PixCT: 12.18
Dec. 18th, 2008 02:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pixel_0It's that time again...
Fic:
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
~3050 words
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
Sept 07 - Sept 08
Sept/Oct 08
Nov 08
DruCT: 12.04
PixCT: 12.04
DruCT: 12.11
PixCT: 12.11
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 12.18
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~3050 words
- - - - -
Dru's Pic Pick
He awoke with his cock heavy between his legs, the urge to piss felt as soon as he swung his feet to the floor and opened his eyes. On the other side of the room, the bathroom door was closed, and rising to his feet, Dean swore gruffly. Of course Sam had to be in the bathroom now when his fucking bladder was going to burst.
Dean padded over the green shag carpeting, muscles tightened to hold back the urge to just go, and he knocked rapidly on the door. "Sam? Open up, I gotta go."
"Dean?" Sam's voice from the other side of the door was muffled, thick, almost as if he'd been...crying? But, there would be time to deal with Sam’s emotions later. Right now, Dean had to pee like a fucking racehorse.
"Yeah, who else? Damn milkman? Open up already, will ya?"
"Just...no, uh...wait..."
"Open up now Sam, or else I'm going to piss on your pillow, swear to God."
"Don't, please, don't...I...uh..." There was the sound of something rustling on the other side, clothing perhaps, and Sam's tone was now edged, panicky and jumpy.
Dean frowned. What was he doing in there? Jerking off? Tough luck then, Dean thought. He wasn't going to stand out here, jumping around like a three-year-old in pull-ups while Sam finished beating down his morning wood.
Dean reached for the door handle and swung the door open at the same time Sam shouted, "Dean, no!"
Then the door was opened and Sam was exposed, and the sheer shock of the sight made Dean completely forget about his bathroom urges.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment until Dean sputtered out, his voice cracking, "Sam?"
The person who was very obviously not Sam while still very obviously being Sam nodded. "Yeah..." He held a towel to his naked chest, and his fingers curled into white knuckles in the faded terry cloth. "I think...I think I got hit by a spell."
"Uh, yeah. I'd say so," Dean replied, scratching the back of his head.
To put it bluntly, Sam the he was now Sam the she. Dean simply gaped, taking it all in. Sam's hair was still the same length, but his face was narrower, masculine jaw line softened and cheekbones more pronounced. His height, which had caused some people to give him a second glance as a man, now seemed downright freakish as a woman. The blue jeans on his waist fell down below his rounded hips at an awkward angle, too big, too baggy, for his new, slimmer body, and peeking out behind the protective towel, were the soft swells of breasts.
"You're a girl," Dean said after another minute of staring.
"Yeah."
Dean shook his head. "What...when...? Wait, wait, hold on," he said and worked his way into the bathroom, being careful not to trip over Sam's clothing strewn across the floor. He stood in front of the toilet and pushed down his pants to pee, thankful and relieved at last. Sam turned his—her? No, still him. It was still Sam under there. Still Dean's brother, yes—turned his face away, eyes downcast.
When Dean had finished and washed his hands, he asked, "All right, then, um, when'd you change?"
Sam shrugged, shoulders tiny in a way his hadn't been since before puberty. "Last night, I guess? I dunno. I woke up and well..." He made a weak motion to encompass his body. "It was all here."
"All of it?"
"Yeah." Then, seeing Dean's pointed look, Sam clarified, "The whole works, trust me. I checked it out."
"Oh."
While Sam reached for his shirt, turning his back to Dean to get dressed, somehow seeming embarrassed about his new body, Dean asked, "Any clue who did it?"
"Probably that witch you pissed off yesterday."
"Witch?"
"The one with all the cats you kept on teasing."
"Ah, right. Well, those cats were funny looking," Dean replied, remembering that witch they had met to talk about a recent ghost homicide and her dozens of cats, all them fat, little sausages of creatures with no tails. The no tails was what Dean had found most amusing, really, and was what he had pointed out to Sam with a chuckle.
"You didn't need to make fun of them, though.” Sam turned back around, finishing the top buttons on his shirt. “I think that upset her."
"Why would you say that?"
Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean couldn't help but notice even his lashes were longer, more feminine, too. "Remember that big sculpture out in front of her house?"
Dean nodded, he did. It was a large stone design of interlocked circles, some thinner than others, but all twisted together in an open ball. The largest band on the circle had the Zodiac signs across its belt, little engraved animals and people rotating around the axis.
"After you walked off and went back to the car, she just stood there, glaring at you and patting that damn thing. She said...something—I couldn't catch it, wasn’t English—but dude, she wasn't happy."
"All right, so we find her and make her change you back. I don't care what it takes," Dean said, leaving the bathroom and going out to the bedroom. "We're getting you back...as a man...none of this girly body part mess."
"No," Sam said.
"No?"
"No. There's no 'we' about this one, Dean. You pissed her off. Somehow, I doubt she’ll be greeting you with opened arms. I'll go alone and deal with her. I think it might be better that way."
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Like I'm really going to let you go after this bitch alone."
"Yeah, you are," Sam said simply. His voice was still pissy even with the new soft undertone to it. "You come along, she'll probably turn me into a frog."
Dean inhaled deeply, not liking his options. He didn't like being the accused cause of Sam's curse, and he didn't like Sam going after the witch alone. They stood, staring at each other for a long moment, as if the first to blink was going to win his side of the argument. Finally, Dean snapped, "Fine...fine. Just, just keep your damn phone on you so you can freakin' call if something happens. And?" Dean continued, raising his finger to point it at Sam. "You're not back in an hour, I'm tracking your GPS down and coming after you, witch or not, gottit?"
Sam nodded. "Gottit."
Forty-five minutes later after Dean's nervous energy made him clean all of their guns and knives and then go to work on the bathroom sink, Sam came back in, still a girl. He looked ridiculous, clothes too big on him, eyes too bright and wide on his face, too damn pretty for his own good.
"Well?" Dean asked. "How'd it go? Why are you still a woman? Didn't she change you back? Are you going to stay like this forever? How can you still be a girl?"
"I've got some good news and some bad news," Sam interrupted, sitting down on the bed as Dean stood in front of him, arms crossed. If it’d been Dean, he would’ve tied that witch up and made her change him back into a man. There wouldn’t be any argument. He wouldn’t be a girl, that’s for sure.
"All right, spill it."
"Bad news, you did cause it. You made fun of her cats, so, well, how did she put it? She decided that she was ‘going to make fun of something you loved.’"
"But!" Dean sputtered.
"But," Sam continued, shooting a pointed glare at Dean to quiet, "but, it's not permanent. Since she cursed me while touching that...sculpture, or whatever, of hers, I'll only be a girl during my astrological period."
"Which is...?"
"Taurus, Dean." Sam wrinkled his face. "Can't believe you don't know that."
"I'm sorry I don't spend my time reading that section of the newspapers. Kinda looking at them for more important things than my fucking horoscope."
"Anyway,” Sam said with a heavy sigh, “the sun moves out of Taurus in about another three weeks. I'll change back into a guy after then."
"And...is this something that'll happen every year?"
"No." Sam shook his head. "One shot sort of thing."
“Oh. Well. That’s good then.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, but he kept his eyes off Dean’s face, placing them instead on his hands which were twisting nervously in his lap.
“Hey,” Dean said after a moment, pushing Sam lightly on the shoulder. “You okay?”
“Fine…fine…”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, well, maybe.” Sam exhaled, long and heavy, and stood up, crossing the room to the bathroom. He lingered in the doorway, finding more interest in examining the hinges than speaking to Dean, which was an oddity for Sam who wanted to talk about everything.
“Um, hey,” Dean said, unsure of what he was supposed to be saying. Normally, he had a pretty good feel of what Sam wanted him to say—something emotionally bonding—but this, this was new territory. Sam had seemed okay with things and then, suddenly, he had switched, gotten all quiet, and now Dean didn’t know what the right words could possibly be. “You, uh, you wanna talk about it?”
Sam’s laugh was a short bark of cynicism. “Yeah? And what do you want me to say? That, thanks to you, I’m a girl for the next three weeks? Yeah, thanks Dean. Way to go and piss off a witch.”
“Well, shit, it’s not like it’s permanent. You’ll have all your junk back in three weeks, so what the hell are you griping about?” It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever said, and he regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth. But, it was out anyway. Out and slamming into Sam, who whirled around, facing Dean head-on.
“Oh, fuck you,” Sam snarled. “It has nothing to do with my ‘junk,’ all right? I’m a girl, which is a hell of a lot different than any other spell we’ve ever been through…”
“Yeah, how so?”
Sam turned his head away, hair falling down over his face, revealing the slim line of his neck and the collar of his shirt, now baggy against his thinner frame. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching his fingers, thinner too, curl and uncurl against the wooden doorframe.
“Sam?” Dean pressed, rising to his feet. Dammit, was he going to have to drag this out of Sam?
“You…you remember when I was possessed?”
Dean halted, caught between the beds and the bathroom, and he swallowed. “The Meg demon…?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Not that he could forget. The way Sam’s eyes had gone black as if they’d rolled all the way back in his head. The way Sam had punched him, anger pouring out of him—
“That’s…that’s what it feels like. Like I’m trapped—again—in some body that isn’t even mine. Okay? That’s what it’s like. And it doesn’t matter that it’s not permanent, okay? It just…it’s like being in that position all over again, and it’s not…well, it’s not fun, okay?”
Dean chewed on his lower lip, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. Instead, he came forward and rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, the first they’d touched since Sam’s change last night. He only wanted to comfort Sam, like he always did, a pat, a kiss, anything to let Sam know that, okay, yeah, he had fucked up by pissing off that witch and Sam had paid for it, but he was sorry.
Instead, Sam shrugged out from beneath Dean’s hand. “I can’t,” he whispered, swallowing tightly. “I…Dean…I just can’t…”
Dean nodded, but it was a stiff and awkward gesture. “Okay, yeah, yeah.” He backed away, didn’t know if Sam wanted him so close. “Um, you wanna, you wanna come back to bed?”
Sam shook his head. “No, I’m going to stay in here for a bit. Get a shower or something, I guess.”
Dean muttered something that he hoped sounded agreeable, and as Sam closed the door, Dean went back to bed. He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes, simply shucked off his shoes and curled underneath the covers. On the other side of the room, the shower ran on and on for what seemed like hours until Dean drifted off into sleep and Sam remained separated on the other side of the door.
They stayed in the motel room for the next couple days, only leaving to grab food from the small diner down the street. Sam spent most of his time in front of the laptop, pinching the bridge of his nose and making tiny, erratic notes on the motel’s stationary pad.
From across the room, Dean watched Sam, as if trying to see where his brother ended and the girl began. He wasn’t an unattractive girl, really. He was attractive in the way that Sam always had been attractive. But, there wasn’t any defining line between brother and girl, really. It was a blend of the two, mixed together so tightly that Dean gave up with the staring before Sam turned around and glared at him.
Two weeks later, Dean realized that he missed Sam. Not Sam the man. Not Sam the woman. Just—Sam. Sleeping next to him in bed, going for a run in the morning with him, hell, even grabbing coffee together in whatever cheesy gas station in whatever cheesy town they’d landed in. Since Sam’s change, there was a wall built between them, a divide that Sam refused to let Dean cross, and well, quite frankly, Dean thought, that just sucked.
Four days later, three days before the curse was up, over a breakfast of day old donuts, Dean said, “I miss you.”
Sam looked up. His girly eyes widened, hair almost covering them, and he said, “What?” There was chocolate on his lips from the donut, and his fingers were smack-smacking against each other, sticky with glaze and icing.
“I miss you,” Dean repeated, feeling a bit stupid, but feeling like this was the right thing to say anyway.
“Uh, I’m right here,” Sam said, obviously confused. His half-eaten donut hovered between his mouth and the opened box on the table between them.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, dammit, Sam,” Dean struggled, wiping off his hands on the scratchy brown napkin, “you haven’t so much as made eye contact with me for two weeks now. Two weeks! Shit! That’s…this…” He pushed out his chair and stood, walking around the other side of the table to stand over Sam.
“Wha…wait, what are you doing?” Sam sputtered. He dropped his donut and squirmed in his chair, his long, lithe limbs jumping stupidly.
“Punch me later,” Dean said before he bent down, grabbed Sam’s face and kissed him.
Sam froze, body tensing, and his hands curled into fists on the arms of his chair. But he didn’t push Dean away.
Sam tasted like chocolate from the donut, sweet and rich, and he tasted like Sam. His lips were smaller, face thinner, but that was it. It was still him underneath this girly skin, and when Dean closed his eyes, he knew that it was still his brother under there. Still Sam.
After a beat, Dean pulled back to see Sam breathing heavily and staring up at him. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were wet, partially opened.
“So. Yeah,” Dean said, and he began to back away, returning to his seat while waiting for Sam to slap him across the face at the same time.
Instead, though, Sam stood up and wrapped his arms around Dean, crumbling when he buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “Dean,” he whispered. “I missed you, too.”
Dean chuckled lightly, cupping the back of Sam’s head and kissing the side of his face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” With Sam still holding onto him, he walked them backwards to fall onto the bed, Sam sprawled awkwardly on top.
“You going to be okay now?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam.
“I think I can manage for another three days,” Sam admitted, smiling. “How about you? You going to be okay and stop staring at me when you think I’m not looking?”
“You knew...?” Dean began, but Sam only laughed, stopping him.
“You’re not as clever as you’d like to think you are.”
Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing Sam’s face with his thumb, quiet, little circles over Sam’s skin. No morning stubble here, just unbroken smoothness. “Yeah, whatever.”
"Hey, you know, I was thinking, maybe you'd like to see what it's like...?"
Dean looked up, met Sam's playful eyes. "See what what's like?"
Sam grinned, and through all the changes, his dimples, those stupid things he'd had since a baby, were still there, proving that it was Sam amidst all that estrogen. He dropped his hand lower, back of his knuckles brushing over Dean's cock pressed between them. "You know..." Sam drawled off.
"Sam," Dean said bluntly while trying to keep the smile out of his voice, "I've done it with a girl before. Lots of times. I don’t think you’ll be showing me anything new."
"Yeah, but you haven't done it with me as a girl. Might be kinda, y'know, fun? I'd like to give it a try."
This time, Dean did smile, open and wide, and said, "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Sam leaned down and tilted his head just right to kiss Dean again.
They rolled on the bed, now with Sam on his back with Dean leaning over him, kissing and touching. It wasn't entirely new—Dean knew how girls felt and how girls smelled, the sounds they made when he kissed them—but it was new just as Sam had said: It was him as a girl and that changed everything right there.
Dean rested a hand on the button of Sam's jeans and pulled back for a moment. "You sure about this?" he asked.
Sam smiled, small breasts warm where they pressed up against Dean's chest. "Totally," he said, and he pulled Dean back down, all questions and hesitations flying out the window.
End
"If You Could Only See the World" by Tonic
Fic:
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
- - - - -
Today
Dru's Pic Pick
He awoke with his cock heavy between his legs, the urge to piss felt as soon as he swung his feet to the floor and opened his eyes. On the other side of the room, the bathroom door was closed, and rising to his feet, Dean swore gruffly. Of course Sam had to be in the bathroom now when his fucking bladder was going to burst.
Dean padded over the green shag carpeting, muscles tightened to hold back the urge to just go, and he knocked rapidly on the door. "Sam? Open up, I gotta go."
"Dean?" Sam's voice from the other side of the door was muffled, thick, almost as if he'd been...crying? But, there would be time to deal with Sam’s emotions later. Right now, Dean had to pee like a fucking racehorse.
"Yeah, who else? Damn milkman? Open up already, will ya?"
"Just...no, uh...wait..."
"Open up now Sam, or else I'm going to piss on your pillow, swear to God."
"Don't, please, don't...I...uh..." There was the sound of something rustling on the other side, clothing perhaps, and Sam's tone was now edged, panicky and jumpy.
Dean frowned. What was he doing in there? Jerking off? Tough luck then, Dean thought. He wasn't going to stand out here, jumping around like a three-year-old in pull-ups while Sam finished beating down his morning wood.
Dean reached for the door handle and swung the door open at the same time Sam shouted, "Dean, no!"
Then the door was opened and Sam was exposed, and the sheer shock of the sight made Dean completely forget about his bathroom urges.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment until Dean sputtered out, his voice cracking, "Sam?"
The person who was very obviously not Sam while still very obviously being Sam nodded. "Yeah..." He held a towel to his naked chest, and his fingers curled into white knuckles in the faded terry cloth. "I think...I think I got hit by a spell."
"Uh, yeah. I'd say so," Dean replied, scratching the back of his head.
To put it bluntly, Sam the he was now Sam the she. Dean simply gaped, taking it all in. Sam's hair was still the same length, but his face was narrower, masculine jaw line softened and cheekbones more pronounced. His height, which had caused some people to give him a second glance as a man, now seemed downright freakish as a woman. The blue jeans on his waist fell down below his rounded hips at an awkward angle, too big, too baggy, for his new, slimmer body, and peeking out behind the protective towel, were the soft swells of breasts.
"You're a girl," Dean said after another minute of staring.
"Yeah."
Dean shook his head. "What...when...? Wait, wait, hold on," he said and worked his way into the bathroom, being careful not to trip over Sam's clothing strewn across the floor. He stood in front of the toilet and pushed down his pants to pee, thankful and relieved at last. Sam turned his—her? No, still him. It was still Sam under there. Still Dean's brother, yes—turned his face away, eyes downcast.
When Dean had finished and washed his hands, he asked, "All right, then, um, when'd you change?"
Sam shrugged, shoulders tiny in a way his hadn't been since before puberty. "Last night, I guess? I dunno. I woke up and well..." He made a weak motion to encompass his body. "It was all here."
"All of it?"
"Yeah." Then, seeing Dean's pointed look, Sam clarified, "The whole works, trust me. I checked it out."
"Oh."
While Sam reached for his shirt, turning his back to Dean to get dressed, somehow seeming embarrassed about his new body, Dean asked, "Any clue who did it?"
"Probably that witch you pissed off yesterday."
"Witch?"
"The one with all the cats you kept on teasing."
"Ah, right. Well, those cats were funny looking," Dean replied, remembering that witch they had met to talk about a recent ghost homicide and her dozens of cats, all them fat, little sausages of creatures with no tails. The no tails was what Dean had found most amusing, really, and was what he had pointed out to Sam with a chuckle.
"You didn't need to make fun of them, though.” Sam turned back around, finishing the top buttons on his shirt. “I think that upset her."
"Why would you say that?"
Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean couldn't help but notice even his lashes were longer, more feminine, too. "Remember that big sculpture out in front of her house?"
Dean nodded, he did. It was a large stone design of interlocked circles, some thinner than others, but all twisted together in an open ball. The largest band on the circle had the Zodiac signs across its belt, little engraved animals and people rotating around the axis.
"After you walked off and went back to the car, she just stood there, glaring at you and patting that damn thing. She said...something—I couldn't catch it, wasn’t English—but dude, she wasn't happy."
"All right, so we find her and make her change you back. I don't care what it takes," Dean said, leaving the bathroom and going out to the bedroom. "We're getting you back...as a man...none of this girly body part mess."
"No," Sam said.
"No?"
"No. There's no 'we' about this one, Dean. You pissed her off. Somehow, I doubt she’ll be greeting you with opened arms. I'll go alone and deal with her. I think it might be better that way."
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Like I'm really going to let you go after this bitch alone."
"Yeah, you are," Sam said simply. His voice was still pissy even with the new soft undertone to it. "You come along, she'll probably turn me into a frog."
Dean inhaled deeply, not liking his options. He didn't like being the accused cause of Sam's curse, and he didn't like Sam going after the witch alone. They stood, staring at each other for a long moment, as if the first to blink was going to win his side of the argument. Finally, Dean snapped, "Fine...fine. Just, just keep your damn phone on you so you can freakin' call if something happens. And?" Dean continued, raising his finger to point it at Sam. "You're not back in an hour, I'm tracking your GPS down and coming after you, witch or not, gottit?"
Sam nodded. "Gottit."
Forty-five minutes later after Dean's nervous energy made him clean all of their guns and knives and then go to work on the bathroom sink, Sam came back in, still a girl. He looked ridiculous, clothes too big on him, eyes too bright and wide on his face, too damn pretty for his own good.
"Well?" Dean asked. "How'd it go? Why are you still a woman? Didn't she change you back? Are you going to stay like this forever? How can you still be a girl?"
"I've got some good news and some bad news," Sam interrupted, sitting down on the bed as Dean stood in front of him, arms crossed. If it’d been Dean, he would’ve tied that witch up and made her change him back into a man. There wouldn’t be any argument. He wouldn’t be a girl, that’s for sure.
"All right, spill it."
"Bad news, you did cause it. You made fun of her cats, so, well, how did she put it? She decided that she was ‘going to make fun of something you loved.’"
"But!" Dean sputtered.
"But," Sam continued, shooting a pointed glare at Dean to quiet, "but, it's not permanent. Since she cursed me while touching that...sculpture, or whatever, of hers, I'll only be a girl during my astrological period."
"Which is...?"
"Taurus, Dean." Sam wrinkled his face. "Can't believe you don't know that."
"I'm sorry I don't spend my time reading that section of the newspapers. Kinda looking at them for more important things than my fucking horoscope."
"Anyway,” Sam said with a heavy sigh, “the sun moves out of Taurus in about another three weeks. I'll change back into a guy after then."
"And...is this something that'll happen every year?"
"No." Sam shook his head. "One shot sort of thing."
“Oh. Well. That’s good then.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, but he kept his eyes off Dean’s face, placing them instead on his hands which were twisting nervously in his lap.
“Hey,” Dean said after a moment, pushing Sam lightly on the shoulder. “You okay?”
“Fine…fine…”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, well, maybe.” Sam exhaled, long and heavy, and stood up, crossing the room to the bathroom. He lingered in the doorway, finding more interest in examining the hinges than speaking to Dean, which was an oddity for Sam who wanted to talk about everything.
“Um, hey,” Dean said, unsure of what he was supposed to be saying. Normally, he had a pretty good feel of what Sam wanted him to say—something emotionally bonding—but this, this was new territory. Sam had seemed okay with things and then, suddenly, he had switched, gotten all quiet, and now Dean didn’t know what the right words could possibly be. “You, uh, you wanna talk about it?”
Sam’s laugh was a short bark of cynicism. “Yeah? And what do you want me to say? That, thanks to you, I’m a girl for the next three weeks? Yeah, thanks Dean. Way to go and piss off a witch.”
“Well, shit, it’s not like it’s permanent. You’ll have all your junk back in three weeks, so what the hell are you griping about?” It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever said, and he regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth. But, it was out anyway. Out and slamming into Sam, who whirled around, facing Dean head-on.
“Oh, fuck you,” Sam snarled. “It has nothing to do with my ‘junk,’ all right? I’m a girl, which is a hell of a lot different than any other spell we’ve ever been through…”
“Yeah, how so?”
Sam turned his head away, hair falling down over his face, revealing the slim line of his neck and the collar of his shirt, now baggy against his thinner frame. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching his fingers, thinner too, curl and uncurl against the wooden doorframe.
“Sam?” Dean pressed, rising to his feet. Dammit, was he going to have to drag this out of Sam?
“You…you remember when I was possessed?”
Dean halted, caught between the beds and the bathroom, and he swallowed. “The Meg demon…?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Not that he could forget. The way Sam’s eyes had gone black as if they’d rolled all the way back in his head. The way Sam had punched him, anger pouring out of him—
“That’s…that’s what it feels like. Like I’m trapped—again—in some body that isn’t even mine. Okay? That’s what it’s like. And it doesn’t matter that it’s not permanent, okay? It just…it’s like being in that position all over again, and it’s not…well, it’s not fun, okay?”
Dean chewed on his lower lip, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. Instead, he came forward and rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, the first they’d touched since Sam’s change last night. He only wanted to comfort Sam, like he always did, a pat, a kiss, anything to let Sam know that, okay, yeah, he had fucked up by pissing off that witch and Sam had paid for it, but he was sorry.
Instead, Sam shrugged out from beneath Dean’s hand. “I can’t,” he whispered, swallowing tightly. “I…Dean…I just can’t…”
Dean nodded, but it was a stiff and awkward gesture. “Okay, yeah, yeah.” He backed away, didn’t know if Sam wanted him so close. “Um, you wanna, you wanna come back to bed?”
Sam shook his head. “No, I’m going to stay in here for a bit. Get a shower or something, I guess.”
Dean muttered something that he hoped sounded agreeable, and as Sam closed the door, Dean went back to bed. He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes, simply shucked off his shoes and curled underneath the covers. On the other side of the room, the shower ran on and on for what seemed like hours until Dean drifted off into sleep and Sam remained separated on the other side of the door.
They stayed in the motel room for the next couple days, only leaving to grab food from the small diner down the street. Sam spent most of his time in front of the laptop, pinching the bridge of his nose and making tiny, erratic notes on the motel’s stationary pad.
From across the room, Dean watched Sam, as if trying to see where his brother ended and the girl began. He wasn’t an unattractive girl, really. He was attractive in the way that Sam always had been attractive. But, there wasn’t any defining line between brother and girl, really. It was a blend of the two, mixed together so tightly that Dean gave up with the staring before Sam turned around and glared at him.
Two weeks later, Dean realized that he missed Sam. Not Sam the man. Not Sam the woman. Just—Sam. Sleeping next to him in bed, going for a run in the morning with him, hell, even grabbing coffee together in whatever cheesy gas station in whatever cheesy town they’d landed in. Since Sam’s change, there was a wall built between them, a divide that Sam refused to let Dean cross, and well, quite frankly, Dean thought, that just sucked.
Four days later, three days before the curse was up, over a breakfast of day old donuts, Dean said, “I miss you.”
Sam looked up. His girly eyes widened, hair almost covering them, and he said, “What?” There was chocolate on his lips from the donut, and his fingers were smack-smacking against each other, sticky with glaze and icing.
“I miss you,” Dean repeated, feeling a bit stupid, but feeling like this was the right thing to say anyway.
“Uh, I’m right here,” Sam said, obviously confused. His half-eaten donut hovered between his mouth and the opened box on the table between them.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, dammit, Sam,” Dean struggled, wiping off his hands on the scratchy brown napkin, “you haven’t so much as made eye contact with me for two weeks now. Two weeks! Shit! That’s…this…” He pushed out his chair and stood, walking around the other side of the table to stand over Sam.
“Wha…wait, what are you doing?” Sam sputtered. He dropped his donut and squirmed in his chair, his long, lithe limbs jumping stupidly.
“Punch me later,” Dean said before he bent down, grabbed Sam’s face and kissed him.
Sam froze, body tensing, and his hands curled into fists on the arms of his chair. But he didn’t push Dean away.
Sam tasted like chocolate from the donut, sweet and rich, and he tasted like Sam. His lips were smaller, face thinner, but that was it. It was still him underneath this girly skin, and when Dean closed his eyes, he knew that it was still his brother under there. Still Sam.
After a beat, Dean pulled back to see Sam breathing heavily and staring up at him. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were wet, partially opened.
“So. Yeah,” Dean said, and he began to back away, returning to his seat while waiting for Sam to slap him across the face at the same time.
Instead, though, Sam stood up and wrapped his arms around Dean, crumbling when he buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “Dean,” he whispered. “I missed you, too.”
Dean chuckled lightly, cupping the back of Sam’s head and kissing the side of his face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” With Sam still holding onto him, he walked them backwards to fall onto the bed, Sam sprawled awkwardly on top.
“You going to be okay now?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam.
“I think I can manage for another three days,” Sam admitted, smiling. “How about you? You going to be okay and stop staring at me when you think I’m not looking?”
“You knew...?” Dean began, but Sam only laughed, stopping him.
“You’re not as clever as you’d like to think you are.”
Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing Sam’s face with his thumb, quiet, little circles over Sam’s skin. No morning stubble here, just unbroken smoothness. “Yeah, whatever.”
"Hey, you know, I was thinking, maybe you'd like to see what it's like...?"
Dean looked up, met Sam's playful eyes. "See what what's like?"
Sam grinned, and through all the changes, his dimples, those stupid things he'd had since a baby, were still there, proving that it was Sam amidst all that estrogen. He dropped his hand lower, back of his knuckles brushing over Dean's cock pressed between them. "You know..." Sam drawled off.
"Sam," Dean said bluntly while trying to keep the smile out of his voice, "I've done it with a girl before. Lots of times. I don’t think you’ll be showing me anything new."
"Yeah, but you haven't done it with me as a girl. Might be kinda, y'know, fun? I'd like to give it a try."
This time, Dean did smile, open and wide, and said, "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Sam leaned down and tilted his head just right to kiss Dean again.
They rolled on the bed, now with Sam on his back with Dean leaning over him, kissing and touching. It wasn't entirely new—Dean knew how girls felt and how girls smelled, the sounds they made when he kissed them—but it was new just as Sam had said: It was him as a girl and that changed everything right there.
Dean rested a hand on the button of Sam's jeans and pulled back for a moment. "You sure about this?" he asked.
Sam smiled, small breasts warm where they pressed up against Dean's chest. "Totally," he said, and he pulled Dean back down, all questions and hesitations flying out the window.
End
"If You Could Only See the World" by Tonic
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Date: 2008-12-18 07:49 pm (UTC)