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mickeymTitle: Round and Round
Pairing: Sam/(girl!)Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~1800
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.
Warnings: Incest, genderswap.
Notes: PWP in all its glory, here. Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, thinking about going to bed, when it hit me upside the head. I've never really written genderswap before, but I adore it, as a genre. I think it allows me, inside my own head, to say 'hey! It's totally cool to read het, if they're both supposed to be guys normally'. Yeah, I dunno, either. In any case, hope y'all enjoy this. :)
It's the sounds that get Sam, as much as anything. Slick, wet, sucking; he wants to drown in each one, roll around in it and wrap himself up in them.
Dean's mouth is made for kissing, for sucking; swollen and wet from hours -- hours! -- of kissing. Sam chases the last hint of cinnamon around Dean's mouth, tongue teasing over teeth and palate, slicking against Dean's tongue.
Hours of kissing. Of making out. Each touch, each kiss ramping up in intensity just a little.
This curse is two-fold: they each have to take a turn as a woman, and they can't take their eyes -- hands, mouths, bodies -- off the other during. Well, that wasn't specified in the curse, but it's a definite side-effect. Sam thinks it might've had more of an impact on them if they weren't fucking before getting hit with it. He said as much to Dean a few weeks ago, in between frantic kissing and rubbing and grinding and Christ, multiple-fucking-orgasms, and Dean bit his throat, sucking heat to the surface, and grunted something like, "yeah, too bad the witches didn't factor that in, huh?"
Too bad, yeah.
Now it's Dean's turn as a girl, and it's both so wrong and so right to have his brother be his sister, and to be so fucked up about it. Fucked over it. And maybe they should be out hunting evil, working on rounding up one more ghost, spirit, demon. But the fact is, it's hard to concentrate on doing much of anything when all you can think about is getting off.
And off and off and off.
Dean makes a pretty girl, though Sam keeps that thought to himself, thank you very much. He likes his nose the way it is.
But yeah, pretty. Soft skin, hair just a little longer than normal!Dean wears it; silky strands Sam plays with, tugs on, threads his fingers through. And when he -- she! -- tilts her head back, there's this long line of pale throat just begging to be licked, bitten, sucked. So Sam does, taking his time while Dean writhes on his lap, skirt rucked up around his waist, bra slid down off his shoulders.
His breasts are smallish, barely more than swollen buds against his chest, and Sam remembers the disappointment on Dean's face when he woke up, his turn as a girl.
"Dude, I gotta be a girl, I don't even get a decent rack?"
Sam rolled his eyes and rolled over, muttering how it's nice some things stay the same, that Dean's gonna be a pig even as a girl. Dean whapped upside the head with the nearest pillow.
Girl!Dean is just about the same size Girl!Sam was, though, so they don't have to go through getting a whole 'nother wardrobe. Just some bras and panties -- "Not wearin' your underwear, man, that's totally gross." "Because your dick in my ass, or vice versa, is so hygienic?" -- and Dean's good to go. Not that he wears any of it much.
Sam's not disappointed at all, though, because he can mouth Dean's tits, take one all the way into his mouth and suckle, pulling back slowly, and listening to the sweet, wet sound as he lets go. Dean's nipple buds up hard against his tongue, and he makes quiet mewling noises when Sam laps at each one in turn before taking one between his teeth and tugging gently.
"Fuck, yeah, Sammy--" Dean arches, just a little, then guides Sam back to the other breast. "Please, it's--they hurt--"
"Shh, I got you," Sam whispers, licking the words over and around each small tit. He remembers how it felt for him, waves of heat spiraling through him, though an unfamiliar body, nipples so hard, needing to be touched and each touch hurting in the best way possible. He shifts, bringing Dean closer, then reaches under Dean's skirt.
Even through the faux-silk panties he can feel Dean's wet heat; groans when Dean spreads his legs and pushes forward, grinding his pussy against Sam's fingers.
"Fuck, you're wet," Sam manages, the words breathless against Dean's chest. He bites down on one nipple and slides one finger in between swollen lips, spreading them, feeling Dean's clit pressing back against the panties. "Christ, Dean."
"You make me wet," Dean growls, rocking forward, riding Sam's finger, fingers, his fingers clutching at Sam's shoulders. "Make me fucking crazy, Sam, I want--God--"
He leans in and kisses Sam again, groans into the kiss when Sam moves the panties aside with his fingers, slides two of them up inside. Dean's hot and tight, so wet Sam can feel droplets sliding down toward his wrist; can hear the slick sounds his fingers make, moving in and out. The heady scent of girl, and musk, and sex rises all around them, making Sam dizzy with want.
"Sam," Dean says, the word slurred and drawn out. He's pulling away, moving, and Sam watches Dean skim the skirt down over slim hips. The panties go next, and Sam's grabbing at them before Dean can kick them away, heat flaring in his cheeks when Dean laughs softly.
"I--you smell good," he says, stumbling over the words. "Taste good, too," he adds, watching red stain Dean's cheeks.
Really good, Sam thinks, pushing Dean gently back onto the bed and sliding downward. He spreads Dean open carefully, then leans in to lick over slick, swollen flesh, tongue working over Dean's clit, standing up hard and engorged like a tiny cock. Dean comes over and over, the sounds he makes driving Sam to keep going, licking and sucking until Dean's boneless and limp beneath him.
He wipes his chin off with his hand and smiles down at Dean. Flushed, mussed, his -- her! -- eyes dark and wide with pleasure, only the thinnest ring of green around blown pupils. Slender, a dusting a freckles across her chest and shoulders, and Sam leans down to lick across them, detouring to suckle each hard nipple.
He's so hard his dick hurts, aching from hours of foreplay, of making out, of breathing in his brother's new, different scent and wanting so much he's crazy with it. Sam strokes himself once, watching Dean watch him.
"I don't have to--" He gestures awkwardly, almost desperate to bury himself in wet, tight heat, but willing to not, if Dean doesn't want him to. Sam would understand -- he didn't want to be fucked at first, when he first changed.
"Want you to," Dean mumbles, wriggling up on the bed. "Please. I--please. If you--"
"God, yes," Sam breathes, so so glad Dean wants it. "I do."
"Condom," Dean says, and he sounds a little drunk, looks absolutely debauched with his mouth all swollen and red, body dotted and decorated with bites and bruises where Sam just had to taste each bit of him. "Don't wanna knock me up." His mouth curves into a smile, wicked and bright, and beneath the pleasure-drunk look Sam sees Dean, hungry for him, wanting this as much as he wants.
It's probably going to be the shortest fuck of Dean's life. Ever.
It takes Sam a minute to find the condoms, stashed away in his backpack, and by the time he's back in front of the bed, rolling one down over his dick, Dean's up on his knees, rubbing his fingers gently over his nipples. Pinching them gently.
Sam grabs himself, pulling on his balls until the urge to shoot his load passes and he can move again.
"Warn a guy, wouldja?" He grumbles, pulling Dean in close for another kiss.
"Mmm," is all Dean says, licking at Sam's mouth, biting at his lips.
They shift around until Sam can pull Dean onto his lap, guiding him, her, up over his dick. "Wanna ride, little girl?" He asks, nuzzling at Dean's throat.
Dean laughs, a sharp bark of amusement, and lowers himself down slowly. Sam watches his eyes go wide, dark, wider, and he kisses Dean hard just as he breathes in sharply, body shuddering against Sam's.
Guess Dean's a virgin, too. Or was.
Sam strokes his hands up and down Dean's back slowly, making slow circles at the base of his spine, then back up, kissing him gently, none of the frantic, desperate, ohgodneedyouNOW that he's feeling in it. Just tasting Dean, swallowing the little gasps and moans as Dean gets used to Sam all over again.
Dean moves, slowly, rocking at first, and it's all Sam can do to let him set the pace, to not push and thrust and take, the way his body's demanding.
He can do that later -- and will -- but not this time. Not right now
Dean groans into Sam's mouth when he moves them, tipping them over onto the bed so he can cover Dean. Dean brings his legs up, hooks them around Sam's waist, and it's like being drawn into a volcano, all wet and hot surrounding him, holding him. Sam moves, slowly at first, then faster, and it's familiar and not all at the same time. He pulls out and thrusts in over and over, angling his thrusts to make them as good as possible for Dean.
Beneath him, Dean cries out, then again, his whole body quivering. Sam grins, then shudders when a rush of fluid slides over him. He thrusts faster, feels Dean trembling against him, body thrown from one orgasm into another. Kisses swallow Dean's moans, each one hot and sweet on Sam's tongue. He gives them back when he comes, straining into his brother's body, pulse after pulse as Dean drinks down the sounds Sam makes.
It ends like it begins, with kisses. Soft, softer, tongues and lips caressing and saying the things they find difficult to say with words. Dean's mouth is swollen; Sam's feels the same way. He presses one last kiss, then one more, listening to Dean's breathing slow and even out. By the time he's stripped off the condom and pulled the covers up, clicking the bedside lamp off in between, Dean's almost completely asleep.
He curls into Sam, though, body shifting backward like it's instinct.
Maybe it is.
Dean will still be a girl, in the morning. And, if it goes just as Sam's did, for twelve more mornings after that. Then he'll be back to being himself, and hopefully the curse, or spell, or whatever, will have run its course and they can move on to the next chapter in fucked up.
Sam pulls Dean closer and nuzzles at his throat. His scent is a little different, but still Dean, and it's comforting. An anchor in the continual, colossal fucked-up-ness that is their lives.
~fin~
Pairing: Sam/(girl!)Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~1800
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.
Warnings: Incest, genderswap.
Notes: PWP in all its glory, here. Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, thinking about going to bed, when it hit me upside the head. I've never really written genderswap before, but I adore it, as a genre. I think it allows me, inside my own head, to say 'hey! It's totally cool to read het, if they're both supposed to be guys normally'. Yeah, I dunno, either. In any case, hope y'all enjoy this. :)
It's the sounds that get Sam, as much as anything. Slick, wet, sucking; he wants to drown in each one, roll around in it and wrap himself up in them.
Dean's mouth is made for kissing, for sucking; swollen and wet from hours -- hours! -- of kissing. Sam chases the last hint of cinnamon around Dean's mouth, tongue teasing over teeth and palate, slicking against Dean's tongue.
Hours of kissing. Of making out. Each touch, each kiss ramping up in intensity just a little.
This curse is two-fold: they each have to take a turn as a woman, and they can't take their eyes -- hands, mouths, bodies -- off the other during. Well, that wasn't specified in the curse, but it's a definite side-effect. Sam thinks it might've had more of an impact on them if they weren't fucking before getting hit with it. He said as much to Dean a few weeks ago, in between frantic kissing and rubbing and grinding and Christ, multiple-fucking-orgasms, and Dean bit his throat, sucking heat to the surface, and grunted something like, "yeah, too bad the witches didn't factor that in, huh?"
Too bad, yeah.
Now it's Dean's turn as a girl, and it's both so wrong and so right to have his brother be his sister, and to be so fucked up about it. Fucked over it. And maybe they should be out hunting evil, working on rounding up one more ghost, spirit, demon. But the fact is, it's hard to concentrate on doing much of anything when all you can think about is getting off.
And off and off and off.
Dean makes a pretty girl, though Sam keeps that thought to himself, thank you very much. He likes his nose the way it is.
But yeah, pretty. Soft skin, hair just a little longer than normal!Dean wears it; silky strands Sam plays with, tugs on, threads his fingers through. And when he -- she! -- tilts her head back, there's this long line of pale throat just begging to be licked, bitten, sucked. So Sam does, taking his time while Dean writhes on his lap, skirt rucked up around his waist, bra slid down off his shoulders.
His breasts are smallish, barely more than swollen buds against his chest, and Sam remembers the disappointment on Dean's face when he woke up, his turn as a girl.
"Dude, I gotta be a girl, I don't even get a decent rack?"
Sam rolled his eyes and rolled over, muttering how it's nice some things stay the same, that Dean's gonna be a pig even as a girl. Dean whapped upside the head with the nearest pillow.
Girl!Dean is just about the same size Girl!Sam was, though, so they don't have to go through getting a whole 'nother wardrobe. Just some bras and panties -- "Not wearin' your underwear, man, that's totally gross." "Because your dick in my ass, or vice versa, is so hygienic?" -- and Dean's good to go. Not that he wears any of it much.
Sam's not disappointed at all, though, because he can mouth Dean's tits, take one all the way into his mouth and suckle, pulling back slowly, and listening to the sweet, wet sound as he lets go. Dean's nipple buds up hard against his tongue, and he makes quiet mewling noises when Sam laps at each one in turn before taking one between his teeth and tugging gently.
"Fuck, yeah, Sammy--" Dean arches, just a little, then guides Sam back to the other breast. "Please, it's--they hurt--"
"Shh, I got you," Sam whispers, licking the words over and around each small tit. He remembers how it felt for him, waves of heat spiraling through him, though an unfamiliar body, nipples so hard, needing to be touched and each touch hurting in the best way possible. He shifts, bringing Dean closer, then reaches under Dean's skirt.
Even through the faux-silk panties he can feel Dean's wet heat; groans when Dean spreads his legs and pushes forward, grinding his pussy against Sam's fingers.
"Fuck, you're wet," Sam manages, the words breathless against Dean's chest. He bites down on one nipple and slides one finger in between swollen lips, spreading them, feeling Dean's clit pressing back against the panties. "Christ, Dean."
"You make me wet," Dean growls, rocking forward, riding Sam's finger, fingers, his fingers clutching at Sam's shoulders. "Make me fucking crazy, Sam, I want--God--"
He leans in and kisses Sam again, groans into the kiss when Sam moves the panties aside with his fingers, slides two of them up inside. Dean's hot and tight, so wet Sam can feel droplets sliding down toward his wrist; can hear the slick sounds his fingers make, moving in and out. The heady scent of girl, and musk, and sex rises all around them, making Sam dizzy with want.
"Sam," Dean says, the word slurred and drawn out. He's pulling away, moving, and Sam watches Dean skim the skirt down over slim hips. The panties go next, and Sam's grabbing at them before Dean can kick them away, heat flaring in his cheeks when Dean laughs softly.
"I--you smell good," he says, stumbling over the words. "Taste good, too," he adds, watching red stain Dean's cheeks.
Really good, Sam thinks, pushing Dean gently back onto the bed and sliding downward. He spreads Dean open carefully, then leans in to lick over slick, swollen flesh, tongue working over Dean's clit, standing up hard and engorged like a tiny cock. Dean comes over and over, the sounds he makes driving Sam to keep going, licking and sucking until Dean's boneless and limp beneath him.
He wipes his chin off with his hand and smiles down at Dean. Flushed, mussed, his -- her! -- eyes dark and wide with pleasure, only the thinnest ring of green around blown pupils. Slender, a dusting a freckles across her chest and shoulders, and Sam leans down to lick across them, detouring to suckle each hard nipple.
He's so hard his dick hurts, aching from hours of foreplay, of making out, of breathing in his brother's new, different scent and wanting so much he's crazy with it. Sam strokes himself once, watching Dean watch him.
"I don't have to--" He gestures awkwardly, almost desperate to bury himself in wet, tight heat, but willing to not, if Dean doesn't want him to. Sam would understand -- he didn't want to be fucked at first, when he first changed.
"Want you to," Dean mumbles, wriggling up on the bed. "Please. I--please. If you--"
"God, yes," Sam breathes, so so glad Dean wants it. "I do."
"Condom," Dean says, and he sounds a little drunk, looks absolutely debauched with his mouth all swollen and red, body dotted and decorated with bites and bruises where Sam just had to taste each bit of him. "Don't wanna knock me up." His mouth curves into a smile, wicked and bright, and beneath the pleasure-drunk look Sam sees Dean, hungry for him, wanting this as much as he wants.
It's probably going to be the shortest fuck of Dean's life. Ever.
It takes Sam a minute to find the condoms, stashed away in his backpack, and by the time he's back in front of the bed, rolling one down over his dick, Dean's up on his knees, rubbing his fingers gently over his nipples. Pinching them gently.
Sam grabs himself, pulling on his balls until the urge to shoot his load passes and he can move again.
"Warn a guy, wouldja?" He grumbles, pulling Dean in close for another kiss.
"Mmm," is all Dean says, licking at Sam's mouth, biting at his lips.
They shift around until Sam can pull Dean onto his lap, guiding him, her, up over his dick. "Wanna ride, little girl?" He asks, nuzzling at Dean's throat.
Dean laughs, a sharp bark of amusement, and lowers himself down slowly. Sam watches his eyes go wide, dark, wider, and he kisses Dean hard just as he breathes in sharply, body shuddering against Sam's.
Guess Dean's a virgin, too. Or was.
Sam strokes his hands up and down Dean's back slowly, making slow circles at the base of his spine, then back up, kissing him gently, none of the frantic, desperate, ohgodneedyouNOW that he's feeling in it. Just tasting Dean, swallowing the little gasps and moans as Dean gets used to Sam all over again.
Dean moves, slowly, rocking at first, and it's all Sam can do to let him set the pace, to not push and thrust and take, the way his body's demanding.
He can do that later -- and will -- but not this time. Not right now
Dean groans into Sam's mouth when he moves them, tipping them over onto the bed so he can cover Dean. Dean brings his legs up, hooks them around Sam's waist, and it's like being drawn into a volcano, all wet and hot surrounding him, holding him. Sam moves, slowly at first, then faster, and it's familiar and not all at the same time. He pulls out and thrusts in over and over, angling his thrusts to make them as good as possible for Dean.
Beneath him, Dean cries out, then again, his whole body quivering. Sam grins, then shudders when a rush of fluid slides over him. He thrusts faster, feels Dean trembling against him, body thrown from one orgasm into another. Kisses swallow Dean's moans, each one hot and sweet on Sam's tongue. He gives them back when he comes, straining into his brother's body, pulse after pulse as Dean drinks down the sounds Sam makes.
It ends like it begins, with kisses. Soft, softer, tongues and lips caressing and saying the things they find difficult to say with words. Dean's mouth is swollen; Sam's feels the same way. He presses one last kiss, then one more, listening to Dean's breathing slow and even out. By the time he's stripped off the condom and pulled the covers up, clicking the bedside lamp off in between, Dean's almost completely asleep.
He curls into Sam, though, body shifting backward like it's instinct.
Maybe it is.
Dean will still be a girl, in the morning. And, if it goes just as Sam's did, for twelve more mornings after that. Then he'll be back to being himself, and hopefully the curse, or spell, or whatever, will have run its course and they can move on to the next chapter in fucked up.
Sam pulls Dean closer and nuzzles at his throat. His scent is a little different, but still Dean, and it's comforting. An anchor in the continual, colossal fucked-up-ness that is their lives.
~fin~
