist.
“Like I said. It was stupid. It’s been a long couple of days, I probably just need to sleep it off.” Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. At least your room’s in a bit better shape, right?” He gave a little laugh, one that sounded weak even to his own ears, and tugged to release his arm from Dean’s grasp.
“It is. Thanks for that. Is that - how long have you had that get-up, Sam?” Dean looked Sam up and down, eyes moving slow and lingering around the hips.
Sam squirmed. “A while. A few years.”
“Who’d you buy it for?” Dean pinched at the puffed sleeves of the blouse. “It’s nice. Satin. I always liked satin. Does it feel good? Like, on you, I mean?”
“Yeah.” Sam looked away, cheeks warming up. “It does. I mean the garter belt’s a little weird to get used to again but -“
“Again? You had a habit of wearing this?” Dean raised his eyebrows and stopped touching the sleeve, but didn’t pull away.
“Not this.” Sam glanced away, just for a second, and then looked his brother in the eye. “This has never been worn.”
Dean smirked. “But the garter belt and fishnets, that’s just your thing, I guess? Live in a guy’s pocket for thirty years and still got things to learn, I guess.”
Sam shrugged. “There were times. Why not? I liked to feel good sometimes. Attractive. Even if no one saw.” The bravado rushed out of him, as sudden as it had come, and he turned his head away again. “Like I said, it was stupid.”
Dean gripped his chin with his free hand, turning Sam’s face gently back to look at him. “Hey. No. No no. I mean it does look good. Don’t get me wrong.” A shadow passed over his face then. He clenched his jaw and stepped back, letting Sam go but staying between his brother and the door. “So. Never been worn, huh?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, Dean. I bought it but one thing led to another. It’s been sitting in my duffel for years.”
“Why’d you feel like you needed to keep it a secret, Sammy?” Dean sneered a little. “I mean you’re letting me know about it now.”
“Yeah and that’s going so well,” Sam muttered.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Who’d you buy it for?”
Sam coughed. Was Dean really this dense? “Excuse me?”
“Did you buy it for Amelia?”
Sam had a brief mental image of Amelia finding him dressed like this and resisted the urge to cringe. “You’re kidding, right?”
“One of your soulless hookups?”
Soulless him wouldn’t have bothered with the outfit. “No, Dean. He didn’t want to impress anyone. He didn’t care.”
“Hell-bitch?”
“No.” Sam sighed. He was going to take this costume down to the boiler room and stuff it into the furnace, right as soon as Dean got out of his way. He didn’t care if Cas got out of the dungeon and saw him stark naked on his way back to his own little cell. This thing was a curse, and it had to die like one.
“Jess?”
“No. Just - drop it, would you?”
“That dick you were with in college - Brady?”
“Dean, what the hell?” Sam spun away from Dean, skirt twirling out as he did so. “First of all, you don’t get to be jealous of anyone that I might or might not have bought this for. You haven’t wanted me since 2008, so spare me this jealous boyfriend shit.” And just like that, the erection that had been threatening disappeared. He supposed he should be grateful, but right now that wasn’t the emotion at the forefront of his mind.
“Sam,” Dean sighed, shaking his head.
“No, Dean. I bought the damn thing for you. After you got back from Hell.”
Dean froze. “What?”
“Like I’ve said twice already: it was stupid.” Hot tears threatened at the back of Sam’s eyelids but he fought them back. “I was waiting for the time to be right. Then Cas took you back in time and well -“
“The time wasn’t ever going to be right after that.” Dean hung his head.
“No.” Sam adjusted his shoulders. “So let me out.”
Dean hesitated, just for a second, and then he put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy, it’s been a long time since then. A lot of stuff… a lot of stuff’s happened. You know. To us. Around us.”
“Yeah. I know. Believe me, I know.” Sam snorted. “Just - let me get out of your hair, I know it was stupid, we don’t ever have to -“
Dean grabbed his head and pulled his face down for a kiss. Sam was still trying to speak and the rest of his sentence came out in muffled variants of “mmm-mm-mmm-mff” until his brain caught up with what was going on with his body.
Dean. Was kissing him. For the first time in years.
Sam brought his hands up to cradle Dean’s face, letting his tongue work on something more productive than speech. Dean tasted like coffee, with a hint of cheeseburger and maybe a little bit of fried potato somewhere in the back there - he’d stopped for takeout somewhere along the way to wherever Jenna had wanted to go, and Sam couldn’t repress a little smile at this tangible reminder that this was really Dean. The hands, the ones that started out on his hips but were already migrating lower to bring a heat back to his limbs that he hadn’t felt in years, those too were sure signs that the brother he loved in all the wrong ways was truly back.
Unless he wasn’t. When they parted for air, Sam gripped at the scar on his hand, still visible after all these years. Dean frowned and put a hand over Sam’s. “This is real, Sammy,” he said, bringing the other hand up to stroke Sam’s face. “I promise you, this is real.”
Sam didn’t quite buy it. It was too good, too perfect - everything he wanted, every shameful fantasy he’d nursed through the long years of solitude. Still - real or fantasy, it was happening. He might as well play along. He turned his head, just a little bit, and took Dean’s fingers into his mouth.
His brother made a pleased little sound in the back of his throat. “Tease,” he gasped.
Sam didn’t reply, but held his brother’s gaze as he worked his tongue over Dean’s calloused skin. Dean grinned and ran his free hand over Sam’s chest, savoring the feel of the satin under his fingers. “I can’t decide, Sammy,” Dean purred, using that low, husky voice that he reserved for times like this. “I mean. I like the outfit. I do. And I think you do too. But I also kind of like to play with your nipples until you beg me for more.”
Sam smirked at his brother. “There’s more than one way to get a rise out of me.”
“Mmm. Yes, yes there is. Or at least there was.” Dean moved his hand from Sam’s face slowly down his side to the hem of Sam’s skirt, and Sam couldn’t help the hitch in his breath. It had been a very long time, after all.
Dean’s mouth spread into a predatory grin. “Why Sammy. You seem to have forgotten a key accessory.” His hand caressed Sam’s bare ass. “There’s not a stitch of underwear on you. Kind of dirty. For a maid and all.”
Sam blushed and bent over, just a little. Enough that Dean could really get a handful of his derriere. “Well, you know. Like I said, it was -“
Dean bit him on the back of the neck - not hard, not enough to leave much of a mark never mind draw blood, but it was enough to shock Sam into silence. Sam wouldn’t lie - it was a bit of a turn-on, too. He bit his lip as his brother’s lips moved up from his neck to his ear without leaving skin, hot breath tickling the little hairs on his neck. “I don’t know, Sammy. You all bare and exposed like this, under all that lace and satin, with the garter belt and those fishnets and this little bit of bare thigh right here?” He ran a blunt fingernail over the flesh just over the top of Sam’s stockings and dropped his voice to a growly whisper. “I kind of like it.”
Just like that Dean withdrew his hands, whipping his shirts off with a speed Sam hadn’t seen in forever. God, Dean was beautiful. Even after all this time, Dean was still beautiful, right down to the slightly-faded lines of his anti-possession tattoo and the myriad little freckles that dotted his perfect body. “I’m going to move you over to the bed now, Sammy,” Dean told him in a more normal tone of voice.
Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Good boy.” Dean grinned, and guided Sam over to the bed like he couldn’t see it, hadn’t been the one to make the damn bed. Sam didn’t care, he basked in the praise. He would have let Dean do just about anything right then to keep Dean’s hands on him.
Dean didn’t disappoint. “So,” he asked, tugging on one of the laces on the dress. “Are these just for show?”
Sam grinned and loosened the outer garment. The good thing about the outfit not quite fitting right anymore was that if he loosened it enough, and unbuttoned the blouse, Dean could get access to as much of his chest as he might want. And, if his behavior was anything to go by, Dean wanted. Sam hissed as his brother reached an experimental hand in to seek out his left nipple, already starting to pebble in anticipation. “Dean!”
“Still sensitive.” Dean smirked. “That’s good. I like that.”
Sam ran his own trembling fingers over his brother’s torso. He could scarcely believe that he was allowed to touch again. He’d been with other people since Dean had called it quits on them, but it had never been the same, never had the same intensity that sex with Dean had. Now here he was, able to put his mouth on Dean’s jaw, on his collarbone, and kiss or nibble or nip as the spirit so moved him. Able to just lay his cheek against his brother’s skin and inhale his scent, to trace the lines of new scars with the tips of his fingers as though he didn’t know where the wounds had all come from anyway.
Able to feel Dean’s erection, denim-clad though it was, grinding against his own. He let himself wallow in the sensations, losing himself in he slide of satin and the heat of his brother’s body. Then Sam pulled back, hand hovering just over Dean’s jeans. “This okay?” he asked his brother.
“Fuck yes,” Dean gasped, pupils dilated as he met Sam’s eyes.
Sam unbuttoned Dean’s fly and carefully pulled down both his jeans and his briefs, folding them and laying them on the end of the bed before returning to his brother. Dean snorted at him and his meticulousness, and Sam blushed, but Dean just took Sam into his arms. “Still like what you see?” he rumbled.
How could Sam not like what he saw? This was Dean, his physical body anyway. “I’ll always want you, Dean,” he told him. “No matter what.” Sam reached out to touch, letting his hand trail down from Dean’s abdomen down to the little thatch of wiry hair around the base of his cock. “I can’t wait to have this in me, Dean. To have you in me.” He dragged his hand up the shaft, slow and gentle so as not to create too much friction. He just wanted to get to know the feel of it again, the thickness of it, the flare at the tip.
He wanted time to get used to the sounds Dean made. Dean, for all of his brashness outside the bedroom, tended to be a quiet lover, choking back his cries of pleasure to whispered gasps and lip-bitten moans. Sam had always thought of it as a major victory when he managed to get a yelp or a shout or a barked obscenity out of his brother. He strove for it now.
“You sure you still want this, Sammy?” Dean asked after a second. “I mean… after everything?”
“I’m sure, Dean.”
“Is there -“
Sam huffed out a little laugh. “Top drawer.”
“Boy scout.” Dean swatted him on the ass as he moved around him, moving toward the bedside table.
Sam groaned, just a little.
“Oh. Right.” Dean’s wicked little grin returned. “I forgot about that.” The purr to his voice proved that he’d forgotten no such thing. “Come on. Hop up on the bed. Face down.”
Sam obeyed quickly, arranging himself so that his ass was presented for his brother. Dean lifted up the dress and gave an appreciative little growl before swatting him again - twice. Sam let out a little moan as the sting blossomed from the center of each cheek, radiating out in a perfect star pattern. “I remember the first time I figured out that spankings weren’t having the desired effect,” Dean reminded him. “At least not the effect that Dad wanted them to have.” Smack! Sam held himself perfectly still, even though he’d gone from half-hard to aching in about three seconds. “Remember that? I took you down to that old shed by the river.”
“I was so embarrassed.” Sam shook his head, trying to stop himself from rubbing against the blanket. Damn Dean and his teasing anyway. His brother’s hand hovered just over the tender bruise, not quite touching, and Sam had to bite his lip to keep from begging him to touch him.
Dean caressed Sam’s ass again, tender now that the flesh was tingling. Sam’s entire being trembled with want. He almost shouted when he heard the “snick” of the lube bottle opening.
Dean started with two fingers. He always had, and to be honest Sam kind of preferred it that way. Tonight was no different and for Sam it was a lot like coming home. Yeah, there was a bit of a stretch and burn as his body reacted to the intrusion; he’d been alone for a long time, and it had been longer since he’d been with a man. He liked it though; it proved to him, in a way, that this was real and not a hallucination or a fantasy or a dream. Sam moaned out loud as Dean found his sweet spot and cried out as his pleasure built. In this, at least, he’d never been shy, never felt compelled to hide himself.
Their lovemaking had never been drawn out. It had always been fast, furtive, whether driven by the frenzied lust of survival or the fear of being found out by their father or some other authority figure. Dean took longer to prep Sam than he’d ever taken before, but he still moved through the process quickly. Sam urged him on. “Come on, Dean. I’m ready. I need you in me.”
Finally Dean’s fingers withdrew, only to be replaced a moment later by the blunt, hot head of his dick. “Yes,” Sam whispered, as his brother pressed slowly but surely inside. Dean was bare. Sam could feel every inch of him, every little bit of his hot, lube-slick flesh, and he loved it.
For a moment, just a second, it felt like the entire world stopped. Nothing else existed. The buzz of the lights, the slight scratch of the sheets, the ache of his injuries from the fight before the Darkness hit - everything faded in the face of the perfection of this act. There was just Dean, in Sam, and Sam, engulfing Dean. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered.
Dean paused to let Sam’s body adjust. He trembled with the effort of holding himself back until Sam told him to move, which he did as soon as he possibly could. Dean didn’t build up to a rhythm slowly, but set one right away and stuck with it. Sam didn’t take long to fall in line with it. This just felt too good, with Dean buried deep inside him and thrusting like his life depended on it. And fuck, who knew if he’d ever have this again?
They didn’t last long. The many intervening years combined with exhaustion to send both of them over the edge quickly, and that was okay. Dean came first, but Sam followed seconds after Dean snaked an arm around them and tugged a few times on his swollen, aching member. They collapsed onto the bed together, still joined, Sam still wrapped up in Dean’s arms.
Dean pulled out carefully and grabbed a tee shirt from the laundry pile to clean them both up with. Sam rose on shaky legs, as if to go, but Dean stopped him. “You could, I don’t know. Stay.”
Sam paused. “Yeah. Okay,” he decided.
Dean unzipped the dress and helped him remove the costume, hands gentle on his skin as he peeled the now-sticky satin off of Sam’s body. Sam then slipped under the covers and back into Dean’s arms. The bunker hadn’t felt so much like home before.
Author: Safiyabat
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Sexual content, spanking, crossdressing
Pairing: Wincest
Word Count: 3,763
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester.
Summary: This is essentially a porny coda to 11.02, "Form and Void." [Spoiler (click to open)] When Dean walked into the bunker and said, "We need a maid," Sam's mind immediately went there. And maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was sleep deprivation, but Sam was feeling brave.
Sam took a quick look at the mirror. It had been years, a lot of them, since he’d bought this ridiculous outfit. The distance showed. The top didn’t fit quite so well as it once had; it looked too big in the pecs, not terribly so but enough to notice. When he’d bought it - well. He’d been a different guy then, bigger, more confident. Thought it would be fun, nice to give Dean a little something lighthearted and distracting after Hell.
Thought that he could be lighthearted and distracting, after Dean’s return from Hell. Heh. The angels had seen to thas.t, had taken Dean back in time and shown him Sam’s secret shame. Dean hadn’t ever wanted to touch him again, could barely bring himself to put his hands on him to check on injuries never mind getting back to what they’d had, and the little costume had sat at the bottom of Sam’s duffel, hidden away in a box disguised as the dullest of books and never worn.
“You’re unclean in a biblical sense.”
Yeah. Okay. He hadn’t had any response to Billie’s comment, because it was true. Why waste words arguing about it? He knew what he was. So did Dean. And Dean had made his thoughts, his intentions clear. He didn’t want this anymore, didn’t want Sam as anything but a subordinate. This was stupid. Offering himself like this again, putting himself out here like this, was stupid.
Dean hadn’t come back to his room yet. There was still time for Sam to steal a pair of sweats and a tee shirt from Dean’s stash, his brother would probably never notice. He could sneak out of here and Dean wouldn’t have to know he’d shamed himself like this. He could escape with a little bit of his dignity intact. Right?
The doorknob rattled and turned.
Sam’s heart froze in his chest. Shit shit shit. He hadn’t meant - he didn’t need for Dean to see this. Well, he had but not really, more like the desperate hope mixed with euphoria that came with success and bone-deep exhaustion. It was the kind of impulse that rode the wave of curing the infected and coming out on top. Nothing more. He didn’t think that Dean would actually want him.
“Too little, too late.”
The door cracked open, just an inch, a dark line against the wood.
Sam swallowed. The outfit looked absurd on him now, not like it had in the store. If he’d wanted to… to seduce Dean back into his bed, or whatever he wanted to call it, he shouldn’t have done it like this. He should have picked something less humiliating, like shaving DEAN into the side of his head or standing outside the bunker in the nude with his feet in buckets of manure until Dean said he could leave, not this. Sam knew he’d never been the best looking guy but now, now that he hadn’t had anyone to make sure he ate or slept or did something with his hair that didn’t make it look like a helmet - well, Dean would just laugh at him until he stopped breathing, and where would be the seduction in that? Sam fought to control his expression, balling his hands into fists at his side. He could keep it together. He could.
Dean walked in the door. “Heya Sammy.” He tossed his jacket onto the chair that Sam had just straightened and flopped down onto the bed, massaging his face with his hands. “Christ, I could sleep for a month, I don’t know about you.”
Maybe Sam could get out of this after all.
Dean froze on the bed and sat up, hands still over his face. He parted his fingers enough to show his eyes, which stared out at Sam without blinking. “Sam?” he said finally, voice muffled behind his hands. “What the fuck?”
“You said you wanted a maid.” Sam shifted, keeping his back straight and his tone neutral. Well, he strove for neutral. He knew it probably came out closer to “flat,” but there was only so much he could do between humiliation and exhaustion. “I did something stupid. It’s… it’s dumb, it’s stupid, I’m just going to… I’m gonna go.”
Sam turned on a heel and darted toward the exit, but Dean moved fast for a guy doing his best impression of a pole-axed ox. He jumped off the bed and lunged for Sam, grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip and jerking Sam back and throwing himself between Sam and the door.
Sam swallowed, heart racing. That might have been from his flight-or-fight response kicking in, because he’d already worked himself up into a fine little mental semi-panic before Dean blocked him in and slammed the door, and it might have been because Dean had his hand on Sam’s bare wrist and wasn’t taking it off and that - well, it was what Sam had wanted in the first place. Thank God - or whoever - for the frilly petticoat underneath the maid costume’s short skirt, so at least Dean didn’t have to see his arousal.
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean softened his tone. “You got something you want to tell me?” He still hadn’t moved his hand from Sam’s wrist.
“Like I said. It was stupid. It’s been a long couple of days, I probably just need to sleep it off.” Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. At least your room’s in a bit better shape, right?” He gave a little laugh, one that sounded weak even to his own ears, and tugged to release his arm from Dean’s grasp.
“It is. Thanks for that. Is that - how long have you had that get-up, Sam?” Dean looked Sam up and down, eyes moving slow and lingering around the hips.
Sam squirmed. “A while. A few years.”
“Who’d you buy it for?” Dean pinched at the puffed sleeves of the blouse. “It’s nice. Satin. I always liked satin. Does it feel good? Like, on you, I mean?”
“Yeah.” Sam looked away, cheeks warming up. “It does. I mean the garter belt’s a little weird to get used to again but -“
“Again? You had a habit of wearing this?” Dean raised his eyebrows and stopped touching the sleeve, but didn’t pull away.
“Not this.” Sam glanced away, just for a second, and then looked his brother in the eye. “This has never been worn.”
Dean smirked. “But the garter belt and fishnets, that’s just your thing, I guess? Live in a guy’s pocket for thirty years and still got things to learn, I guess.”
Sam shrugged. “There were times. Why not? I liked to feel good sometimes. Attractive. Even if no one saw.” The bravado rushed out of him, as sudden as it had come, and he turned his head away again. “Like I said, it was stupid.”
Dean gripped his chin with his free hand, turning Sam’s face gently back to look at him. “Hey. No. No no. I mean it does look good. Don’t get me wrong.” A shadow passed over his face then. He clenched his jaw and stepped back, letting Sam go but staying between his brother and the door. “So. Never been worn, huh?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, Dean. I bought it but one thing led to another. It’s been sitting in my duffel for years.”
“Why’d you feel like you needed to keep it a secret, Sammy?” Dean sneered a little. “I mean you’re letting me know about it now.”
“Yeah and that’s going so well,” Sam muttered.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Who’d you buy it for?”
Sam coughed. Was Dean really this dense? “Excuse me?”
“Did you buy it for Amelia?”
Sam had a brief mental image of Amelia finding him dressed like this and resisted the urge to cringe. “You’re kidding, right?”
“One of your soulless hookups?”
Soulless him wouldn’t have bothered with the outfit. “No, Dean. He didn’t want to impress anyone. He didn’t care.”
“Hell-bitch?”
“No.” Sam sighed. He was going to take this costume down to the boiler room and stuff it into the furnace, right as soon as Dean got out of his way. He didn’t care if Cas got out of the dungeon and saw him stark naked on his way back to his own little cell. This thing was a curse, and it had to die like one.
“Jess?”
“No. Just - drop it, would you?”
“That dick you were with in college - Brady?”
“Dean, what the hell?” Sam spun away from Dean, skirt twirling out as he did so. “First of all, you don’t get to be jealous of anyone that I might or might not have bought this for. You haven’t wanted me since 2008, so spare me this jealous boyfriend shit.” And just like that, the erection that had been threatening disappeared. He supposed he should be grateful, but right now that wasn’t the emotion at the forefront of his mind.
“Sam,” Dean sighed, shaking his head.
“No, Dean. I bought the damn thing for you. After you got back from Hell.”
Dean froze. “What?”
“Like I’ve said twice already: it was stupid.” Hot tears threatened at the back of Sam’s eyelids but he fought them back. “I was waiting for the time to be right. Then Cas took you back in time and well -“
“The time wasn’t ever going to be right after that.” Dean hung his head.
“No.” Sam adjusted his shoulders. “So let me out.”
Dean hesitated, just for a second, and then he put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy, it’s been a long time since then. A lot of stuff… a lot of stuff’s happened. You know. To us. Around us.”
“Yeah. I know. Believe me, I know.” Sam snorted. “Just - let me get out of your hair, I know it was stupid, we don’t ever have to -“
Dean grabbed his head and pulled his face down for a kiss. Sam was still trying to speak and the rest of his sentence came out in muffled variants of “mmm-mm-mmm-mff” until his brain caught up with what was going on with his body.
Dean. Was kissing him. For the first time in years.
Sam brought his hands up to cradle Dean’s face, letting his tongue work on something more productive than speech. Dean tasted like coffee, with a hint of cheeseburger and maybe a little bit of fried potato somewhere in the back there - he’d stopped for takeout somewhere along the way to wherever Jenna had wanted to go, and Sam couldn’t repress a little smile at this tangible reminder that this was really Dean. The hands, the ones that started out on his hips but were already migrating lower to bring a heat back to his limbs that he hadn’t felt in years, those too were sure signs that the brother he loved in all the wrong ways was truly back.
Unless he wasn’t. When they parted for air, Sam gripped at the scar on his hand, still visible after all these years. Dean frowned and put a hand over Sam’s. “This is real, Sammy,” he said, bringing the other hand up to stroke Sam’s face. “I promise you, this is real.”
Sam didn’t quite buy it. It was too good, too perfect - everything he wanted, every shameful fantasy he’d nursed through the long years of solitude. Still - real or fantasy, it was happening. He might as well play along. He turned his head, just a little bit, and took Dean’s fingers into his mouth.
His brother made a pleased little sound in the back of his throat. “Tease,” he gasped.
Sam didn’t reply, but held his brother’s gaze as he worked his tongue over Dean’s calloused skin. Dean grinned and ran his free hand over Sam’s chest, savoring the feel of the satin under his fingers. “I can’t decide, Sammy,” Dean purred, using that low, husky voice that he reserved for times like this. “I mean. I like the outfit. I do. And I think you do too. But I also kind of like to play with your nipples until you beg me for more.”
Sam smirked at his brother. “There’s more than one way to get a rise out of me.”
“Mmm. Yes, yes there is. Or at least there was.” Dean moved his hand from Sam’s face slowly down his side to the hem of Sam’s skirt, and Sam couldn’t help the hitch in his breath. It had been a very long time, after all.
Dean’s mouth spread into a predatory grin. “Why Sammy. You seem to have forgotten a key accessory.” His hand caressed Sam’s bare ass. “There’s not a stitch of underwear on you. Kind of dirty. For a maid and all.”
Sam blushed and bent over, just a little. Enough that Dean could really get a handful of his derriere. “Well, you know. Like I said, it was -“
Dean bit him on the back of the neck - not hard, not enough to leave much of a mark never mind draw blood, but it was enough to shock Sam into silence. Sam wouldn’t lie - it was a bit of a turn-on, too. He bit his lip as his brother’s lips moved up from his neck to his ear without leaving skin, hot breath tickling the little hairs on his neck. “I don’t know, Sammy. You all bare and exposed like this, under all that lace and satin, with the garter belt and those fishnets and this little bit of bare thigh right here?” He ran a blunt fingernail over the flesh just over the top of Sam’s stockings and dropped his voice to a growly whisper. “I kind of like it.”
Just like that Dean withdrew his hands, whipping his shirts off with a speed Sam hadn’t seen in forever. God, Dean was beautiful. Even after all this time, Dean was still beautiful, right down to the slightly-faded lines of his anti-possession tattoo and the myriad little freckles that dotted his perfect body. “I’m going to move you over to the bed now, Sammy,” Dean told him in a more normal tone of voice.
Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Good boy.” Dean grinned, and guided Sam over to the bed like he couldn’t see it, hadn’t been the one to make the damn bed. Sam didn’t care, he basked in the praise. He would have let Dean do just about anything right then to keep Dean’s hands on him.
Dean didn’t disappoint. “So,” he asked, tugging on one of the laces on the dress. “Are these just for show?”
Sam grinned and loosened the outer garment. The good thing about the outfit not quite fitting right anymore was that if he loosened it enough, and unbuttoned the blouse, Dean could get access to as much of his chest as he might want. And, if his behavior was anything to go by, Dean wanted. Sam hissed as his brother reached an experimental hand in to seek out his left nipple, already starting to pebble in anticipation. “Dean!”
“Still sensitive.” Dean smirked. “That’s good. I like that.”
Sam ran his own trembling fingers over his brother’s torso. He could scarcely believe that he was allowed to touch again. He’d been with other people since Dean had called it quits on them, but it had never been the same, never had the same intensity that sex with Dean had. Now here he was, able to put his mouth on Dean’s jaw, on his collarbone, and kiss or nibble or nip as the spirit so moved him. Able to just lay his cheek against his brother’s skin and inhale his scent, to trace the lines of new scars with the tips of his fingers as though he didn’t know where the wounds had all come from anyway.
Able to feel Dean’s erection, denim-clad though it was, grinding against his own. He let himself wallow in the sensations, losing himself in he slide of satin and the heat of his brother’s body. Then Sam pulled back, hand hovering just over Dean’s jeans. “This okay?” he asked his brother.
“Fuck yes,” Dean gasped, pupils dilated as he met Sam’s eyes.
Sam unbuttoned Dean’s fly and carefully pulled down both his jeans and his briefs, folding them and laying them on the end of the bed before returning to his brother. Dean snorted at him and his meticulousness, and Sam blushed, but Dean just took Sam into his arms. “Still like what you see?” he rumbled.
How could Sam not like what he saw? This was Dean, his physical body anyway. “I’ll always want you, Dean,” he told him. “No matter what.” Sam reached out to touch, letting his hand trail down from Dean’s abdomen down to the little thatch of wiry hair around the base of his cock. “I can’t wait to have this in me, Dean. To have you in me.” He dragged his hand up the shaft, slow and gentle so as not to create too much friction. He just wanted to get to know the feel of it again, the thickness of it, the flare at the tip.
He wanted time to get used to the sounds Dean made. Dean, for all of his brashness outside the bedroom, tended to be a quiet lover, choking back his cries of pleasure to whispered gasps and lip-bitten moans. Sam had always thought of it as a major victory when he managed to get a yelp or a shout or a barked obscenity out of his brother. He strove for it now.
“You sure you still want this, Sammy?” Dean asked after a second. “I mean… after everything?”
“I’m sure, Dean.”
“Is there -“
Sam huffed out a little laugh. “Top drawer.”
“Boy scout.” Dean swatted him on the ass as he moved around him, moving toward the bedside table.
Sam groaned, just a little.
“Oh. Right.” Dean’s wicked little grin returned. “I forgot about that.” The purr to his voice proved that he’d forgotten no such thing. “Come on. Hop up on the bed. Face down.”
Sam obeyed quickly, arranging himself so that his ass was presented for his brother. Dean lifted up the dress and gave an appreciative little growl before swatting him again - twice. Sam let out a little moan as the sting blossomed from the center of each cheek, radiating out in a perfect star pattern. “I remember the first time I figured out that spankings weren’t having the desired effect,” Dean reminded him. “At least not the effect that Dad wanted them to have.” Smack! Sam held himself perfectly still, even though he’d gone from half-hard to aching in about three seconds. “Remember that? I took you down to that old shed by the river.”
“I was so embarrassed.” Sam shook his head, trying to stop himself from rubbing against the blanket. Damn Dean and his teasing anyway. His brother’s hand hovered just over the tender bruise, not quite touching, and Sam had to bite his lip to keep from begging him to touch him.
Dean caressed Sam’s ass again, tender now that the flesh was tingling. Sam’s entire being trembled with want. He almost shouted when he heard the “snick” of the lube bottle opening.
Dean started with two fingers. He always had, and to be honest Sam kind of preferred it that way. Tonight was no different and for Sam it was a lot like coming home. Yeah, there was a bit of a stretch and burn as his body reacted to the intrusion; he’d been alone for a long time, and it had been longer since he’d been with a man. He liked it though; it proved to him, in a way, that this was real and not a hallucination or a fantasy or a dream. Sam moaned out loud as Dean found his sweet spot and cried out as his pleasure built. In this, at least, he’d never been shy, never felt compelled to hide himself.
Their lovemaking had never been drawn out. It had always been fast, furtive, whether driven by the frenzied lust of survival or the fear of being found out by their father or some other authority figure. Dean took longer to prep Sam than he’d ever taken before, but he still moved through the process quickly. Sam urged him on. “Come on, Dean. I’m ready. I need you in me.”
Finally Dean’s fingers withdrew, only to be replaced a moment later by the blunt, hot head of his dick. “Yes,” Sam whispered, as his brother pressed slowly but surely inside. Dean was bare. Sam could feel every inch of him, every little bit of his hot, lube-slick flesh, and he loved it.
For a moment, just a second, it felt like the entire world stopped. Nothing else existed. The buzz of the lights, the slight scratch of the sheets, the ache of his injuries from the fight before the Darkness hit - everything faded in the face of the perfection of this act. There was just Dean, in Sam, and Sam, engulfing Dean. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered.
Dean paused to let Sam’s body adjust. He trembled with the effort of holding himself back until Sam told him to move, which he did as soon as he possibly could. Dean didn’t build up to a rhythm slowly, but set one right away and stuck with it. Sam didn’t take long to fall in line with it. This just felt too good, with Dean buried deep inside him and thrusting like his life depended on it. And fuck, who knew if he’d ever have this again?
They didn’t last long. The many intervening years combined with exhaustion to send both of them over the edge quickly, and that was okay. Dean came first, but Sam followed seconds after Dean snaked an arm around them and tugged a few times on his swollen, aching member. They collapsed onto the bed together, still joined, Sam still wrapped up in Dean’s arms.
Dean pulled out carefully and grabbed a tee shirt from the laundry pile to clean them both up with. Sam rose on shaky legs, as if to go, but Dean stopped him. “You could, I don’t know. Stay.”
Sam paused. “Yeah. Okay,” he decided.
Dean unzipped the dress and helped him remove the costume, hands gentle on his skin as he peeled the now-sticky satin off of Sam’s body. Sam then slipped under the covers and back into Dean’s arms. The bunker hadn’t felt so much like home before.