(no subject)
CRACK!FIC time. This is for the lovely janissa11 who has both welcomed me into fandom with open arms and provided me with ridiculous prompts.
So, uh, genderswap. Girl!Dean, inspired by this post. (Definitely check out that picture, I'm not actually into girls and I STILL think it's hot.) Everyone was like, "I LOVE YOUR DEAN VOICE." So of course I turned around and wrote Sam. Thanks to Kiernan for the beta, as always. She is the only person who would suggest "teapot" as a substitute word for "nipple."
Dean turns into a girl! Sam has... issues! I wrote three whole serious fics, I deserve one that includes the line, "Vibrators are awesome."
If you do not like het? You might not like this fic. But Sam likes breasts, and you should too.
Dean does not wear a skirt. He's pretty hot anyway.
Radical Feminism, Sam/Dean, NC-17, 4500 words.
Radical Feminism
Objectively, Sam knows that it’s possible for spirits to carry around spells and curses with them. Practically, though, he’s a little too distracted by the sudden manifestation of the spirit whose grave they’re digging up to worry about it.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean says, and goes for it while Sam’s breaking through the lid of the coffin with his shovel. He can hear a lot of yelling in the background, which goes kind of abruptly silent right about the time he finishes salting the bones. He’s lucky he’s already got the match started when the ghost grabs him, because he manages to throw it into the coffin, which erupts into flames. Sam’s still going to have a ton of bruises, but his more pressing concern is Dean, who, in Sam’s experience, has never let something go without actually being unconscious.
Sam hauls himself out of the grave fast, but when he gets up, he finds that Dean’s okay, just kind of standing there, blinking.
“What the hell?” Sam says, and shakes him, a little, to make sure he hasn’t gone into some sort of ghost-induced trance.
“I feel kind of funny,” Dean says, in a tone of voice Sam’s definitely never heard him use before, and Sam notices that all his clothes are way too loose and that he’s shorter. His hair is longer too, which makes absolutely no sense unless -
“Are you shrinking?” Sam says, incredulous, and tries not to panic.
“No,” Dean says, but he’s smaller, lighter under Sam’s hands, and when Sam leans in close his face isn’t even the same shape, which is maybe what happens when you start to physically dissolve.
“I think I need to get in the car,” Dean says, way calmer than Sam thinks he ought to be considering he might disappear any second, like the goddamned witch in the Wizard of Oz.
Sam’s used to following orders, though, so he hauls open the door and turns on the overhead light, then blinks when Dean starts hauling off clothes. Sam turns away to make sure nothing’s coming up behind them, even though he’s pretty hesitant to take his eyes off Dean, just in case he really does disappear.
“Huh,” Dean says, finally, sounding more perplexed than anything else, so Sam turns around just as Dean starts shifting out of the driver’s seat.
He ends up on eye level with a pair of breasts, connected to very female shoulders and a very female face, Dean’s very female face -
“I think something happened,” Dean says, and Sam falls flat on his ass.
He can’t stop hyperventilating, so Dean has to drive home.
“It’s not that big a deal, Sammy,” he - she? Sam’s about to have a panic attack - says, taking a bite of one of their emergency provision snickers bars as he pulls out. “Probably wear off in a couple hours.”
“YOU’RE A GIRL!” Sam yells, head between his knees.
Dean wisely elects not to say anything after that.
Sam gets first shower, owing to the fact that he’s covered in ash, dirt, and a bunch of leaves, and he tries to calm down under the warm stream of the water. Dean’s probably right. He’ll be back to normal in the morning, and then they can all move on from this. Very far on from this.
His newfound calm lasts until he steps out of the bathroom and finds Dean totally naked on Sam’s bed, cupping one of his breasts.
“DEAN!” Sam manages, but Dean just wriggles a little.
“This is awesome,” he says. “You have to see this - ”
Dean sits up and bounces on the bed.
Sam decides to sleep in the car.
Dean comes out to get him twenty minutes later, still dripping wet from his shower, wearing Sam’s brown hoodie and, from what Sam can tell, pretty much nothing else. He jerks open the back door of the Impala.
“Stop being so uptight and come play with my boobs, bitch,” Dean says, and tackles him.
Sam flips him before he can think about it, twenty years of habit coming on strong, and then he’s got Dean - small and warm and totally not wearing underwear - underneath him in the backseat of the car, and oh, fuck. He is seriously, seriously going to hell, because this is bringing a whole new meaning to inappropriate hard-on.
“Hey,” Dean says, startled, suddenly grinning, and shifts underneath him in a way that makes Sam choke. “Turns out you’re not a girl after all.”
Sam is going to kill him.
He manages to get absolutely nothing done, owing to the fact that Dean’s sitting across the room with breasts, watching lesbian porn on HBO, which is wrong on so many levels Sam can’t even begin to articulate it.
Sam finally decides to just go to bed, and he’s almost asleep when Dean slides in behind him, naked again, and presses up against his back.
“I’m cold,” Dean announces, like it’s Sam’s responsibility, and the erection he’s been fighting all night comes back full force, because Sam hasn’t had regular sex in three years, and seriously, there’s a naked girl next to him, even if it is his brother.
“Maybe if you’d put some clothes on!” Sam manages, and rolls out of bed to take Dean’s.
“Sammy,” Dean whines, and Sam wonders if it’s possible to kill himself with a pillow.
“Just - put on a shirt, or something,” he says, because it’s physically impossible to resist Dean when he - she - uses that voice, and Dean slides in with him a couple minutes later, back in Sam’s sweatshirt.
“Sorry,” he says, finally, as close to apologetic as Dean gets.
He settles in, close, slow enough that Sam gets that Dean’s trying to keep him from bolting, and at least he still smells normal, car leather and motel room soap. Sam closes his eyes and wraps an arm around Dean. Yeah, okay - the whole thing is weird as fuck, but Sam misses steady touch like this, and it feels good, to know that he can keep Dean safe, that nothing’s going to happen to him so long as Sam’s here.
It feels substantially less good the next morning when he wakes up with Dean sprawled out underneath him and pretty much every part of his body chimes in to remind him exactly why morning sex was his favorite kind, because Dean’s barely awake, soft and warm and blinking up at him with an expression Sam’s pretty sure he’s never going to catch on Dean’s face again, because Dean doesn’t do affectionate.
“First shower,” he manages, and bolts for the bathroom, where he has to get off just to be able to think about washing his hair, and by the time he’s done with that, he’s hard again, thinking about breasts (NOT DEAN’S) and stomachs (NOT DEAN’S) and warm skin (STILL NOT DEAN’S).
Sam’s pretty far into the second time when Dean climbs into the shower, still mostly asleep, and plasters himself against Sam’s back, really fucking naked.
“SON OF A BITCH!” Sam yelps, knocks over all eight half-empty bottles of shampoo Dean left out last night, and manages to grab a towel off the rack above the sink to cover himself.
“I’m cold again,” Dean protests, nudging his nose against Sam’s shoulder blade, and Sam has to grab the shower curtain and count to thirty to keep from coming right there.
“You can have the shower,” Sam says, kind of strangled, and Dean backs up and chokes.
“Oh my god, you were totally jerking off,” he says, delighted, and starts cracking up. Sam leans his head against the tile and decides to die.
“Do you want me to give you a hand with that, baby?” Dean says, low, smirking, leaning against the wall in a totally suggestive way, and Sam’s two inches from actually saying yes when Dean flees from the bathroom, cackling.
The worst part of it is, Sam actually has to finish getting off, because apparently his cock’s so interested not even abject mortification can take the edge off.
Somehow, to add to the fact that his life has become a living hell, Sam ends up going shopping for women’s clothing while Dean hits the grocery store. He’s not sure exactly how he lost that coin toss, but it’s definitely not fair, especially since he has to objectively assess Dean’s bra size.
Sam’s got pretty much no experience in shopping for women’s clothing, but he’s got a lot of experience shopping for Dean, so he manages to find a couple pairs of jeans and some t-shirts, plus a sweatshirt so Dean will stop stealing his. Sam definitely doesn’t appreciate being forced to lurk around the lingerie section, so he finds a couple packages of boyshorts, which he figures at least look vaguely like boxers. Not that Dean ever wears underwear anyway. He’s pretty sure the likelihood of getting Dean to actually wear a bra is low, but he picks two in the most basic black he can find. He’s pretty sure Dean’s a C, but Sam’s totally unwilling to go down that mental avenue, so he heads for the shoe department instead, to find a smaller pair of boots.
When he gets back to the motel - it’s just across the street from the shopping complex - Dean’s back already, and in bed. Sam thinks maybe he’s asleep, except Dean sleeps curled into a corner of the bed and right now he’s sprawled out beneath the blankets, knees drawn up, eyes closed, breathing kind of funny.
Sam goes to rummage in one of the grocery bags, and throws the clothes on the other bed. “You okay?” he says, pulling out an apple, because Dean is making weird little noises, like maybe he’s in pain or something. Dean laughs, low and totally breathless.
“Seriously, Sam,” he pants, with a long, drawn out gasp. “Vibrators are awesome.”
Sam chokes on his apple, the rest of which he manages to drop into a half-open drawer, and flees. He actually has to hold his head under the faucet of the lobby bathroom for five minutes before he regains higher brain function and his dick calms down, and even then, it’s kind of questionable.
At least when he gets back an hour later, Dean has clothes on. Jeans aren’t involved, but he’s wearing underwear and one of the shirts Sam found, and at least it’s green, so it’s not like Sam can see anything through it.
“I’m cold,” Dean says, which is beginning to count as Sam’s least favorite sentence, and pretty much hauls him down onto the bed before he sprawls out on top, wriggling close.
“We could turn the AC down,” Sam points out, but Dean doesn’t actually move, so relaxed Sam thinks he might actually be falling asleep.
“Nah,” Dean says, “this feels good.” Sam privately has to disagree, considering he’s been hard for what feels like the past two days and Dean’s actually snuggling up to him.
Hormones, Sam thinks, it’s definitely hormones, and then Dean says, “I came four times,” and Sam has to roll out of bed and stick his head in the shower again.
“Sorry,” he says, when he gets back, still kind of breathless, “got kind of hot in here.”
“Aw, baby,” Dean says, still sprawled out on the bed, smirking, “are you jealous of my multiple orgasms?”
Sam has to head back to the freezing cold water, which is losing all effectiveness and giving him a headache, but when he surfaces to breathe, Dean presses himself up against Sam’s ass and smirks a little more. “Because you know, I could show you how it’s done,” he says, in that stupid sex voice.
“DEAN!” Sam yells, and locks himself in the bathroom, which is a totally reasonable response.
When Sam finally gathers the courage to come out of the bathroom, Dean’s not actually there, but there’s off-key singing coming from outside the room, and when Sam opens the door, he finds that Dean’s washing the Impala. Thank god, normality, Sam thinks, but about three seconds later Dean throws a bucket of water across the hood, leans down to scrub, and comes up soaked.
Sam can see right through his t-shirt, and seriously, it is so unfair that Dean’s this hot as a girl. Dean notices him watching and waves, and oh, god, he’s definitely not wearing a bra. Sam seriously considers just taking him on the hood of the car.
It would be so wrong, and Dean would probably never speak to him again, but Sam’s pretty sure if he has to see Dean’s tits one more time, he’s either going to come in his jeans or lose all self control and kiss him. He’s not sure which would be worse.
Dean decides they need to go to a bar, which is fine with Sam with because he could seriously use a drink. Or ten. He gives Dean a three beer limit, though, since Sam has absolutely no desire to share a hotel room with a drunk and female Dean. Unfortunately, he manages to completely forget about the fact that Dean doesn’t have his normal size or his normal metabolism, and by the time Sam works his way back to the bar from a game of pool, Dean is smashed.
“Hey,” he says, when he sees Sam, and flings an arm around his neck. “I made friends!”
There’s a crowd of men around him, and something in Sam’s stomach turns over at the way they’re looking at Dean. “That’s good,” he says, and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, tight. “I think we should head home.”
“But I’m having fun!” Dean says.
“Yeah,” one of the guys says, “she’s having fun,” and actually puts a hand on Dean’s ass.
Sam doesn’t actually think about it, just punches him so hard he’s laid out on the floor, and Dean just kind of stares at him. “You should not have grabbed my ass,” he directs, to the guy on the floor, and then weaves his way out toward the car.
Sam follows, feeling kind of guilty, and keeps Dean from wandering into a bush.
“I’m driving,” he says, and actually manages to get them home without catastrophe, which lasts all of five seconds after he parks the car, when Dean slides over into his lap and straddles him.
“Hey, Sammy,” he says, and gets his arms around Sam’s neck, leaning in close.
Dean’s ass is pressed right up against him, and every time Sam moves, Dean squirms a little.
“Dean,” Sam manages, “you’re drunk.”
“You don’t have to be jealous, baby,” Dean murmurs, low and earnest, about two inches away, and then, just when Sam’s pretty sure he might actually die, rolls out of Sam’s lap back onto his side of the car, laughing hysterically.
“The look on your face!” Dean says, laughing so hard he falls off the seat, and Sam goes inside, crawls underneath the blankets, and vows never to come out again.
Dean pulls back the covers a couple minutes later and slides in beside him, and Sam ignores all his rules about being nice to girls and elbows him out of bed again, because he can’t take one more second of this.
“Go the fuck away,” he says, still under the blankets.
“Sam,” Dean says, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Sammy,” and pulls back the blankets to get in again, breath warm against the back of his neck. He slides a hand over, wraps small fingers around Sam’s wrist, and turns Sam over, slow and careful, kind of uncoordinated.
“I’m sorry,” he says, softly, slides a hand up to cup Sam’s face before he kisses the corner of his mouth.
“Stop fucking with me,” Sam manages, a couple seconds later, and pushes Dean out of bed.
Dean doesn’t try to climb in with him again, which is just fine with Sam, and he’s gone the next morning when Sam gets up.
“Tell me when you’re going to stop sulking,” Dean says, when he comes back at lunch with a hamburger for each of them and fries to share. Sam doesn’t say anything, just goes back to researching how to break gender curses. Everyone pretty much says that it’s got to wear off on its own, which is not an acceptable answer.
He’s feeling a little more generous by dinner, considering Dean hasn’t gotten naked once and is mostly leaving him alone aside from throwing an occasional french fry at his head, so he’s kind of okay with it when Dean climbs into bed with him after they eat.
“Is it the tits?” Dean says, finally, gesturing down half way through a movie while Sam’s messing around on the laptop, playing Solitare. “Or me?”
“What?” Sam says, and Dean leans in, close, kind of amused.
“You think I didn’t notice you’ve been hard for the past three days,” he says, and Sam can actually feel his face turning red.
“Sorry,” he says, and Dean settles in close, against his side.
“It’s cool,” Dean says, not fucking around for once, and he takes the laptop from Sam, puts it aside, and slides down into his lap. Sam’s about ready to seriously fucking yell when Dean puts a hand over his mouth and elbows him when Sam tries to bite.
“You haven’t gotten laid in years,” Dean says, leaning back a little “And I’m hot.” He’s annoyingly smug. Sam wants to point out that this seriously isn’t helping, but Dean just wriggles in a little closer. “So if it’s just that you like my boobs a lot, get over it and go for them.”
Sam’s brain can’t really handle the idea of touching anything, so he just leans forward, rests his forehead against Dean’s shoulder, and breathes.
“And if it’s not just how fantastic my tits are -” He grins, open and a little obnoxious but fundamentally Dean. “You know I’d go steady with you, Sammy.”
And that’s the problem, really, what Sam’s been fighting himself over all week, because it’s not just the breasts, or the stomach, or the freckles Sam can see if he leans in a little, and god, he loves Dean’s freckles, it’s -
Dean.
Who’s okay with being a girl when Sam’s pretty sure if it were the other way around he’d be hiding under the bed, who wants Sam to keep him warm, who’s been coming onto him all weekend and being a pain in the ass, but who means it.
“My class ring’s in the glove compartment,” he says, finally, and Dean snorts.
“And we see why you never get laid,” Dean says, but he’s pulling off his shirt, and oh, jesus, Sam’s going to die, because he can’t stop staring.
“Yeah, okay, they’re great,” Dean says, after some indeterminate amount of time where Sam’s counting the tiny little freckles dusted across Dean’s skin, and looking at the curve just above his ribcage, and resisting the urge to drag his tongue along the pale white scar running along Dean’s collarbone.
He pulls off Sam’s shirt, then takes Sam’s hand and tugs it up, until it’s pressed close against all that warm skin. “Go for it,” he says, and Sam finally realizes he’s allowed to touch, that he is touching, and he’s pretty sure he could come just from this.
“Shh, Dean,” he murmurs, sliding his hand up a little to cup Dean’s breast, warm and full, and leans in to drag his tongue over all those freckles.
“Uh,” Dean says, soft and a little breathless all of a sudden, and fits his hips right up against Sam’s, not even really thinking about it.
“Mm,” Sam agrees, again, and licks across a nipple, nudges his nose along a curve.
“God, I love breasts,” Dean says, reverently, and Sam grins and leans up to kiss him, still rubbing a thumb over Dean’s other nipple, fingers splayed.
Dean’s mouth under his is amazing, hot and soft, and Sam has to pull back, breathing hard.
“Shit,” he manages, and nudges Dean off a little, because he would really prefer this not be over now, from kissing.
“Stop worrying about it,” Dean says, and stretches out flat on his stomach, nudging Sam’s knees apart, and starts undoing his jeans. “Just hold off until you’re out of your jeans.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, kind of flushed, but it’s Dean’s fault, with his shower sharing and car washing and breasts.
He definitely used to be able to go all night, but not like this, with Dean’s hands all over him as he pulls down Sam’s jeans, lets Sam kick them off.
“Yeah, like that,” Dean murmurs, and before Sam can actually think about it, Dean’s got a hand wrapped around his cock and is sliding his mouth down, no pretense.
“Fuck,” Sam says, feeling his whole body tense up. It’s hot and wet and a little messy, and so, so fucking good, with Dean making soft noises in the back of his throat, pushing his tongue up just beneath the head of Sam’s cock. Sam’s just watches for a minute, trying to keep from moving too much, and then Dean looks back up and Sam comes down his throat in two seconds flat, arching up off the bed.
“Blowjobs,” Dean says, sliding back up next to him, “are awesome,” and Sam manages to get an arm around him, laughing, pull him down and close.
It’s a couple minutes before he can really think again, but when he pulls himself together his head’s clear for the first time in two days, and he realizes Dean’s watching him.
“Hey,” Sam murmurs, and rolls them both over until he’s stretched out on top, and Dean’s underneath him, safe and warm.
“Feels good,” Dean says, looking a little surprised, and Sam laughs against his shoulder, slides down to pay a little more attention.
Dean’s squirming by the time Sam moves away from his breasts, arching off the bed and making these soft little noises that Sam kind of recognizes as really turned on. He’s flushed and gorgeous and Sam’s, and Sam’s planning on keeping it that way.
“Shh,” he says, pressing little kisses across Dean’s belly, and Dean’s got a hand tangled in his hair.
“Yeah, Sammy,” he all but moans, and Sam nudges his knees apart and pulls his panties down, listens to his breathing going uneven.
Sam licks into him, slow circles and long, casual brushes of his tongue, and Dean actually whimpers, which makes Sam laugh against the inside of his thigh.
“Goddamn it, Sam,” Dean manages, and Sam slides two fingers in to shut him up, uses just a little of his tongue, teasing, and god, he loves women, loves the noises Dean’s making above him, soft and desperate.
“Okay,” Dean says, “okay,” and pulls Sam up, panting. “Are you -” he says, and kisses Sam hard, hungry.
“Yeah,” Sam says, and fumbles in the bedside drawer for a condom, where Dean always throws a stash, just in case.
Dean takes it from him, peels it open and slides it on, which Sam’s pretty grateful for, because it’s not like he can think right now. “Hey, Dean,” he says, soft, spreads a hand out against the small of his back, pulls him in close, and this, right here, is the part that gets him, the part that’s always gotten him.
“Come on,” Dean says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, tilts his hips up a little.
“Okay?” Sam says, and Dean just kisses him, arches up a little closer so Sam can press inside.
Dean’s tight and hot and beautiful beneath him, and Sam can’t stop kissing, not even when Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist and pulls him in deeper.
“Oh yeah,” Dean says, head thrown back a little, and Sam thrusts, letting his hips find a rhythm, guiding Dean closer.
He pulls him up when he can feel Dean starting to get close, lets him slip away a minute so Sam can sit up, pull Dean back down into his lap.
“Hey,” Dean manages, laughing, “that’s my move,” and Sam grins and nudges his hips up, slow and steady.
“Learned from the best,” he murmurs against Dean’s shoulder, spreading a hand across his back to keep him close, and kisses Dean until he goes still and comes, close enough that Sam can feel his whole body shudder.
“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, against his jaw, holding tight, and that pulls Sam over the edge too, leaves him gasping for air.
Sam lets Dean down a couple minutes later, when he can breathe again, and cleans up before he slides back into bed. Dean settles under his arm, already inching toward sleep, and Sam nudges a kiss to his shoulder.
“It’s - not just the boobs,” he murmurs, and Dean settles in a little closer.
“I know,” Dean says, but Sam thinks maybe Dean’s not so sure, so he just settles in close and pulls all the blankets up, falls asleep with Dean’s face pressed against his shoulder.
When he wakes up the next morning, Dean’s sitting on the other bed, looking way more unhappy than he ought to considering the sex, in Sam’s opinion. He sits up, a little, and rubs a hand over his face, which is when he realizes Dean isn’t so female anymore.
“Hey, you’re back,” Sam says, kinda drowsy, and Dean jumps, then flushes.
“Yeah,” he says, and yeah, he’s kind of staring at Sam like he’s not sure what to expect, so Sam moves over, slides down in the blankets a little.
“It’s kind of cold in here,” he murmurs, nice and low, definitely an invitation. “How about you come over?”
Dean doesn’t really relax, but he rolls out of the other bed, crawls underneath the blankets, wearing jeans and Sam’s sweatshirt again.
“Hey,” Sam says, giving Dean enough room to let him choose, just in case he’s misinterpreting the signs.
“Seriously, it’s cool,” Dean says, finally, like he’s been thinking about it, planning it out, “I know you were - distracted.”
“A little,” Sam says, and leans in, deliberate, to press a kiss behind Dean’s jaw. “But I’m more distracted now.”
Dean jumps, again, and Sam laughs and pulls him down, rolls over on top of him and settles in, and yeah, okay - maybe he’s going to miss the boobs a little, but it’s Dean and that’s really all that matters.
“Oh,” Dean says, kind of startled, still a little flushed, and Sam leans in and kisses him before he can make himself feel any worse.
“It’s you,” he murmurs, against his jaw, and settles in to prove it.
So, uh, genderswap. Girl!Dean, inspired by this post. (Definitely check out that picture, I'm not actually into girls and I STILL think it's hot.) Everyone was like, "I LOVE YOUR DEAN VOICE." So of course I turned around and wrote Sam. Thanks to Kiernan for the beta, as always. She is the only person who would suggest "teapot" as a substitute word for "nipple."
Dean turns into a girl! Sam has... issues! I wrote three whole serious fics, I deserve one that includes the line, "Vibrators are awesome."
If you do not like het? You might not like this fic. But Sam likes breasts, and you should too.
Dean does not wear a skirt. He's pretty hot anyway.
Radical Feminism, Sam/Dean, NC-17, 4500 words.
Radical Feminism
Objectively, Sam knows that it’s possible for spirits to carry around spells and curses with them. Practically, though, he’s a little too distracted by the sudden manifestation of the spirit whose grave they’re digging up to worry about it.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean says, and goes for it while Sam’s breaking through the lid of the coffin with his shovel. He can hear a lot of yelling in the background, which goes kind of abruptly silent right about the time he finishes salting the bones. He’s lucky he’s already got the match started when the ghost grabs him, because he manages to throw it into the coffin, which erupts into flames. Sam’s still going to have a ton of bruises, but his more pressing concern is Dean, who, in Sam’s experience, has never let something go without actually being unconscious.
Sam hauls himself out of the grave fast, but when he gets up, he finds that Dean’s okay, just kind of standing there, blinking.
“What the hell?” Sam says, and shakes him, a little, to make sure he hasn’t gone into some sort of ghost-induced trance.
“I feel kind of funny,” Dean says, in a tone of voice Sam’s definitely never heard him use before, and Sam notices that all his clothes are way too loose and that he’s shorter. His hair is longer too, which makes absolutely no sense unless -
“Are you shrinking?” Sam says, incredulous, and tries not to panic.
“No,” Dean says, but he’s smaller, lighter under Sam’s hands, and when Sam leans in close his face isn’t even the same shape, which is maybe what happens when you start to physically dissolve.
“I think I need to get in the car,” Dean says, way calmer than Sam thinks he ought to be considering he might disappear any second, like the goddamned witch in the Wizard of Oz.
Sam’s used to following orders, though, so he hauls open the door and turns on the overhead light, then blinks when Dean starts hauling off clothes. Sam turns away to make sure nothing’s coming up behind them, even though he’s pretty hesitant to take his eyes off Dean, just in case he really does disappear.
“Huh,” Dean says, finally, sounding more perplexed than anything else, so Sam turns around just as Dean starts shifting out of the driver’s seat.
He ends up on eye level with a pair of breasts, connected to very female shoulders and a very female face, Dean’s very female face -
“I think something happened,” Dean says, and Sam falls flat on his ass.
He can’t stop hyperventilating, so Dean has to drive home.
“It’s not that big a deal, Sammy,” he - she? Sam’s about to have a panic attack - says, taking a bite of one of their emergency provision snickers bars as he pulls out. “Probably wear off in a couple hours.”
“YOU’RE A GIRL!” Sam yells, head between his knees.
Dean wisely elects not to say anything after that.
Sam gets first shower, owing to the fact that he’s covered in ash, dirt, and a bunch of leaves, and he tries to calm down under the warm stream of the water. Dean’s probably right. He’ll be back to normal in the morning, and then they can all move on from this. Very far on from this.
His newfound calm lasts until he steps out of the bathroom and finds Dean totally naked on Sam’s bed, cupping one of his breasts.
“DEAN!” Sam manages, but Dean just wriggles a little.
“This is awesome,” he says. “You have to see this - ”
Dean sits up and bounces on the bed.
Sam decides to sleep in the car.
Dean comes out to get him twenty minutes later, still dripping wet from his shower, wearing Sam’s brown hoodie and, from what Sam can tell, pretty much nothing else. He jerks open the back door of the Impala.
“Stop being so uptight and come play with my boobs, bitch,” Dean says, and tackles him.
Sam flips him before he can think about it, twenty years of habit coming on strong, and then he’s got Dean - small and warm and totally not wearing underwear - underneath him in the backseat of the car, and oh, fuck. He is seriously, seriously going to hell, because this is bringing a whole new meaning to inappropriate hard-on.
“Hey,” Dean says, startled, suddenly grinning, and shifts underneath him in a way that makes Sam choke. “Turns out you’re not a girl after all.”
Sam is going to kill him.
He manages to get absolutely nothing done, owing to the fact that Dean’s sitting across the room with breasts, watching lesbian porn on HBO, which is wrong on so many levels Sam can’t even begin to articulate it.
Sam finally decides to just go to bed, and he’s almost asleep when Dean slides in behind him, naked again, and presses up against his back.
“I’m cold,” Dean announces, like it’s Sam’s responsibility, and the erection he’s been fighting all night comes back full force, because Sam hasn’t had regular sex in three years, and seriously, there’s a naked girl next to him, even if it is his brother.
“Maybe if you’d put some clothes on!” Sam manages, and rolls out of bed to take Dean’s.
“Sammy,” Dean whines, and Sam wonders if it’s possible to kill himself with a pillow.
“Just - put on a shirt, or something,” he says, because it’s physically impossible to resist Dean when he - she - uses that voice, and Dean slides in with him a couple minutes later, back in Sam’s sweatshirt.
“Sorry,” he says, finally, as close to apologetic as Dean gets.
He settles in, close, slow enough that Sam gets that Dean’s trying to keep him from bolting, and at least he still smells normal, car leather and motel room soap. Sam closes his eyes and wraps an arm around Dean. Yeah, okay - the whole thing is weird as fuck, but Sam misses steady touch like this, and it feels good, to know that he can keep Dean safe, that nothing’s going to happen to him so long as Sam’s here.
It feels substantially less good the next morning when he wakes up with Dean sprawled out underneath him and pretty much every part of his body chimes in to remind him exactly why morning sex was his favorite kind, because Dean’s barely awake, soft and warm and blinking up at him with an expression Sam’s pretty sure he’s never going to catch on Dean’s face again, because Dean doesn’t do affectionate.
“First shower,” he manages, and bolts for the bathroom, where he has to get off just to be able to think about washing his hair, and by the time he’s done with that, he’s hard again, thinking about breasts (NOT DEAN’S) and stomachs (NOT DEAN’S) and warm skin (STILL NOT DEAN’S).
Sam’s pretty far into the second time when Dean climbs into the shower, still mostly asleep, and plasters himself against Sam’s back, really fucking naked.
“SON OF A BITCH!” Sam yelps, knocks over all eight half-empty bottles of shampoo Dean left out last night, and manages to grab a towel off the rack above the sink to cover himself.
“I’m cold again,” Dean protests, nudging his nose against Sam’s shoulder blade, and Sam has to grab the shower curtain and count to thirty to keep from coming right there.
“You can have the shower,” Sam says, kind of strangled, and Dean backs up and chokes.
“Oh my god, you were totally jerking off,” he says, delighted, and starts cracking up. Sam leans his head against the tile and decides to die.
“Do you want me to give you a hand with that, baby?” Dean says, low, smirking, leaning against the wall in a totally suggestive way, and Sam’s two inches from actually saying yes when Dean flees from the bathroom, cackling.
The worst part of it is, Sam actually has to finish getting off, because apparently his cock’s so interested not even abject mortification can take the edge off.
Somehow, to add to the fact that his life has become a living hell, Sam ends up going shopping for women’s clothing while Dean hits the grocery store. He’s not sure exactly how he lost that coin toss, but it’s definitely not fair, especially since he has to objectively assess Dean’s bra size.
Sam’s got pretty much no experience in shopping for women’s clothing, but he’s got a lot of experience shopping for Dean, so he manages to find a couple pairs of jeans and some t-shirts, plus a sweatshirt so Dean will stop stealing his. Sam definitely doesn’t appreciate being forced to lurk around the lingerie section, so he finds a couple packages of boyshorts, which he figures at least look vaguely like boxers. Not that Dean ever wears underwear anyway. He’s pretty sure the likelihood of getting Dean to actually wear a bra is low, but he picks two in the most basic black he can find. He’s pretty sure Dean’s a C, but Sam’s totally unwilling to go down that mental avenue, so he heads for the shoe department instead, to find a smaller pair of boots.
When he gets back to the motel - it’s just across the street from the shopping complex - Dean’s back already, and in bed. Sam thinks maybe he’s asleep, except Dean sleeps curled into a corner of the bed and right now he’s sprawled out beneath the blankets, knees drawn up, eyes closed, breathing kind of funny.
Sam goes to rummage in one of the grocery bags, and throws the clothes on the other bed. “You okay?” he says, pulling out an apple, because Dean is making weird little noises, like maybe he’s in pain or something. Dean laughs, low and totally breathless.
“Seriously, Sam,” he pants, with a long, drawn out gasp. “Vibrators are awesome.”
Sam chokes on his apple, the rest of which he manages to drop into a half-open drawer, and flees. He actually has to hold his head under the faucet of the lobby bathroom for five minutes before he regains higher brain function and his dick calms down, and even then, it’s kind of questionable.
At least when he gets back an hour later, Dean has clothes on. Jeans aren’t involved, but he’s wearing underwear and one of the shirts Sam found, and at least it’s green, so it’s not like Sam can see anything through it.
“I’m cold,” Dean says, which is beginning to count as Sam’s least favorite sentence, and pretty much hauls him down onto the bed before he sprawls out on top, wriggling close.
“We could turn the AC down,” Sam points out, but Dean doesn’t actually move, so relaxed Sam thinks he might actually be falling asleep.
“Nah,” Dean says, “this feels good.” Sam privately has to disagree, considering he’s been hard for what feels like the past two days and Dean’s actually snuggling up to him.
Hormones, Sam thinks, it’s definitely hormones, and then Dean says, “I came four times,” and Sam has to roll out of bed and stick his head in the shower again.
“Sorry,” he says, when he gets back, still kind of breathless, “got kind of hot in here.”
“Aw, baby,” Dean says, still sprawled out on the bed, smirking, “are you jealous of my multiple orgasms?”
Sam has to head back to the freezing cold water, which is losing all effectiveness and giving him a headache, but when he surfaces to breathe, Dean presses himself up against Sam’s ass and smirks a little more. “Because you know, I could show you how it’s done,” he says, in that stupid sex voice.
“DEAN!” Sam yells, and locks himself in the bathroom, which is a totally reasonable response.
When Sam finally gathers the courage to come out of the bathroom, Dean’s not actually there, but there’s off-key singing coming from outside the room, and when Sam opens the door, he finds that Dean’s washing the Impala. Thank god, normality, Sam thinks, but about three seconds later Dean throws a bucket of water across the hood, leans down to scrub, and comes up soaked.
Sam can see right through his t-shirt, and seriously, it is so unfair that Dean’s this hot as a girl. Dean notices him watching and waves, and oh, god, he’s definitely not wearing a bra. Sam seriously considers just taking him on the hood of the car.
It would be so wrong, and Dean would probably never speak to him again, but Sam’s pretty sure if he has to see Dean’s tits one more time, he’s either going to come in his jeans or lose all self control and kiss him. He’s not sure which would be worse.
Dean decides they need to go to a bar, which is fine with Sam with because he could seriously use a drink. Or ten. He gives Dean a three beer limit, though, since Sam has absolutely no desire to share a hotel room with a drunk and female Dean. Unfortunately, he manages to completely forget about the fact that Dean doesn’t have his normal size or his normal metabolism, and by the time Sam works his way back to the bar from a game of pool, Dean is smashed.
“Hey,” he says, when he sees Sam, and flings an arm around his neck. “I made friends!”
There’s a crowd of men around him, and something in Sam’s stomach turns over at the way they’re looking at Dean. “That’s good,” he says, and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, tight. “I think we should head home.”
“But I’m having fun!” Dean says.
“Yeah,” one of the guys says, “she’s having fun,” and actually puts a hand on Dean’s ass.
Sam doesn’t actually think about it, just punches him so hard he’s laid out on the floor, and Dean just kind of stares at him. “You should not have grabbed my ass,” he directs, to the guy on the floor, and then weaves his way out toward the car.
Sam follows, feeling kind of guilty, and keeps Dean from wandering into a bush.
“I’m driving,” he says, and actually manages to get them home without catastrophe, which lasts all of five seconds after he parks the car, when Dean slides over into his lap and straddles him.
“Hey, Sammy,” he says, and gets his arms around Sam’s neck, leaning in close.
Dean’s ass is pressed right up against him, and every time Sam moves, Dean squirms a little.
“Dean,” Sam manages, “you’re drunk.”
“You don’t have to be jealous, baby,” Dean murmurs, low and earnest, about two inches away, and then, just when Sam’s pretty sure he might actually die, rolls out of Sam’s lap back onto his side of the car, laughing hysterically.
“The look on your face!” Dean says, laughing so hard he falls off the seat, and Sam goes inside, crawls underneath the blankets, and vows never to come out again.
Dean pulls back the covers a couple minutes later and slides in beside him, and Sam ignores all his rules about being nice to girls and elbows him out of bed again, because he can’t take one more second of this.
“Go the fuck away,” he says, still under the blankets.
“Sam,” Dean says, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Sammy,” and pulls back the blankets to get in again, breath warm against the back of his neck. He slides a hand over, wraps small fingers around Sam’s wrist, and turns Sam over, slow and careful, kind of uncoordinated.
“I’m sorry,” he says, softly, slides a hand up to cup Sam’s face before he kisses the corner of his mouth.
“Stop fucking with me,” Sam manages, a couple seconds later, and pushes Dean out of bed.
Dean doesn’t try to climb in with him again, which is just fine with Sam, and he’s gone the next morning when Sam gets up.
“Tell me when you’re going to stop sulking,” Dean says, when he comes back at lunch with a hamburger for each of them and fries to share. Sam doesn’t say anything, just goes back to researching how to break gender curses. Everyone pretty much says that it’s got to wear off on its own, which is not an acceptable answer.
He’s feeling a little more generous by dinner, considering Dean hasn’t gotten naked once and is mostly leaving him alone aside from throwing an occasional french fry at his head, so he’s kind of okay with it when Dean climbs into bed with him after they eat.
“Is it the tits?” Dean says, finally, gesturing down half way through a movie while Sam’s messing around on the laptop, playing Solitare. “Or me?”
“What?” Sam says, and Dean leans in, close, kind of amused.
“You think I didn’t notice you’ve been hard for the past three days,” he says, and Sam can actually feel his face turning red.
“Sorry,” he says, and Dean settles in close, against his side.
“It’s cool,” Dean says, not fucking around for once, and he takes the laptop from Sam, puts it aside, and slides down into his lap. Sam’s about ready to seriously fucking yell when Dean puts a hand over his mouth and elbows him when Sam tries to bite.
“You haven’t gotten laid in years,” Dean says, leaning back a little “And I’m hot.” He’s annoyingly smug. Sam wants to point out that this seriously isn’t helping, but Dean just wriggles in a little closer. “So if it’s just that you like my boobs a lot, get over it and go for them.”
Sam’s brain can’t really handle the idea of touching anything, so he just leans forward, rests his forehead against Dean’s shoulder, and breathes.
“And if it’s not just how fantastic my tits are -” He grins, open and a little obnoxious but fundamentally Dean. “You know I’d go steady with you, Sammy.”
And that’s the problem, really, what Sam’s been fighting himself over all week, because it’s not just the breasts, or the stomach, or the freckles Sam can see if he leans in a little, and god, he loves Dean’s freckles, it’s -
Dean.
Who’s okay with being a girl when Sam’s pretty sure if it were the other way around he’d be hiding under the bed, who wants Sam to keep him warm, who’s been coming onto him all weekend and being a pain in the ass, but who means it.
“My class ring’s in the glove compartment,” he says, finally, and Dean snorts.
“And we see why you never get laid,” Dean says, but he’s pulling off his shirt, and oh, jesus, Sam’s going to die, because he can’t stop staring.
“Yeah, okay, they’re great,” Dean says, after some indeterminate amount of time where Sam’s counting the tiny little freckles dusted across Dean’s skin, and looking at the curve just above his ribcage, and resisting the urge to drag his tongue along the pale white scar running along Dean’s collarbone.
He pulls off Sam’s shirt, then takes Sam’s hand and tugs it up, until it’s pressed close against all that warm skin. “Go for it,” he says, and Sam finally realizes he’s allowed to touch, that he is touching, and he’s pretty sure he could come just from this.
“Shh, Dean,” he murmurs, sliding his hand up a little to cup Dean’s breast, warm and full, and leans in to drag his tongue over all those freckles.
“Uh,” Dean says, soft and a little breathless all of a sudden, and fits his hips right up against Sam’s, not even really thinking about it.
“Mm,” Sam agrees, again, and licks across a nipple, nudges his nose along a curve.
“God, I love breasts,” Dean says, reverently, and Sam grins and leans up to kiss him, still rubbing a thumb over Dean’s other nipple, fingers splayed.
Dean’s mouth under his is amazing, hot and soft, and Sam has to pull back, breathing hard.
“Shit,” he manages, and nudges Dean off a little, because he would really prefer this not be over now, from kissing.
“Stop worrying about it,” Dean says, and stretches out flat on his stomach, nudging Sam’s knees apart, and starts undoing his jeans. “Just hold off until you’re out of your jeans.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, kind of flushed, but it’s Dean’s fault, with his shower sharing and car washing and breasts.
He definitely used to be able to go all night, but not like this, with Dean’s hands all over him as he pulls down Sam’s jeans, lets Sam kick them off.
“Yeah, like that,” Dean murmurs, and before Sam can actually think about it, Dean’s got a hand wrapped around his cock and is sliding his mouth down, no pretense.
“Fuck,” Sam says, feeling his whole body tense up. It’s hot and wet and a little messy, and so, so fucking good, with Dean making soft noises in the back of his throat, pushing his tongue up just beneath the head of Sam’s cock. Sam’s just watches for a minute, trying to keep from moving too much, and then Dean looks back up and Sam comes down his throat in two seconds flat, arching up off the bed.
“Blowjobs,” Dean says, sliding back up next to him, “are awesome,” and Sam manages to get an arm around him, laughing, pull him down and close.
It’s a couple minutes before he can really think again, but when he pulls himself together his head’s clear for the first time in two days, and he realizes Dean’s watching him.
“Hey,” Sam murmurs, and rolls them both over until he’s stretched out on top, and Dean’s underneath him, safe and warm.
“Feels good,” Dean says, looking a little surprised, and Sam laughs against his shoulder, slides down to pay a little more attention.
Dean’s squirming by the time Sam moves away from his breasts, arching off the bed and making these soft little noises that Sam kind of recognizes as really turned on. He’s flushed and gorgeous and Sam’s, and Sam’s planning on keeping it that way.
“Shh,” he says, pressing little kisses across Dean’s belly, and Dean’s got a hand tangled in his hair.
“Yeah, Sammy,” he all but moans, and Sam nudges his knees apart and pulls his panties down, listens to his breathing going uneven.
Sam licks into him, slow circles and long, casual brushes of his tongue, and Dean actually whimpers, which makes Sam laugh against the inside of his thigh.
“Goddamn it, Sam,” Dean manages, and Sam slides two fingers in to shut him up, uses just a little of his tongue, teasing, and god, he loves women, loves the noises Dean’s making above him, soft and desperate.
“Okay,” Dean says, “okay,” and pulls Sam up, panting. “Are you -” he says, and kisses Sam hard, hungry.
“Yeah,” Sam says, and fumbles in the bedside drawer for a condom, where Dean always throws a stash, just in case.
Dean takes it from him, peels it open and slides it on, which Sam’s pretty grateful for, because it’s not like he can think right now. “Hey, Dean,” he says, soft, spreads a hand out against the small of his back, pulls him in close, and this, right here, is the part that gets him, the part that’s always gotten him.
“Come on,” Dean says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, tilts his hips up a little.
“Okay?” Sam says, and Dean just kisses him, arches up a little closer so Sam can press inside.
Dean’s tight and hot and beautiful beneath him, and Sam can’t stop kissing, not even when Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist and pulls him in deeper.
“Oh yeah,” Dean says, head thrown back a little, and Sam thrusts, letting his hips find a rhythm, guiding Dean closer.
He pulls him up when he can feel Dean starting to get close, lets him slip away a minute so Sam can sit up, pull Dean back down into his lap.
“Hey,” Dean manages, laughing, “that’s my move,” and Sam grins and nudges his hips up, slow and steady.
“Learned from the best,” he murmurs against Dean’s shoulder, spreading a hand across his back to keep him close, and kisses Dean until he goes still and comes, close enough that Sam can feel his whole body shudder.
“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, against his jaw, holding tight, and that pulls Sam over the edge too, leaves him gasping for air.
Sam lets Dean down a couple minutes later, when he can breathe again, and cleans up before he slides back into bed. Dean settles under his arm, already inching toward sleep, and Sam nudges a kiss to his shoulder.
“It’s - not just the boobs,” he murmurs, and Dean settles in a little closer.
“I know,” Dean says, but Sam thinks maybe Dean’s not so sure, so he just settles in close and pulls all the blankets up, falls asleep with Dean’s face pressed against his shoulder.
When he wakes up the next morning, Dean’s sitting on the other bed, looking way more unhappy than he ought to considering the sex, in Sam’s opinion. He sits up, a little, and rubs a hand over his face, which is when he realizes Dean isn’t so female anymore.
“Hey, you’re back,” Sam says, kinda drowsy, and Dean jumps, then flushes.
“Yeah,” he says, and yeah, he’s kind of staring at Sam like he’s not sure what to expect, so Sam moves over, slides down in the blankets a little.
“It’s kind of cold in here,” he murmurs, nice and low, definitely an invitation. “How about you come over?”
Dean doesn’t really relax, but he rolls out of the other bed, crawls underneath the blankets, wearing jeans and Sam’s sweatshirt again.
“Hey,” Sam says, giving Dean enough room to let him choose, just in case he’s misinterpreting the signs.
“Seriously, it’s cool,” Dean says, finally, like he’s been thinking about it, planning it out, “I know you were - distracted.”
“A little,” Sam says, and leans in, deliberate, to press a kiss behind Dean’s jaw. “But I’m more distracted now.”
Dean jumps, again, and Sam laughs and pulls him down, rolls over on top of him and settles in, and yeah, okay - maybe he’s going to miss the boobs a little, but it’s Dean and that’s really all that matters.
“Oh,” Dean says, kind of startled, still a little flushed, and Sam leans in and kisses him before he can make himself feel any worse.
“It’s you,” he murmurs, against his jaw, and settles in to prove it.