SPN Fic: What Comes Is Better; girl!Sam/Dean; 1/1
Title: What Comes Is Better (than what came before)
Aurthor: downjune
Pairing: Girl!Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: genderswap wincest; frank discussion of birth control and periods; reference to underage shenanigans
Word count: 3300
Summary: Orgasms help with cramps, so. It's a no-brainer. (Filling my own prompt at ohsam like a weirdo.)
Notes: Sometimes I just need to write porn, okay? (I should make that into a bumper sticker.) I've always had a thing for wincest genderswap and a serious interest in how the brothers' relationship would be different if one was a sister. I think growing up a girl with an older brother like Dean and a dad like John would give Sam a lot of extra crap to deal with and one of those things would be her period. As finicky as Dean is about chick-flick moments and insulting Sam by calling him a girl in canon, I really like exploring how that might be different or how it might stay exactly same if Sam actually were a girl. Also, I don't think I've ever read late-series girl!Sam, so I'm giving that a go, too!
tl;dr-this is my slightly kinky exploration of how Sam and Dean handle cramps and periods because, I don't care how macho he is, Dean would have to deal with it. He's too good of a brother not to.
Set mid-S6, after Sam gets her soul back. Title from this tune, which is really good. I consider it a happy Sam/Dean song, of which there are precious few.
Okay, enjoy!
When Dean got back to the motel room, breakfast under his arm, Sam had on The Dress and was lying on the bed with her feet propped against the wall so that the faded gray fabric pooled around her hips, leaving her legs bare.
"Shit," Dean huffed, surprised. He hadn't seen The Dress in years, not since after Stanford, when Sam was growing out her hair and grieving and off the pill because they hadn't gotten it together to find a Planned Parenthood. Her body'd been all out of wack, rebelling at the stress, the crazy sleep schedule, and entire days spent in the car.
Dean figured she was probably going through something similar now, with a soul recently shoved back up under her ribs and the Great Wall closing off over a century of hellfire.
"You okay?" he asked, leaving the breakfast burritos on the table and going to stand by her bed.
Sam looked up at him, mouth pinched into a line, brow following suit. "Do I look okay? You do remember the Aunt Flo Dress, right?"
"Yeah, but I thought we agreed not to call it that."
"Aunt fucking Flo, dude. Tricky bitch."
Dean's mouth quirked into a smile and before he could think better of it, he sat down on the edge of the bed and twisted his fingers in the worn cotton hem. The material used to be heavy, soft and stretchy. It was much thinner now, after so many years, but the feel of it was the same. He knew the way it hung on Sam's long frame, hitched in just under her chest, loose and flowing to just above her knees. Or-well, that was before Sam's last growth spurt, before she broke 5'11". The dress only hit mid-thigh now, showing Sam's legs-knock-kneed and coltish even at 28.
Great legs-scarred knees, banged up shins and all.
"You take anything?"
"Yeah, Advil. Gotta get some'a the good stuff though, next time we go out. What is it?"
"Pamprin," he answered without even thinking.
She grinned up at him, gently slapped his cheek. "Yeah, that's it. You got any, Deanna?"
"Oh, fuck you," he grumbled, shoving her hand away.
Scooting her ass a little closer to the headboard and repositioning the mashed pillow under her lower back, she groaned. "I guess my uterus is getting back at me for that year I spent soulless-all those eggs just waiting to jump down the shoot but nothin' to send'em on their way."
Dean frowned. "You didn't get your period the whole time you were soulless?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I don't really remember, but there wasn't a single tampon in my bag when I went scrambling this morning. Not even a Light Days-or any good painkillers. Had to sprint across the street to the Gas'n'Sip with a wad of toilet paper between my legs."
Cringing, Dean dropped the hem of The Dress. "Awesome. I'm so glad you told me that."
Sam had the decency to look a little sheepish and reached for Dean's hand in apology. "It's weird though, right? If I didn't get it that year? Like, maybe there really is something mystical about the whole baby-making thing. Can't put a bun in the oven when there's no-bun in my other oven, or whatever."
Dean laughed. "How is your 'other oven' by the way? Feelin' okay? Feelin' like you?"
Nodding, Sam looked away. "Nothin' in here but Sammy, minus a century or two." Shifting her hips on the bed, she dragged Dean's hand over to rest lightly on her lower abdomen.
"Good," he answered, looking down at their joined hands, her skinny light brown fingers and his wide square ones a few shades lighter. She moved his hand back and forth in a gentle massage and when his pinky brushed the bump of her pubic bone, he felt a familiar tug low in his belly, an old feeling of want that hadn't surfaced in something like two years-not since before Sam had thrown herself into Hell to save him, even before the apocalypse had really started breathing down their necks.
Maybe it was The Dress and all the history it brought back-holding her hand when they went to Planned Parenthood the first time to get her cheap birth control for the cramps and nausea, lying through their teeth about her age so they didn't have to drag Dad in, answering, yes, he was her boyfriend because that was just easier. Or maybe it was the firm muscle and jut of her hip bones under his hand, but Dean thought it was mostly that his Sam was back. No Yellow Eyes fucking with her, no demon blood, no angels trying to shove an apocalypse down her throat-it was just Sam. They were Sam and Dean again.
He cleared his throat. "You, uh, if you want me too... I could...."
He met Sam's eyes and she hesitated, searched his face like she almost didn't believe he was serious, that he would actually want to. "You'd do that?"
He was blushing now, he could feel it, but he nodded, moving his hand a little lower to the bony crest of her pelvis. "Yeah, I would. You know I would, Sammy." The fabric of the dress bunched around his hand, and he could see her underwear, plain cotton with blue and white stripes. They were old and stretched out, too. She hated the feel of even an elastic waistband when the cramps were really bad- hence the arrival of The Dress when she was fifteen and on a Goodwill run.
Licking her lips, she nodded back, mussing her hair where it spread on the sheets. "Get a towel? We gotta sleep here again tonight."
"Yeah," Dean said, pushing himself to his feet. Behind him, he heard Sam shuffling around, recognized the sound of tissues being pulled from the box, and remembered the days when he felt like his life had revolved around cramps and tampons and stained underwear in the laundry pile and Sam's unflinching willingness to give him every bloody detail.
Grabbing a bath towel off the rack, he returned to the bed to find Sam on her back again, feet toward the headboard, tugging her underwear down her long legs. Planting her feet on the mattress, she canted her hips up so he could spread the towel underneath her.
"Leave the dress on," he said, looking up in time to see her nod.
"You like the Aunt Flo Dress, Dean?" she asked, still a brat even though her breath was coming a little faster, and her knees fell open like she could barely wait for him.
"Yeah, I really do, actually," he said, kneeling up in front of her and running his hands up the backs of her legs. "Haven't shaved in a while, I see," he said with a grin. It'd been about two weeks if he had to guess.
"Fuck off," she groaned, rolling her head and rubbing the heel of her hand in her eye. "You start shaving your legs every other fucking day and I will, too."
Dean let his hands dip further down her thighs, to the neat thatch of dark hair between her legs. "Liked it when you stopped," he confessed, kissing the inside of her knee. "When we got back on the road looking for Dad and you were all butch."
"Mmm," she said, pushing her hips up a little against his hand. "Jess liked it. Would you-would you hurry it up, Dean?" Her voice rose in a whine and Dean chuckled, moved his fingers right to where she was slick and hot. Slipping two fingers into her was quick and easy, and she arched, moaning. "Ungh, god, yes."
Grinning, he slid them back out and in, slow and even the way he remembered she liked when the cramps were hurting. It'd been so long, but he remembered this like he remembered everything about Sam. Even the smell and taste came back when he closed his eyes-sharp and rusty with the soursweet tang that was Sammy. "You were so fuckin' sexy in your dress and combat boots. Always were, Sammy-high school and after." Circling his thumb on her clit, he gently massaged her insides and licked a kiss into her thigh while she gasped and groaned. "Never wanted to say anything 'cause you only wore it when you felt like shit, but I liked it."
She sucked in a slow breath, rolling her hips in time with the motion of his hand. "Wish you had-felt like such a gangly freak in high school."
"Nah," he said against her skin. "Friggin' gorgeous."
He watched her smile up at the ceiling and felt a lot of the ugliness he'd been holding onto over the last year crack and break up in his chest.
Looking down at his fingers, he found them staining red and brown, slick down to the first knuckle. The sight was just as hot, just as intimate and private as when they'd first done this, scared and ecstatic in their bedroom with Dad passed out across the hall. Dean remembered wanting to have Sammy all over him then, her spit and sweat and blood, and groaned deep in his throat, pressed his other palm against the hard curve of his dick still stuck in his jeans.
He'd lost her for so long - to Ruby, to fucking Lucifer himself - he couldn't even remember now why they'd waited to come back to this.
Tipping forward at the waist, he leaned down and kissed her, exhaling a soft sound when she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and shoved her tongue in his mouth. He grinned and sucked in a quick breath when he felt her internal muscles grip his fingers and start to pulse with her orgasm.
She moaned unsteadily into his mouth, fingers clutched painfully in his hair, as she shook and twitched through it, hips rolling up and juddering away from his fingers.
"Yeah, baby," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead and temple. "That feel good? Take the edge off?"
Nodding, she went boneless underneath him and closed her eyes. Dean watched her, twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers. There was so much of it now-she hadn't cut it since Jess died and it spread long and thick across the sheets, shiny brown with some red, too. He'd always been a sucker for long hair and he bet he could wrap Sam's around his fist more than once.
"Wanna go again?" he asked, smirking because he knew the answer.
"Hell, yes," she said, cracking an eye open and gently putting her long slim foot right against his dick. "Get your pants off."
"Yes, ma'am." Bending down to kiss her one more time, he pressed his forehead to hers and stayed there for a second. They shared a few breaths until Sam finally nosed along his jaw and bit his earlobe.
"Pants off, Dean," she said. "Unless you're wussing out."
Huffing in mock offense, Dean backed up off the bed and peeled out of his flannel shirt. "Sammy, you do not want to issue that kind of challenge."
Stretching her arms above her head, she gave him a sly grin. "And why don't I want to be doing that?"
Tugging his t-shirt over his head and then unbuckling his belt, Dean said, "A woman in you condition shouldn't-"
A sound came out of his sister that was a strange combination of a laugh and a squawk and she reached for his knee, tugging hard enough on his pant leg that the joint buckled and he almost lost his balance. Shucking his jeans and underwear before he toppled over, he got caught on his socks and boots and had to sit down anyway to take them the rest of the way off. No sooner had his bare ass touched the bed than Sam sank her teeth into the soft skin just over his hip and sucked hard enough to raise a bruise.
When he finally got his boots off and crawled back on top of her, she looked about ready to eat him alive. There was blood smeared on the insides of her thighs and she'd hiked the dress up to her waist to keep it from getting stained. Her nipples were hard and he realized she wasn't wearing a bra, her tits small and clearly outlined under the dress. Leaning down, he bit gently at her right nipple through the fabric and got his arms under her shoulders. When she arched up into him, he pulled her into his lap so that she sat with her knees straddling his hips.
Then, without preamble, she grabbed his dick and was about to sink down onto it before he grabbed her by the waist and held her off him. "Shit, you got any condoms?" he asked, the tip of his prick just touching her.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Seriously? My uterus is shedding all possibilities of pregnancy right now. Look at it; it's everywhere."
"Samantha Jean Winchester, I know I taught you better than that."
Rolling her eyes, she wriggled out of his grip and off the bed, letting the dress swirl around her thighs. "Condoms, I do have," she said as she knelt down by her duffel. "Soulless me was gettin' some, apparently."
Standing by the bed again, she held the condom packet between her first two fingers and offered it to Dean. Then she watched him open it with his teeth and roll the rubber down over his dick. "But the great Dean Winchester doesn't have a single one? Not even in his wallet?"
He didn't offer more than a shrug in answer.
"There hasn't been anyone since Lisa?" she asked, voice quiet and serious, now.
Shaking his head, he finally looked up at her, palmed her hip in his big hand. "I don't really wanna talk about it," he said. "I wanna make you feel good." Get you all over me, like before, he didn't say.
Tugging her down on top of him again, he let his head fall forward against her collarbone as she sank down onto him, wet and slick as could be. She groaned, a warm deep vibration in her chest that went straight through Dean and settled in his spine. Circling his arms tight around her waist, he bounced her in his lap and then slowed down when she inhaled a hiss. "Easy, tiger," she murmured. "A woman in my condition."
"Sorry, sorry," Dean said, gently rubbing his nose against the fabric of the dress. He worked his way over to the crease of her armpit and was almost disappointed to smell soap and deodorant instead of Sam. There had been entire summers when the only times they bathed were at state park pools and in the border waters of northern Minnesota when Dad ditched them at a friend's hunting cabin, and right then, Dean wanted that smell in his nose-unwashed sweaty girl with lake-water hair and sunburned shoulders.
But he hadn't had that girl in his arms in about ten years so wishing for it now was pointless. He couldn't give any of that back to Sammy, and she probably didn't want it, anyway. She might regret her mistakes but she wasn't looking to turn back time. Sam had always rushed into her future, usually without watching where she stepped.
Huffing his surprise when she shoved him down onto his back, Dean refocused in a hurry, then had to spit hair out of his mouth as all of it suddenly fell past her shoulders and into his face. "You with me, Dean?" she asked, and he pressed his fingers into her hip in answer.
"Yeah," he said, gathering her hair in his free hand and smoothing it down her back
"Are you thinking about Lisa?" And there was definitely something besides curiosity worked into that question.
"No, though I probably should be," he answered honestly. "Mostly m'thinkin' about you those summers in Minnesota, swimmin' in your underwear and training bra and beatin' my ass at laps even though you had the skinniest arms I'd ever seen on a girl." He looked at her shoulders, traced the lines and curves of muscle. "Not anymore, though."
She hmm'd quietly and started to work her hips forward and back, then slowly up and down. "I was built for stamina; you were built for speed-except right now, apparently. How about we reminisce after we get off? Would that work for you?"
"Such a bitch," Dean laughed, then arched his neck on the pillow when she squeezed every inch of him with her internal muscles.
"You like that?" she asked, a little breathless.
He nodded, not quite able to answer.
"Love the way you feel in me, Dean," she said, shifting her weight so that she could get her hand between them and touch herself while she rode him. Looking down, he watched her do it, watched himself slide in and out of her. The condom was streaked with red and he could see his pubes were wet and sticky with it, his thighs, too. It'd never been gross to him, not once, not even the first time. This was just something he could know about Sammy, something he could do for her, with her, that no one else did. Not even Jess.
And he'd never gone there with Lisa. If he was honest, he'd never gone much of anywhere with Lisa-which was way more his fault than hers.
He pushed up into her with slow strokes of his hips and she gasped, holding herself up high enough that he was just barely inside her, the head of his dick working right at the surface where she was the most sensitive.
Her face - eyes closed, mouth open and gasping in quick sweet hitches - was enough to send him careening dangerously close to the edge. "Sammy, I-"
"Wait for me," she said. "Wait just-you feel-"
Her voice broke then, cracked open as she fell forward and breathed against his mouth and came. He could feel it work through her whole body like a shivering current and he hung on as long as he could just so he could see it all. Then when the strong pulses faded to more gentle fluttering, he shoved hard up in her, once, twice and buried his face in the curtain of her hair to muffle his shout.
Knees tucked up tight against his sides, she laid her weight across his chest and pressed her face between his shoulder and his jaw. "You're the best," she slurred. "The fucking best."
Dean let his fingers drift up and down her back, bumping over her spine. His hands buzzed and tingled against the dress fabric and he rucked it up until he could get his palm on her skin.
"Thanks, Sammy," he said, brain sluggish enough that he didn't bother with anything more than gratitude.
Drawing in a slow breath, she rolled up to a seated position, dress falling back down to cover them. "I gotta pee," she said. "And I think we made a mess."
Still unable to string more than two words together, Dean only nodded.
"You wanna rinse off with me?"
With what felt like tremendous effort, he sat up with her, drawing his knees up against her back. "Yeah, all right."
Her legs still wrapped around him, he swung his own off the side of the bed and picked her up with a firm grip on her ass. She did that funny laugh/squawk again but didn't protest when he carried her into the bathroom.