SPN Fic -- What Lies Beneath -- Sam/Dean -- NC-17
Title: What Lies Beneath
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Summary: Dean has a panty kink.
A/N: Just so you know, I tend to object to the use of the word "panties" unless it's a man wearing them. Yeah.
"Dean," says Sam.
Dean doesn't look up from the TV. Sam's been edgy for the past few days and Dean's decided just to let him work it out on his own.
"Dean. Seriously. You collect these now?"
Dean's eyes flash over to where Sam's digging through Dean's duffle. There's a pair of black lace panties in his hand and he's waving them like a flag.
"Get out of my bag," Dean snaps.
"I'm doing laundry," Sam tells him. "Unless you want your clothes to reek so bad they take on a life of their own, I have to get them out of your bag. And really? How many fucking pairs of women's underwear have you swiped?" He digs out a red silk pair, a dark blue satin pair, pale aqua bikinis with bows. "Do these women even know you stole their underwear? Never mind. Either way, I don't want to know." He stuffs the panties back into Dean's duffle, grumbling to himself.
Dean looks back at the TV, sips his beer. Sam keeps grumbling as he stuffs Dean's dirty laundry into his own duffle and carries it out the door, heading for the motel's small laundry room. Once he's gone, Dean watches the door for a few minutes to make sure Sam's not coming right back.
He gets up, opens his duffle, takes out the panties and folds them before putting them back in. He doesn't like it when they get wrinkled.
**********
OK. It's not like Dean wants to be a woman or anything. It's not like he's queer. He just...OK. He likes it, sometimes. The way they feel. He likes the slide of satin across his balls and the slight itch of lace against his cock and the pull of bikini strings against his hipbones and the way it feels against his ass when he slides his jeans on over top of them.
It's not a...a thing. It's not like he needs them to get off. He doesn't. He just...well. Sometimes it's nice. That's all. Also, they're really comfortable.
And it's not like they're hard to get. It's not like he has to actually steal them, because that would be weird. He just goes into a department store and gets to flirt with hot salesgirls who sometimes offer to model the panties for him and, hey. Two birds with one stone.
He dated this girl in Austin, though dated may be too strong a word. He only knew her for, like, two weeks total, and they fucked maybe nine times during those two weeks, and she was nasty. Nasty in a good way. Nasty in a, "Let's watch porn while we fuck," kind of way. Nasty in a, "I wanna use my vibrator while you fuck me in the ass," kind of way. Dean had no complaints.
One night she said, "Put them on," and, well. Dean was hard and so fucking turned on and whatever. He put them on. He didn't expect to like it as much as he did.
He's not into anything else like that. He doesn't want to wear makeup or shave his legs or shove his feet into high heels or anything. He just...fuck it. He doesn't know why he likes panties so much, just knows that he does. Probably part of it is how fucking dirty it feels to wear them. Dirty's always turned Dean's crank.
Dirty, nasty, wrong, hell yeah. If it's something Dean's not supposed to do, he's most likely going to love doing it. Not, like, illegal nasty. Not, like, girls under 18 or animals or hardcore pain or anything like that. Just, you know. Nasty.
Fucking in public bathrooms nasty. Fingers up his ass nasty. Handcuffs and spankings and name-calling nasty. He figures if he was ever wearing panties while fucking a girl whose name he didn't know in an alleyway with her fingers up his ass, him calling her a slut, her biting and clawing at him and snarling for him to fuck her, goddamnit, well. He might explode from how fucking good that nasty would be.
He doesn't figure Sam goes for nasty like that. He figures Sam probably likes missionary best, with lit candles and soft sheets and the girl looking up at him lovingly while they whisper tenderly to one another and make sweet, sweet love.
And that's just one of many reasons that Dean's not going to tell him that, no, he didn't steal those panties, thank you very much. He's a pervert, but he's not a pervert like that. He doesn't need to sniff used underwear to get off. He just...you know. Wears them. Because that's so much better.
**********
Dean hates goblins for many reasons. They're evil and ugly and they stink like rotting ass. They're sneaky and have pointy nails that dig into your skin and their guts are just...God. Disgusting. Dean loves his Master of Puppets t-shirt, but he thinks maybe he should just incinerate the damn thing and not have to deal with getting all the goblin innards off it.
He strips off his shirt, tosses it towards the trash. Behind him, Sam's doing the same.
"I really, really hate goblins," Sam tells him.
Dean grunts in assent. He's fucking exhausted, wants to sleep for days, can't fucking wait the twelve seconds it's going to take for him to fall into bed.
He kicks off his boots, shoves his jeans down and is tossing them towards the trash, too, when he realizes it was maybe not a good idea because. Well. Dean may or may not be wearing a pair of peach silk low-cut bikinis with black chantilly lace accents on the sides.
"Um," says Dean. He wonders if he can get to the bathroom fast enough for Sam not to notice. He glances over and Sam's got his jeans around his ankles--wearing a pair of really ugly tightie whities, by the way--and he's just...staring.
"You..." Sam looks like he's trying to say something else, but no words are coming out of his mouth. He takes a deep breath. "You," he says again.
Dean's slightly terrified but he thinks maybe if he just stays calm he can convince Sam it's not a big deal. Maybe. He's just about to tell Sam that yeah, OK, sometimes he wears women's underwear, big deal, when Sam stumbles forward, stepping out of his jeans and shoving Dean against the wall.
"You," Sam says again, his voice breaking. "Dean...you...fuck." And then Sam's hand is between Dean's legs and he's rubbing Dean's cock and...yeah.
Dirty.
Getting stroked by your own brother while wearing panties? Fuck, so dirty. Dean's instantly hard, gets a bit of a head rush from it, groans and lets his head fall back against the wall.
"You're just," Sam pants against his neck. "Fuck, Dean, so fucking hot." He drops to his knees and when Dean feel's Sam's mouth on his cock, through the panties, hell. He has to grip Sam's head, wind his fingers through Sam's hair as he struggles for balance.
The head of Dean's cock is sticking up out of the waistband and Sam closes his mouth around it, suckles gently, then harder. He tugs the front of the panties down but doesn't take them off, just pulls them down enough for him to take Dean's cock all the way into his mouth. Sam's humming appreciatively and rubbing the satin against Dean's ass and hips. Dean would like to say that he's the kind of guy who can go all night, and usually he is, just...just not when he's got his cock shoved down his little brother's throat.
He manages to say, "Gonna..." about three seconds before he comes. Sam doesn't seem to mind, swallows what he can, lets the rest of it dribble out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He sucks until Dean's dry, until he's so sensitive even the swipe of Sam's tongue makes him gasp.
Sam pulls back and looks up at him with the kind of nasty, satisfied expression that Dean didn't think it was possible for Sam to make. He's got come on his face, his tongue darts out to lick up some on his lower lip. He raises his hand to his mouth and Dean realizes what he's going to do, realizes that Sam has already jerked himself off and come. Sam licks his own come off his fingers, never looking away from Dean, and Dean groans and bangs his head back against the wall two or three times.
Then Sam tucks Dean's cock back into his peach silk panties and kisses his stomach just below his navel. He rests his head against Dean's hip.
"Is this going to be weird?" Sam asks softly. His warm breath tickles and makes Dean shiver.
"Um," says Dean. His brain hasn't really progressed very far past post-orgasmic exhaustion.
"You wanted that, right?" Sam asks. His voice sounds so small. "It wasn't just me. Right?"
Dean pets Sam's hair.
"Because I...for a long time, I..."
"It's all right," Dean says. It kind of is. Maybe. He's not sure, yet. "Bed," he grunts. He wants to sleep for days.
Sam leans back, lets Dean push away from the wall. Dean stumbles towards the bed and has his thumbs at his hips when Sam says, "No. Leave them on."
Dean nods. "Yeah. OK." He falls into bed, is too tired to object when Sam climbs in next to him. They fall asleep side-by-side, Sam's hand on Dean's hip, his fingers stroking satin.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Summary: Dean has a panty kink.
A/N: Just so you know, I tend to object to the use of the word "panties" unless it's a man wearing them. Yeah.
"Dean," says Sam.
Dean doesn't look up from the TV. Sam's been edgy for the past few days and Dean's decided just to let him work it out on his own.
"Dean. Seriously. You collect these now?"
Dean's eyes flash over to where Sam's digging through Dean's duffle. There's a pair of black lace panties in his hand and he's waving them like a flag.
"Get out of my bag," Dean snaps.
"I'm doing laundry," Sam tells him. "Unless you want your clothes to reek so bad they take on a life of their own, I have to get them out of your bag. And really? How many fucking pairs of women's underwear have you swiped?" He digs out a red silk pair, a dark blue satin pair, pale aqua bikinis with bows. "Do these women even know you stole their underwear? Never mind. Either way, I don't want to know." He stuffs the panties back into Dean's duffle, grumbling to himself.
Dean looks back at the TV, sips his beer. Sam keeps grumbling as he stuffs Dean's dirty laundry into his own duffle and carries it out the door, heading for the motel's small laundry room. Once he's gone, Dean watches the door for a few minutes to make sure Sam's not coming right back.
He gets up, opens his duffle, takes out the panties and folds them before putting them back in. He doesn't like it when they get wrinkled.
**********
OK. It's not like Dean wants to be a woman or anything. It's not like he's queer. He just...OK. He likes it, sometimes. The way they feel. He likes the slide of satin across his balls and the slight itch of lace against his cock and the pull of bikini strings against his hipbones and the way it feels against his ass when he slides his jeans on over top of them.
It's not a...a thing. It's not like he needs them to get off. He doesn't. He just...well. Sometimes it's nice. That's all. Also, they're really comfortable.
And it's not like they're hard to get. It's not like he has to actually steal them, because that would be weird. He just goes into a department store and gets to flirt with hot salesgirls who sometimes offer to model the panties for him and, hey. Two birds with one stone.
He dated this girl in Austin, though dated may be too strong a word. He only knew her for, like, two weeks total, and they fucked maybe nine times during those two weeks, and she was nasty. Nasty in a good way. Nasty in a, "Let's watch porn while we fuck," kind of way. Nasty in a, "I wanna use my vibrator while you fuck me in the ass," kind of way. Dean had no complaints.
One night she said, "Put them on," and, well. Dean was hard and so fucking turned on and whatever. He put them on. He didn't expect to like it as much as he did.
He's not into anything else like that. He doesn't want to wear makeup or shave his legs or shove his feet into high heels or anything. He just...fuck it. He doesn't know why he likes panties so much, just knows that he does. Probably part of it is how fucking dirty it feels to wear them. Dirty's always turned Dean's crank.
Dirty, nasty, wrong, hell yeah. If it's something Dean's not supposed to do, he's most likely going to love doing it. Not, like, illegal nasty. Not, like, girls under 18 or animals or hardcore pain or anything like that. Just, you know. Nasty.
Fucking in public bathrooms nasty. Fingers up his ass nasty. Handcuffs and spankings and name-calling nasty. He figures if he was ever wearing panties while fucking a girl whose name he didn't know in an alleyway with her fingers up his ass, him calling her a slut, her biting and clawing at him and snarling for him to fuck her, goddamnit, well. He might explode from how fucking good that nasty would be.
He doesn't figure Sam goes for nasty like that. He figures Sam probably likes missionary best, with lit candles and soft sheets and the girl looking up at him lovingly while they whisper tenderly to one another and make sweet, sweet love.
And that's just one of many reasons that Dean's not going to tell him that, no, he didn't steal those panties, thank you very much. He's a pervert, but he's not a pervert like that. He doesn't need to sniff used underwear to get off. He just...you know. Wears them. Because that's so much better.
**********
Dean hates goblins for many reasons. They're evil and ugly and they stink like rotting ass. They're sneaky and have pointy nails that dig into your skin and their guts are just...God. Disgusting. Dean loves his Master of Puppets t-shirt, but he thinks maybe he should just incinerate the damn thing and not have to deal with getting all the goblin innards off it.
He strips off his shirt, tosses it towards the trash. Behind him, Sam's doing the same.
"I really, really hate goblins," Sam tells him.
Dean grunts in assent. He's fucking exhausted, wants to sleep for days, can't fucking wait the twelve seconds it's going to take for him to fall into bed.
He kicks off his boots, shoves his jeans down and is tossing them towards the trash, too, when he realizes it was maybe not a good idea because. Well. Dean may or may not be wearing a pair of peach silk low-cut bikinis with black chantilly lace accents on the sides.
"Um," says Dean. He wonders if he can get to the bathroom fast enough for Sam not to notice. He glances over and Sam's got his jeans around his ankles--wearing a pair of really ugly tightie whities, by the way--and he's just...staring.
"You..." Sam looks like he's trying to say something else, but no words are coming out of his mouth. He takes a deep breath. "You," he says again.
Dean's slightly terrified but he thinks maybe if he just stays calm he can convince Sam it's not a big deal. Maybe. He's just about to tell Sam that yeah, OK, sometimes he wears women's underwear, big deal, when Sam stumbles forward, stepping out of his jeans and shoving Dean against the wall.
"You," Sam says again, his voice breaking. "Dean...you...fuck." And then Sam's hand is between Dean's legs and he's rubbing Dean's cock and...yeah.
Dirty.
Getting stroked by your own brother while wearing panties? Fuck, so dirty. Dean's instantly hard, gets a bit of a head rush from it, groans and lets his head fall back against the wall.
"You're just," Sam pants against his neck. "Fuck, Dean, so fucking hot." He drops to his knees and when Dean feel's Sam's mouth on his cock, through the panties, hell. He has to grip Sam's head, wind his fingers through Sam's hair as he struggles for balance.
The head of Dean's cock is sticking up out of the waistband and Sam closes his mouth around it, suckles gently, then harder. He tugs the front of the panties down but doesn't take them off, just pulls them down enough for him to take Dean's cock all the way into his mouth. Sam's humming appreciatively and rubbing the satin against Dean's ass and hips. Dean would like to say that he's the kind of guy who can go all night, and usually he is, just...just not when he's got his cock shoved down his little brother's throat.
He manages to say, "Gonna..." about three seconds before he comes. Sam doesn't seem to mind, swallows what he can, lets the rest of it dribble out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He sucks until Dean's dry, until he's so sensitive even the swipe of Sam's tongue makes him gasp.
Sam pulls back and looks up at him with the kind of nasty, satisfied expression that Dean didn't think it was possible for Sam to make. He's got come on his face, his tongue darts out to lick up some on his lower lip. He raises his hand to his mouth and Dean realizes what he's going to do, realizes that Sam has already jerked himself off and come. Sam licks his own come off his fingers, never looking away from Dean, and Dean groans and bangs his head back against the wall two or three times.
Then Sam tucks Dean's cock back into his peach silk panties and kisses his stomach just below his navel. He rests his head against Dean's hip.
"Is this going to be weird?" Sam asks softly. His warm breath tickles and makes Dean shiver.
"Um," says Dean. His brain hasn't really progressed very far past post-orgasmic exhaustion.
"You wanted that, right?" Sam asks. His voice sounds so small. "It wasn't just me. Right?"
Dean pets Sam's hair.
"Because I...for a long time, I..."
"It's all right," Dean says. It kind of is. Maybe. He's not sure, yet. "Bed," he grunts. He wants to sleep for days.
Sam leans back, lets Dean push away from the wall. Dean stumbles towards the bed and has his thumbs at his hips when Sam says, "No. Leave them on."
Dean nods. "Yeah. OK." He falls into bed, is too tired to object when Sam climbs in next to him. They fall asleep side-by-side, Sam's hand on Dean's hip, his fingers stroking satin.