Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Fragile
Fuck homework, man. Porn is so much more important. =) I've been working on this for awhile; I've never had so much trouble with a fic. But after tonight's, um, "revelation," I've got a feeling that we're about to see a plethora of new fics. =D So, eh. Fuck it. "We kind of liked it." xD
Title: Fragile
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean likes to pretend he's the stronger one. But Sam knows just how fragile Dean can be on the inside. Now he just wants the outside to match.
Warnings/Spoilers: Cross-dressing kink, + light spoilers for "The Mystery Spot," episode 4x01, general themes, and overall...death counts. o_O
A/N: I struggled with this. More than usual.
Word count: 3350.
It had started with an argument, like always. They’d ended up sleeping together because of an argument, so Sam supposed this isn’t anything new. In fact, it’s getting downright old. Dean’s apparent death wish is just too strong to ignore anymore and it’s driving Sam up the damn wall. No matter how much Sam tries, he just can’t seem to beat it into Dean’s head that no, he doesn’t have to do stupid moves like throwing himself in between Sam and a pissed off shapeshifter. It’s kind of like he figures that it doesn’t matter if he dies, as long as Sam is safe. Stupid, because Sam knows that if Dean were to die, he’d just have to die, too. Been there twice, bought the T-shirts, never want to try it again, thanks.
Dean needs to understand that he isn’t Superman. That if he keeps this up, chances are good that he’s not going to live much longer. Which is fucking ironic seeing as how Dean’s been pulled from the brink of death or actually BEEN dead at least three times already.
At least Sam’d been prepared for the thing. Plus Sam is…well, he’s bigger.
The creature’d just tossed Dean aside like a bag of trash, slamming him into the far wall and Dean’d crumpled, folding in on himself like bad lawn furniture as he landed on the floor. With a quick stab in the back and an extra vengeful upward slice, the monster had died but Dean had still been on the floor.
When they’d gotten back to the hotel, Dean had, of course, not understood. He’d only been protecting Sam like it was his job so could Sam just stopping nagging him already? Sam disagrees. It isn’t Dean’s job to protect him like that anymore.
Things have changed. Every Wednesday, Sam still has to grab Dean and make sure he’s still there. And then there’s Hell. Sam’s Hell: four months of going crazy without even a clue how to fix anything. They’d turned Sam into something more than the efficient machine the Trickster’s joke had made him. He’s stronger now. Stronger and he has Dean back and he never wants to revisit those four months ever again.
Even Dean himself has changed. Dean came back from Hell just a little bit different. Not that he’ll ever admit that. He’s…breakable now. In ways he never was before.
So Sam’d left the hotel with a slamming door and stomped off. He’d wandered his way downtown and that’s when it’d hit him what he should do. When he’d seen it. $200 later, Sam’d made his way back to the hotel.
He hasn’t been gone for long, but Dean’s definitely been starting to worry by the way he bolts upright on the bed, legs swinging to let his dirty boots thud on the floor. Sam winces and makes a note to have them sleep on the other bed, Dean’s protest be damned. “Where you been, Sammy?” Dean growls and Sam just barely manages to hold back his smirk. Instead, he just throws Dean the bag. Raising a questioning eyebrow, Dean peeks inside the discretely blank plastic. And freezes.
Sam stares, looking for any sign of what’s going on in Dean’s head. One simple no-or even a laugh-could ruin this entire thing. When Dean finally glances up at Sam, though, his jaw is trying to touch the floor. “Seriously?” he wheezes and Sam nods slowly, not trusting himself to speak and trying so hard to play it cool. Has to. If he lets even a little bit of what he’s thinking slip, Dean will reject this outright. But if he makes it just another game, just another level-a challenge even, Dean won’t refuse.
Sam starts breathing again when Dean picks up the bag and disappears into the bathroom. Cautiously, he places himself against the wall now separating him and Dean, not daring just yet to believe this might actually work just.
A half hour later, Sam is dying.
He leans against the door, forehead pressing to the cheap wood. “Dean…” he pleads. Sam’s been hard ever since he saw the clothes on the rack, thinking about Dean in them, and the time Dean’s been keeping him waiting really isn’t helping. Sam rubs himself soothingly and groans. He just wants to see. So much for playing it cool. “Dean, please come out.”
Sure he could break down the door but that’s not what he’s after. He wants-needs-Dean to come to him. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, pretending like it isn’t.
No, this is only something he’s been dreaming about for years now. Sure, he’d just realized he could make it a possibility less than an hour ago, but this particular fetish is something Sam’s been dealing with since he was 13 and Dad’d made Dean dress up to lure out a picky ghost. Dean’d complained so much back then that Sam’s never even thought about asking him until now. “Dean.”
“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean snarls. “Give me a damn minute.” Sam bites his lip; he’s going to die in another one of Dean’s ‘minutes.’ When the door finally unlocks, Sam stares at the knob, desperate to see it turn. He’s so, so close and it’s taking just everything he has not to wrench open the door. To let Dean come in his own time. “You are a kinky son of a bitch,” Dean complains and finally opens the door the rest of the way. He stands in the doorway, letting Sam drink him in. “Sam, I look fucking ridiculous.”
Dean could be quoting the Gettysburg Address right now for all Sam cares. All he knows is that Dean is standing in front of him in the clingy black dress that Sam bought him and looking like a wet dream come true. In the dress, Dean looks smaller, more delicate and it follows the lines of his body in all the right places. One of the thin spaghetti straps slides off Dean’s pale shoulder and Dean sighs and pushes it up irritably. Sam clenches his fists to stop himself from dragging it back down.
Instead, he lets his eyes wander, past Dean’s gorgeous lips, pursed into a displeased frown, down his vulnerable neck and down, down, down over the lines of the dress. Dean’s chest is still deliciously flat-less than an A-cup and it had certainly been a pain to fit. But worth it. Sam follows the smooth expanse of Dean’s belly, down to his hips-rounder and softer than Sam’s own. He looks so beautiful, so fragile, like he needs Sam to take care of him.
He looks perfect.
Ever since Dean came back from Hell, Sam’s been forcibly reminded of just how much bigger and stronger Sam’s gotten. How…fragile Dean is. For years, Dean has been the protective older brother-sheltering Sam and being the stronger one. But Sam’s taller than his brother, broader, stronger. And since Hell, Sam can feel that Dean’s only keeping it together by a thread. Hell did something to Dean. It broke him. He puts on a front now for Sam but Sam knows that isn’t who he is underneath. Dean’s never been so fragile. Sam knows that it’s his turn now to protect Dean. Dean’s just being a little slow to recognize it.
It’s impossible to look manly in the slinky black dress and Dean knows it-he’s starting to blush and squirm a little under Sam’s staring. It’s forcing him to drop his masks and that’s just what Sam wants.
He’s fucking gorgeous right now. Sure, Dean’s always been pretty, but right now? The dress slinks past Dean’s groin to flirt and mid thigh and-Sam bites his lip as a surge of desire races through him-Dean’s even bothered to shave. Dean’s hips shift, his arms crossing and Sam drags his eyes back up the slender length of Dean’s body to meet his green eyes. “Happy?” Dean asks sullenly.
Sam’s too out of breath to answer him. Instead he steps forward, slow and gentle as Dean takes an instinctive step back, eyes widening. “Shh…” Sam says, coaxing, and softly touches Dean’s upper arms.
“Sam,” Dean says, unsure of himself as he glances anywhere but Sam’s face.
When Sam slides his palms around to Dean’s back, Dean jumps but Sam pets him soothingly. “Easy,” Sam says, trying to coax Dean into relaxing. Dean squeaks as Sam gently presses him against Sam’s chest but Dean allows the motion, even leaning into Sam a bit. Sam holds Dean like he would have held a girl at his first dance if he’d ever been allowed to go to one, hands placed on the shoulder and hip, and Dean just breathes shakily into Sam’s shirt. Sam bites back a groan and forces himself not to grind. He’s taking this easy, slow. Sam inches his fingertips to graze along Dean’s middle back and sways with him. It’s perfect.
Dean’s simply not strong enough to take on what Sam can now. Dean’s never been weak and he certainly isn’t now. It’s just that Sam’s…stronger. And Sam just has this incredible urge to wrap Dean up in his arms and never let go-to protect him from all of the evil in the world. Sam wants to defend Dean from all the things Dean just can’t handle anymore. Especially not now, not after coming back.
Dean sways with him but Dean being Dean, he has to add a comment. “If I would have known you’d wanted to take me out dancin’, Sammy-” Sam tilts Dean’s chin up and kisses him to shut him up. Dean gives a little mewl and surges into it, his mouth opening as Sam licks his way inside.
Sam reminds himself to be gentle even as his instincts scream for him to crush Dean to him. His beautiful, perfect brother dressed up nice and Sam’s going to take care of him. Dean’s not a girl-he’s not going to break if Sam looses his barely restrained control-but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need Sam to be gentle with him.
Sam’s hands roam over Dean’s back, mapping the muscle that the slinky dress covers and eventually sliding down towards Dean’s ass. Sam breaks the kiss, pulling back to smirk at Dean’s glassy, aroused eyes and then leans to nibble at Dean’s ear. “Can I?’
Dean’s answer isn’t even a word, just a confused sounding syllable but Sam takes it as a yes and cups Dean fully with his hands. Sam really wants to take his time with this-to treat Dean right-but he just doesn’t think he’s going to make it. He needs to speed this up. “Can I?” he asks again, this time playing with the hem of Dean’s skirt. Dean bites his lip and nods.
Normally, Dean would be shoving into his grip or rocking against him, desperate to get off. He’s shyer this time around, though, and Sam kind of likes it. It’s nice for once, to peel away Dean’s confident, swaggering outer layer and to find this Dean underneath-the one who shivers in Sam’s arms and wears a dress for him.
Sam slides past Dean’s thighs and pushes up Dean’s dress, his touch skimming over the slick satin of the underwear he’d bought that afternoon. Dean jumps again and Sam shushes him as he plays with the elastic on the panties.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says and Dean snorts. Sam pushes a hand into Dean’s underwear, running over the smooth curves of his ass. “You are.” Dean needs to be told he’s beautiful. He knows it but he still doesn’t *believe* it.
“Sam, don’t get all-” Sam slides his hands around to Dean’s front to grab his cock and Dean cuts himself off with a gasp and a shudder. Smiling, Sam leans to lick delicately at Dean’s jaw.
“You’re gorgeous right now, Dean,” Sam whispers. “I want you so bad…” He presses his dick against Dean’s thigh, loving how Dean spreads wider to accommodate him. Dean shivers when Sam nips under his jaw. “You’re so pretty.”
“I-” Dean takes a deep breath and tries again. “I look like a man in a dress, Sammy.”
“No,” Sam disagrees. “You look like Dean in a dress.” He lifts Dean up and coaxes him to wrap his legs around Sam’s waist, to trust Sam to hold him up. “And that’s just perfect.” Dean needs to be told that someone loves him. How else is he going to believe it?
Sam carries Dean to the bed and lays him down on the comforter. Dean unlocks his legs from behind Sam’s back and spreads them wide, letting Sam pushing his thighs up. He shudders and closes his eyes, attempting to hide just how much he likes being exposed like this. Sam’s not fooled. Dean’s hips thrust upwards against the air as Sam licks at the underside of Dean’s knee. “You’re so pretty in your dress and panties, Dean,” he whispers. “I love that you’d do this for me.” He flips the dress up onto Dean’s stomach, baring the black satin of the panties and a line of skin above them. “So gorgeous.”
Dean’s tenting the front of the underwear, dick pushing against the fabric, and Sam rubs his knuckles up the length. Dean moans, mouth opening as he starts to pant, and he begs Sam with every wanton move of his body as his hands fist the pillow above his head. “So mine and so pretty.”
“I’m going to take care of you, Dean. Give you what you need. I love you.” The panties are soaked when Sam touches them again. “Are we ready? You’re wet…”
“Not a girl,” Dean grinds out even as he pushes into Sam’s touch.
“No, but you are dressed like one and-” Sam pins Dean to the bed, loving his telling gasp “I am going to treat you like one.”
He teases Dean’s trapped dick some more, until Dean’s thrusts become rough and demanding. Instead of giving in to Dean, he moves his hands to stroke over Dean’s hips. He’s going to keep this gentle even if it kills them both. Dean growls in frustration. “Damn it, Sam…”
“Easy…” Sam says. “Easy, easy…” He pushes a hand inside Dean’s panties as Dean jumps and shudders. “So pretty Dean, laying there, needing me to take care of you… I like you like this.”
Sam’s not entirely sure Dean’s hearing him: Dean’s panting at the ceiling, his pretty eyes blown as he writhes and whines. Sam licks at his neck, drawing out another moan. “So good, Dean… You’re so good.”
Sam leans away for just a moment to grab the lube but Dean’s whimpering before he gets back. It’s perfect. Sam rewards Dean with a kiss, tongue licking inside and swirling possessively just how Dean likes.
Dean grips Sam’s hair, keeping his head still as Dean tries to make the kiss as deep as he can manage. Sam moans and uses a free hand to shove Dean’s panties down. He can’t wait anymore-he needs inside.
Dean’s more than cooperative, kicking the underwear off to obediently spread his legs and hold himself open and Sam has to focus to not come right then and there. He swallows and lightly presses his fingers against Dean’s opening.
“Stop teasing,” Dean growls but Sam shakes his head.
“Goin’ slow, Dean,” he says. “I’m going to treat you right.” How Dean’s supposed to be treated.
His fingers circle a few times before one slowly pushes in and Dean whines. “Damn it, Sam!”
Dean’s not a girl, no, but he’s fragile and he just might break. Sam’s going to make sure he doesn’t. He’s going to pull out all the stops, do whatever it takes, to protect Dean. Dean can’t handle what Sam can now and this right here, underneath Sam, is exactly where Dean belongs. Safe and protected and loved.
By the time Sam finally pulls his fingers out and strips down to line himself up, Dean’s moved from swearing to begging all the way to wordless pleading. Sam kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth and pushes in, being as gentle as possible even as his body screams at him to go faster.
Dean takes the choice away by shoving himself on to Sam with a sob of relief. Sam groans, his eyes squeezing shut, and his dick throbs. “Damn it, Dean…” Dean tries to set a fast rhythm but Sam holds his hips down and forces him to be still until he manages to back away from the edge of orgasm.
With Dean struggling against his grip, sobbing and twisting on the bed, Sam inches himself out until just a little bit remains inside. Dean fights to jerk his hips back up to meet Sam’s but Sam’s setting the pace. Slowly, gently, maddeningly, he slips back inside.
Dean’s clawing at Sam’s back, begging him to go faster, but Sam kisses him sweetly instead. He runs a hand over the slinky black dress that Dean’s still wearing, the skirt pooled on Dean’s stomach, loving the way the fabric slides beneath his fingertips. “I like your dress, Dean…” he says kissing one side of Dean’s mouth. “I like how you look in it…” He kisses the other corner. “And I love that you’re wearing it for me.” He licks Dean’s bottom lip and Dean surges upwards, forcing him into a kiss.
Sam lets him and starts thrusting gently, letting it build the arousal inside of them. Dean meets him as best as he’s able with Sam still pining him to the bed. Sam’s hand nearly covers Dean’s entire hip and Sam loves the feeling that gives him-to know just how much bigger he is.
Sweat’s dripping down Sam’s face when he notices just how close Dean is getting, sees the way the desperation contorts his face. Sam moans in sympathy and buries his face under Dean’s jaw as he shoves the dress up to Dean’s armpits, baring Dean’s satiny, unfilled bra, before reaching down to Dean’s cock. “I’ll take care of you, Dean…” he says and Dean comes with a shudder and a gasp.
Dean tightens wonderfully around Sam and it pushes Sam over the edge to join Dean.
When coherency returns, Sam realizes that he’s collapsed on top of Dean but instead of pushing him off or complaining, Dean’s actually clutching Sam closer to him. Sam nuzzles at Dean’s neck. “…always take care of you,” Sam says. His Dean.
Dean nods and lets Sam lay there for a few more moments before unceremoniously shoving Sam off. Sam sighs and rolls onto his side. It’d been nice while it’d lasted, but he really was too big to be smothering Dean like that. Instead, Sam drags Dean to him, cuddling his brother to his chest and ignoring the protests. Dean mumbles something against his skin and Sam nudges his chin at Dean’s hair. “Did you say something?”
“I said,” Dean repeats, “I never knew you were such a freak…” He shakes a hand at the dress that he’s barely wearing anymore. “I mean, I always thought you were a little more vanilla, Sammy.”
Sam snorts and rubs circles into Dean’s back. “I like you in it.” In it, Dean looks soft and delicate and fragile and all the things Dean likes to pretend he’s not. If Sam had his way, Dean would wear nothing else. He knows that will never fly, but he’s also willing to work in steps. He nods in the vague direction the panties went. “I like you in them,” he says and feels Dean’s sharp intake of breath.
Tomorrow, Sam’s going to back to buy all sorts of lacy, frilly, and silky things for Dean to wear, even if only just underneath his jeans. Sam’ll know they’re there. Dean’ll know they’re there. Dean’ll know that Sam’ll know they’re there. And maybe it will help Dean realize just how fragile he is-how much he needs Sam to protect him.
It’s not that Dean isn’t strong. It’s just that Sam’s stronger.
Title: Fragile
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean likes to pretend he's the stronger one. But Sam knows just how fragile Dean can be on the inside. Now he just wants the outside to match.
Warnings/Spoilers: Cross-dressing kink, + light spoilers for "The Mystery Spot," episode 4x01, general themes, and overall...death counts. o_O
A/N: I struggled with this. More than usual.
Word count: 3350.
It had started with an argument, like always. They’d ended up sleeping together because of an argument, so Sam supposed this isn’t anything new. In fact, it’s getting downright old. Dean’s apparent death wish is just too strong to ignore anymore and it’s driving Sam up the damn wall. No matter how much Sam tries, he just can’t seem to beat it into Dean’s head that no, he doesn’t have to do stupid moves like throwing himself in between Sam and a pissed off shapeshifter. It’s kind of like he figures that it doesn’t matter if he dies, as long as Sam is safe. Stupid, because Sam knows that if Dean were to die, he’d just have to die, too. Been there twice, bought the T-shirts, never want to try it again, thanks.
Dean needs to understand that he isn’t Superman. That if he keeps this up, chances are good that he’s not going to live much longer. Which is fucking ironic seeing as how Dean’s been pulled from the brink of death or actually BEEN dead at least three times already.
At least Sam’d been prepared for the thing. Plus Sam is…well, he’s bigger.
The creature’d just tossed Dean aside like a bag of trash, slamming him into the far wall and Dean’d crumpled, folding in on himself like bad lawn furniture as he landed on the floor. With a quick stab in the back and an extra vengeful upward slice, the monster had died but Dean had still been on the floor.
When they’d gotten back to the hotel, Dean had, of course, not understood. He’d only been protecting Sam like it was his job so could Sam just stopping nagging him already? Sam disagrees. It isn’t Dean’s job to protect him like that anymore.
Things have changed. Every Wednesday, Sam still has to grab Dean and make sure he’s still there. And then there’s Hell. Sam’s Hell: four months of going crazy without even a clue how to fix anything. They’d turned Sam into something more than the efficient machine the Trickster’s joke had made him. He’s stronger now. Stronger and he has Dean back and he never wants to revisit those four months ever again.
Even Dean himself has changed. Dean came back from Hell just a little bit different. Not that he’ll ever admit that. He’s…breakable now. In ways he never was before.
So Sam’d left the hotel with a slamming door and stomped off. He’d wandered his way downtown and that’s when it’d hit him what he should do. When he’d seen it. $200 later, Sam’d made his way back to the hotel.
He hasn’t been gone for long, but Dean’s definitely been starting to worry by the way he bolts upright on the bed, legs swinging to let his dirty boots thud on the floor. Sam winces and makes a note to have them sleep on the other bed, Dean’s protest be damned. “Where you been, Sammy?” Dean growls and Sam just barely manages to hold back his smirk. Instead, he just throws Dean the bag. Raising a questioning eyebrow, Dean peeks inside the discretely blank plastic. And freezes.
Sam stares, looking for any sign of what’s going on in Dean’s head. One simple no-or even a laugh-could ruin this entire thing. When Dean finally glances up at Sam, though, his jaw is trying to touch the floor. “Seriously?” he wheezes and Sam nods slowly, not trusting himself to speak and trying so hard to play it cool. Has to. If he lets even a little bit of what he’s thinking slip, Dean will reject this outright. But if he makes it just another game, just another level-a challenge even, Dean won’t refuse.
Sam starts breathing again when Dean picks up the bag and disappears into the bathroom. Cautiously, he places himself against the wall now separating him and Dean, not daring just yet to believe this might actually work just.
A half hour later, Sam is dying.
He leans against the door, forehead pressing to the cheap wood. “Dean…” he pleads. Sam’s been hard ever since he saw the clothes on the rack, thinking about Dean in them, and the time Dean’s been keeping him waiting really isn’t helping. Sam rubs himself soothingly and groans. He just wants to see. So much for playing it cool. “Dean, please come out.”
Sure he could break down the door but that’s not what he’s after. He wants-needs-Dean to come to him. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, pretending like it isn’t.
No, this is only something he’s been dreaming about for years now. Sure, he’d just realized he could make it a possibility less than an hour ago, but this particular fetish is something Sam’s been dealing with since he was 13 and Dad’d made Dean dress up to lure out a picky ghost. Dean’d complained so much back then that Sam’s never even thought about asking him until now. “Dean.”
“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean snarls. “Give me a damn minute.” Sam bites his lip; he’s going to die in another one of Dean’s ‘minutes.’ When the door finally unlocks, Sam stares at the knob, desperate to see it turn. He’s so, so close and it’s taking just everything he has not to wrench open the door. To let Dean come in his own time. “You are a kinky son of a bitch,” Dean complains and finally opens the door the rest of the way. He stands in the doorway, letting Sam drink him in. “Sam, I look fucking ridiculous.”
Dean could be quoting the Gettysburg Address right now for all Sam cares. All he knows is that Dean is standing in front of him in the clingy black dress that Sam bought him and looking like a wet dream come true. In the dress, Dean looks smaller, more delicate and it follows the lines of his body in all the right places. One of the thin spaghetti straps slides off Dean’s pale shoulder and Dean sighs and pushes it up irritably. Sam clenches his fists to stop himself from dragging it back down.
Instead, he lets his eyes wander, past Dean’s gorgeous lips, pursed into a displeased frown, down his vulnerable neck and down, down, down over the lines of the dress. Dean’s chest is still deliciously flat-less than an A-cup and it had certainly been a pain to fit. But worth it. Sam follows the smooth expanse of Dean’s belly, down to his hips-rounder and softer than Sam’s own. He looks so beautiful, so fragile, like he needs Sam to take care of him.
He looks perfect.
Ever since Dean came back from Hell, Sam’s been forcibly reminded of just how much bigger and stronger Sam’s gotten. How…fragile Dean is. For years, Dean has been the protective older brother-sheltering Sam and being the stronger one. But Sam’s taller than his brother, broader, stronger. And since Hell, Sam can feel that Dean’s only keeping it together by a thread. Hell did something to Dean. It broke him. He puts on a front now for Sam but Sam knows that isn’t who he is underneath. Dean’s never been so fragile. Sam knows that it’s his turn now to protect Dean. Dean’s just being a little slow to recognize it.
It’s impossible to look manly in the slinky black dress and Dean knows it-he’s starting to blush and squirm a little under Sam’s staring. It’s forcing him to drop his masks and that’s just what Sam wants.
He’s fucking gorgeous right now. Sure, Dean’s always been pretty, but right now? The dress slinks past Dean’s groin to flirt and mid thigh and-Sam bites his lip as a surge of desire races through him-Dean’s even bothered to shave. Dean’s hips shift, his arms crossing and Sam drags his eyes back up the slender length of Dean’s body to meet his green eyes. “Happy?” Dean asks sullenly.
Sam’s too out of breath to answer him. Instead he steps forward, slow and gentle as Dean takes an instinctive step back, eyes widening. “Shh…” Sam says, coaxing, and softly touches Dean’s upper arms.
“Sam,” Dean says, unsure of himself as he glances anywhere but Sam’s face.
When Sam slides his palms around to Dean’s back, Dean jumps but Sam pets him soothingly. “Easy,” Sam says, trying to coax Dean into relaxing. Dean squeaks as Sam gently presses him against Sam’s chest but Dean allows the motion, even leaning into Sam a bit. Sam holds Dean like he would have held a girl at his first dance if he’d ever been allowed to go to one, hands placed on the shoulder and hip, and Dean just breathes shakily into Sam’s shirt. Sam bites back a groan and forces himself not to grind. He’s taking this easy, slow. Sam inches his fingertips to graze along Dean’s middle back and sways with him. It’s perfect.
Dean’s simply not strong enough to take on what Sam can now. Dean’s never been weak and he certainly isn’t now. It’s just that Sam’s…stronger. And Sam just has this incredible urge to wrap Dean up in his arms and never let go-to protect him from all of the evil in the world. Sam wants to defend Dean from all the things Dean just can’t handle anymore. Especially not now, not after coming back.
Dean sways with him but Dean being Dean, he has to add a comment. “If I would have known you’d wanted to take me out dancin’, Sammy-” Sam tilts Dean’s chin up and kisses him to shut him up. Dean gives a little mewl and surges into it, his mouth opening as Sam licks his way inside.
Sam reminds himself to be gentle even as his instincts scream for him to crush Dean to him. His beautiful, perfect brother dressed up nice and Sam’s going to take care of him. Dean’s not a girl-he’s not going to break if Sam looses his barely restrained control-but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need Sam to be gentle with him.
Sam’s hands roam over Dean’s back, mapping the muscle that the slinky dress covers and eventually sliding down towards Dean’s ass. Sam breaks the kiss, pulling back to smirk at Dean’s glassy, aroused eyes and then leans to nibble at Dean’s ear. “Can I?’
Dean’s answer isn’t even a word, just a confused sounding syllable but Sam takes it as a yes and cups Dean fully with his hands. Sam really wants to take his time with this-to treat Dean right-but he just doesn’t think he’s going to make it. He needs to speed this up. “Can I?” he asks again, this time playing with the hem of Dean’s skirt. Dean bites his lip and nods.
Normally, Dean would be shoving into his grip or rocking against him, desperate to get off. He’s shyer this time around, though, and Sam kind of likes it. It’s nice for once, to peel away Dean’s confident, swaggering outer layer and to find this Dean underneath-the one who shivers in Sam’s arms and wears a dress for him.
Sam slides past Dean’s thighs and pushes up Dean’s dress, his touch skimming over the slick satin of the underwear he’d bought that afternoon. Dean jumps again and Sam shushes him as he plays with the elastic on the panties.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says and Dean snorts. Sam pushes a hand into Dean’s underwear, running over the smooth curves of his ass. “You are.” Dean needs to be told he’s beautiful. He knows it but he still doesn’t *believe* it.
“Sam, don’t get all-” Sam slides his hands around to Dean’s front to grab his cock and Dean cuts himself off with a gasp and a shudder. Smiling, Sam leans to lick delicately at Dean’s jaw.
“You’re gorgeous right now, Dean,” Sam whispers. “I want you so bad…” He presses his dick against Dean’s thigh, loving how Dean spreads wider to accommodate him. Dean shivers when Sam nips under his jaw. “You’re so pretty.”
“I-” Dean takes a deep breath and tries again. “I look like a man in a dress, Sammy.”
“No,” Sam disagrees. “You look like Dean in a dress.” He lifts Dean up and coaxes him to wrap his legs around Sam’s waist, to trust Sam to hold him up. “And that’s just perfect.” Dean needs to be told that someone loves him. How else is he going to believe it?
Sam carries Dean to the bed and lays him down on the comforter. Dean unlocks his legs from behind Sam’s back and spreads them wide, letting Sam pushing his thighs up. He shudders and closes his eyes, attempting to hide just how much he likes being exposed like this. Sam’s not fooled. Dean’s hips thrust upwards against the air as Sam licks at the underside of Dean’s knee. “You’re so pretty in your dress and panties, Dean,” he whispers. “I love that you’d do this for me.” He flips the dress up onto Dean’s stomach, baring the black satin of the panties and a line of skin above them. “So gorgeous.”
Dean’s tenting the front of the underwear, dick pushing against the fabric, and Sam rubs his knuckles up the length. Dean moans, mouth opening as he starts to pant, and he begs Sam with every wanton move of his body as his hands fist the pillow above his head. “So mine and so pretty.”
“I’m going to take care of you, Dean. Give you what you need. I love you.” The panties are soaked when Sam touches them again. “Are we ready? You’re wet…”
“Not a girl,” Dean grinds out even as he pushes into Sam’s touch.
“No, but you are dressed like one and-” Sam pins Dean to the bed, loving his telling gasp “I am going to treat you like one.”
He teases Dean’s trapped dick some more, until Dean’s thrusts become rough and demanding. Instead of giving in to Dean, he moves his hands to stroke over Dean’s hips. He’s going to keep this gentle even if it kills them both. Dean growls in frustration. “Damn it, Sam…”
“Easy…” Sam says. “Easy, easy…” He pushes a hand inside Dean’s panties as Dean jumps and shudders. “So pretty Dean, laying there, needing me to take care of you… I like you like this.”
Sam’s not entirely sure Dean’s hearing him: Dean’s panting at the ceiling, his pretty eyes blown as he writhes and whines. Sam licks at his neck, drawing out another moan. “So good, Dean… You’re so good.”
Sam leans away for just a moment to grab the lube but Dean’s whimpering before he gets back. It’s perfect. Sam rewards Dean with a kiss, tongue licking inside and swirling possessively just how Dean likes.
Dean grips Sam’s hair, keeping his head still as Dean tries to make the kiss as deep as he can manage. Sam moans and uses a free hand to shove Dean’s panties down. He can’t wait anymore-he needs inside.
Dean’s more than cooperative, kicking the underwear off to obediently spread his legs and hold himself open and Sam has to focus to not come right then and there. He swallows and lightly presses his fingers against Dean’s opening.
“Stop teasing,” Dean growls but Sam shakes his head.
“Goin’ slow, Dean,” he says. “I’m going to treat you right.” How Dean’s supposed to be treated.
His fingers circle a few times before one slowly pushes in and Dean whines. “Damn it, Sam!”
Dean’s not a girl, no, but he’s fragile and he just might break. Sam’s going to make sure he doesn’t. He’s going to pull out all the stops, do whatever it takes, to protect Dean. Dean can’t handle what Sam can now and this right here, underneath Sam, is exactly where Dean belongs. Safe and protected and loved.
By the time Sam finally pulls his fingers out and strips down to line himself up, Dean’s moved from swearing to begging all the way to wordless pleading. Sam kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth and pushes in, being as gentle as possible even as his body screams at him to go faster.
Dean takes the choice away by shoving himself on to Sam with a sob of relief. Sam groans, his eyes squeezing shut, and his dick throbs. “Damn it, Dean…” Dean tries to set a fast rhythm but Sam holds his hips down and forces him to be still until he manages to back away from the edge of orgasm.
With Dean struggling against his grip, sobbing and twisting on the bed, Sam inches himself out until just a little bit remains inside. Dean fights to jerk his hips back up to meet Sam’s but Sam’s setting the pace. Slowly, gently, maddeningly, he slips back inside.
Dean’s clawing at Sam’s back, begging him to go faster, but Sam kisses him sweetly instead. He runs a hand over the slinky black dress that Dean’s still wearing, the skirt pooled on Dean’s stomach, loving the way the fabric slides beneath his fingertips. “I like your dress, Dean…” he says kissing one side of Dean’s mouth. “I like how you look in it…” He kisses the other corner. “And I love that you’re wearing it for me.” He licks Dean’s bottom lip and Dean surges upwards, forcing him into a kiss.
Sam lets him and starts thrusting gently, letting it build the arousal inside of them. Dean meets him as best as he’s able with Sam still pining him to the bed. Sam’s hand nearly covers Dean’s entire hip and Sam loves the feeling that gives him-to know just how much bigger he is.
Sweat’s dripping down Sam’s face when he notices just how close Dean is getting, sees the way the desperation contorts his face. Sam moans in sympathy and buries his face under Dean’s jaw as he shoves the dress up to Dean’s armpits, baring Dean’s satiny, unfilled bra, before reaching down to Dean’s cock. “I’ll take care of you, Dean…” he says and Dean comes with a shudder and a gasp.
Dean tightens wonderfully around Sam and it pushes Sam over the edge to join Dean.
When coherency returns, Sam realizes that he’s collapsed on top of Dean but instead of pushing him off or complaining, Dean’s actually clutching Sam closer to him. Sam nuzzles at Dean’s neck. “…always take care of you,” Sam says. His Dean.
Dean nods and lets Sam lay there for a few more moments before unceremoniously shoving Sam off. Sam sighs and rolls onto his side. It’d been nice while it’d lasted, but he really was too big to be smothering Dean like that. Instead, Sam drags Dean to him, cuddling his brother to his chest and ignoring the protests. Dean mumbles something against his skin and Sam nudges his chin at Dean’s hair. “Did you say something?”
“I said,” Dean repeats, “I never knew you were such a freak…” He shakes a hand at the dress that he’s barely wearing anymore. “I mean, I always thought you were a little more vanilla, Sammy.”
Sam snorts and rubs circles into Dean’s back. “I like you in it.” In it, Dean looks soft and delicate and fragile and all the things Dean likes to pretend he’s not. If Sam had his way, Dean would wear nothing else. He knows that will never fly, but he’s also willing to work in steps. He nods in the vague direction the panties went. “I like you in them,” he says and feels Dean’s sharp intake of breath.
Tomorrow, Sam’s going to back to buy all sorts of lacy, frilly, and silky things for Dean to wear, even if only just underneath his jeans. Sam’ll know they’re there. Dean’ll know they’re there. Dean’ll know that Sam’ll know they’re there. And maybe it will help Dean realize just how fragile he is-how much he needs Sam to protect him.
It’s not that Dean isn’t strong. It’s just that Sam’s stronger.