FIC: Girls Want to be With the Girls (NC-17)

[unamaga]

Title: Girls Want to be With the Girls
Authors: immoralilly and unamaga
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3,334 words
Beta duties: Thanks be to schneestern, who told us to do more dirty talk and poked us when we got stuck. Kitten, you're the kicks!
Notes: A long, long time ago, I can still remember, dea_liberty asked me to write her some genderswap. I got through the first five hundred words and promptly forgot about it. Then, Dea was awesome and wrote Robin and I something excruciatingly hot; we vowed that day to finish this fic for her if it killed us. It's been almost five months, and often Robin and I have exclaimed, "It can't be done! Why can't it be done! It's so little!" and thrown our hands up in despair, but here we are: alive, with three thousand words of incestuous femmeslash fic and a nifty fanmix (note: download fanmix first for optimum performance) to show for it, dedicated entirely to one miss dea_liberty. We hope you like it, sweetie, and you should know that we absolutely adore you. <3

They wake up fine. It’s not something that happens overnight and prompts girly shrieks of horror at eight a.m. Instead, they’re sitting in the middle of a crowded diner, talking about carrots, when Sam suddenly sprouts boobs and claps his hands over his crotch in terror.

“Oh my god, my dick just shrunk,” he says, voice cracking. Dean only refrains from making the obvious comments because he’s pretty sure he’s now a D-cup.

-

“How did this happen?” Sam shrieks as soon as the motel door slams closed behind them. He and his boobs make a bee line for the laptop, clacking at the keys angrily as soon as he’s in reach.

Dean’s a little off balance with all his extra boob-age shifting his weight forward, so he doesn’t follow Sam over. He plops down on the end of one bed and tries to find a way to arrange his arms that isn’t too uncomfortable.

“Don’t look at me,” he says when Sam looks at him. “I didn’t do anything this time around. I haven’t even talked to a woman in three states.”

Sam huffs and turns back to the computer, bringing up another search window. “Why don’t I believe you?” he mutters. His face, with its new female features, looks positively homicidal.

Wisely, Dean decides to stay quiet. He flops back onto the bed, not expecting the twinge of pain in his breasts when they jerk out to the sides sharply. This day sucks, he thinks. This day sucks because:

• My brother is a girl,
  
• My brother is a hot girl,
  
• That’s awkward.
  
• I’m a girl,
  
• My boobs hurt,
  
• I have boobs –

Dean pauses there. He has boobs. Which means…He lets his hand slide down from where it’s gripping his own side, curving it around his full hip and across the seam of his loose jeans. Something hot and sudden touches through him, making him gasp.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asks. He sounds just as breathless as Dean, voice high with shaky panic. “Dean, stop it.”

Dean doesn’t stop. His fingers flip open the button at the top of his jeans, then tug down the zipper and spread the flaps so he can get the denim past his hips and kicked off. The too-big cotton boxers go next, flying off the bed in Dean’s sudden haste.

Sam makes a strangled noise when Dean spreads his legs and shifts his hips up for an easier angle, sliding his hand down his torso again, enjoying the tease.

“Dean,” Sam says again, helplessly. Dean ignores him.

His fingers are smaller, his arms are shorter – it’s hard to judge how he should be touching when he can’t even see where his fingers are going. But, he figures, if girls all over the world can do it, surely he can too. It can’t be that hard, right?

“Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it feels like,” he says to Sam, who’s still watching him, wide-eyed. “Anyway, if you don’t like it, you can look away, pervert.”

But Sam doesn’t look away as Dean’s hand slips down his belly and between his legs.

He begins to stroke, and holy shit. That’s – different. He spreads his legs wider and makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Sam twitches, and his fingers tighten around his laptop.

“Sam,” Dean gasps, “you’ve gotta try this. It’s fucking great. Now I know just how lucky all those girls that got fucked by me were.”

His fingers hit an even more sensitive spot and he moans, tipping his head back. “Oh, god – Sammy, pass me my phone? I need some music for this.”

Sam freaks out. “Can’t you do that somewhere else, Dean?” he yelps, jumping up and bolting into the bathroom. The door slams behind him and there’s a hiss as he turns on the shower.

Dean snickers, spreading himself open and rubbing his clit in tight little circles. He comes hard, arching upwards, and, yeah. It’s fucking amazing. So, awesome brother that he is, he makes sure to yell, “THAT WAS FUCKING AMAZING!” at the closed door.

Sam doesn’t reply.

-

Thirty minutes later, Sam comes out, flushed pink from hot water and – if the shifty way he can’t seem to look at Dean is any indication – spent arousal, wrapped only in a small towel. Which, wow, does nothing to hide the nice curves Sam’s acquired, filled out in all the right places. It’s actually a surprisingly good look on him. Her. Uh.

“So, pronouns,” Dean says casually, trying to keep his eyes on Sam’s face. “How should those work, do you think? Do I call you ‘her’, ‘him’? Or maybe ‘herm’. That’s fun. That should be your girl name.”

Sam slips into a pair of Dean’s black boxer briefs first. They hang ridiculously, nothing to fill out the front, the sides stretched to accommodate wider hips. Bravely, Sam keeps getting dressed, pulling on a pair of Dean’s jeans and one of his tighter black t-shirts. Dean doesn’t even have the presence of mind to complain. It’s a really tight shirt.

“I think we need to go shopping,” Sam says sadly, looking down at himself. After a minute, he twists, trying to look over his shoulder at his ass, and Dean is gifted with a truly spectacular view of tense stomach and sharp hipbones.

“Yeah,” he agrees absently, fingers drifting in lazy patterns over his still sensitive skin. Sam doesn’t notice. Thank god. “I’m…gonna take a shower.”

-

Sam refuses to go to the mall, insisting that all they need are some temporary, cheap clothes from Wal-Mart. And, okay, Dean’s not planning on a lifetime of girlitude, but that’s all the more reason to really indulge, right? They are never gonna be able to walk through Victoria’s Secret without getting the hairy eyeball after they change back! It’s an opportunity.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean wheedles again. The exit for the mall is coming up, and maybe if he’s in the right lane and he puts his blinker on, Sam’ll see the error of his ways and say yes.

Sam does. Only it’s not so much saying yes as sniping whatever, Dean, and hunching down in his seat angrily. Dean knows it’s all a front, though.

-

Twenty minutes later, Dean thinks he’s found out what paradise will be like. There are boobs everywhere and he doesn’t even need to pay. Even Sam’s stopped sulking – he’s currently poking at a gel bra with curious fingers, his face rapt.

Dean scoops up a handful of lace, grabs Sam and his gel bra, and heads for the changing rooms. This is too good to be true.

“Do you think this is too small?” Dean asks, posing in front of the changing room mirror.

“Huh,” says Sam. He’s wearing the plainest white bra Victoria’s Secret has to offer, something which Dean does not at all approve of. “I dunno. Ask the lady.”

Almost before the words are out of his mouth, the pretty blonde attendant knocks on the outside of their cubicle.

“Do you two need any help in there?” she purrs.

“Oh hell yeah!” Dean says. “I mean, yes. Please.”

She sticks her head round the curtain and catches sight of Dean.

“Hmm, I’m not sure that’s quite the right cup size for you. What are your measurements?”

“I forgot,” Dean says hopefully.

“Well, I’ll just check for you. Hold out your arms,” and she advances on him with a tape measure. She works away serenely, totally unaware of the faces Dean is making at Sam behind her back.

“When you’re done,” Dean says blissfully, “I think you should just check my, uh, sister’s sizes too. Just to, uh, make sure. Sam gets shy about her body, you know.”

-

Whatever else might’ve changed about Sam, he’s still an uptight little bastard. He refuses to let Dean go into Claire’s and look at all the sparkly things, and then when Dean suggests a club (“We should get laid! Come on, you know you want to!”), literally hauls Dean into Hot Topic by the back of his shirt.

The only reason Dean doesn’t chew him out for being a jerk is standing at the register with ass-kicking boots on that reach up to her knees.

“Well, hello there,” he says.

The girl turns to look at him, pale stripe of skin visible between her tank and skirt when she leans against the counter, her black-lined eyes sweeping down Dean’s form.

“Can I help you?” she asks with a small half-smile. Dean almost faints when he sees her tongue ring.

“I really hope so,” Dean purrs, and Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Thanks, but we’re just looking –” he blurts, but Dean ignores him.

“So, what are you looking for?” the girl asks, grinning at Dean.

“Well, what have you got?” Dean’s not exactly going for subtlety right now, but he’s pretty sure the girl doesn’t mind too much.

She leads him around the store at random, making sure Dean gets a good view of her ass and brushing his fingers with hers as she pulls down t-shirts and skirts. Sam follows, scowling heavily.

“I think you would look really good in one of these,” the girl says, taking something that looks like a corset off the rack and holding it up to Dean’s chest. Her hand smoothes down the front, presumably to check the fit, and Dean’s about to open his mouth and suggest she help him ‘try it on’ when Sam’s fingers curl around his elbow and yank him back.

“Thank you,” Sam says, all tight, deliberate pronunciation, “but we’re just looking.”

The girl sniffs, dropping the top away from Dean’s chest and crossing her arms. The corner of Dean’s mind not taken up with how much he wants to hurt Sam registers that she has a seriously nice rack.

“God, Sam, possessive much?”

“God, Dean, slutty much?”

“Don’t be a cockblocking little bitch. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to watch.”

“Or you could stop doing it.”

“God, what’s biting you today? You got a crush on me or something? Just because you’ve got tits doesn’t mean you have to act like a chick.”

Sam flushes and then stomps out of the store.

-

Dean stays in the store long enough to get the girl’s number, and by the time he gets back to the car, Sam is already slouched down in the passenger seat, scowling at the windshield.

“I don’t know what your freaking problem is, Sammy,” Dean says, turning the key in the ignition, “but you better stow the attitude before I stick my fist in your face.”

Sam doesn’t reply, and the rest of the drive back to the motel is spent in stony silence.

-

It’s almost dusk when Sam finally pulls his eyes away from the computer screen and says, “Dean…” all sad eyes and apologetic mouth, strangely appealing.

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Dean says, holding up a hand. “Whatever. Blame it on hormones or something. Just tell me what we’ve gotta do to get back to normal. I miss my dick.”

“I don’t know, Dean. I think we’ve just gotta sit it out this time. But, Dean, I – I just – maybe I – ”

“Don’t even think about hugging me, man. That’s just taking it too far.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because Sam’s suddenly got an odd glint in his eyes when he says, “Oh really? And you never go too far, right?”

He stands up, coming closer to the bed Dean’s sitting on, round, girly shoulders hunched in a little like he’s stalking prey. Dean feels a little stupid for forgetting that, no matter what form Sam’s in, he’s still dangerous, still a hunter like Dean is.

“I, uh, have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy,” he says, voice a little high. “I am the picture of self-control.”

“Shut up,” Sam says, his hand on Dean’s collarbone, shoving Dean forcefully onto his back on the bed. Alarmed, Dean goes to sit up, but Sam just pushes him down again, one knee on the bed next to Dean’s thigh for leverage. “You always – you don’t pay attention, Dean. I’m right here. What do I have to do to get you to understand?”

“Yeah, you’re right here, you’re lying on top of me. Sam, what the hell are you doing?”

“Going too far,” Sam says, and then he leans in and kisses Dean.

It’s bold and sure and totally unlike the Sam Dean’s comfortable with, which is obviously why it feels so good, and why when Sam pulls back for a moment Dean breathlessly closes the gap and kisses him again, opening his mouth just a little this time and feeling Sam’s lips against his own.

There’s a pause when Sam shifts and Dean gets a hand on Sam’s back, pressing until their bodies are flush together, and then they’re pulling at each others clothes, shoving t-shirts out of the way and awkwardly undoing their own bras.

“I didn’t know,” Dean mumbles against the side of Sam’s neck, trailing messy kisses down from his ear to the hollow of his throat. “Sam, I didn’t – ”

Sam cuts him off, pulling him up by the back of his neck for a long, hot kiss. It’s artless this time, too needy to be anything else, but Dean can still taste Sam, feel the slick pull of his tongue. Their naked chests press together, and an ache – both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time – is building between Dean’s hips.

Sam traces his fingers across Dean’s breasts, down his belly, and – “What the heck have you done with my brother?” Dean pants. “Not complaining, but –”

In answer Sam presses his other hand against Dean’s lips and nips at his ear lobe. And, well, Dean doesn’t have that kind of willpower; his fingers go for the button of Sam’s jeans, pull down the zipper and tug at the belt loops until denim slides down over Sam’s curving hips.

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to Sam, “Fuck, okay.”

They wriggle out of the rest of their clothes in a blur – hands bumping, knees jarring when Dean pushes his hips up – and then they’re naked and pressing against each other, Sam dragging his mouth down the line of Dean’s throat and mumbling.

“I – I wanna –”

Dean forces Sam’s head up and away, sinking his teeth into Sam’s lower lip to shut him up. Sam groans, slides a hand down between their bellies, and Dean figures it out fast. “Yeah,” he manages, collapsing back on the bed to give Sam more room. A thumb gently strokes over the crease where hip meets thigh, and Dean spreads his legs automatically.

Sam lets out a husky, shocked laugh. “God, Dean.”

Dean grins up at him, then grabs Sam's wandering hand and presses it between his legs, arching up against it.

"You're bossy," Sam whispers, his mouth against Dean's.

"Yeah, well, I'm – always – right," Dean gasps, and he definitely is, because Sam’s fingers feel even better than his own: long and clever and hitting every sensitive spot he didn’t know he had.

Sam’s eyes are wide and a little bit awed, watching every shuddery breath form and push past Dean’s lips; he doesn’t look away to see what he’s doing, knows where to push and how to rub his thumb, a gentle tease. He licks his lips. “Christ. You’re so wet.”

Sam teases at Dean's clit, tilting his head down to slide his tongue across Dean's nipple, and Dean gasps and arches upwards off the bed. Sam's mouth moves lower and lower, licking long stripes down Dean's stomach, circling his bellybutton. He slides his middle finger into Dean, so slowly, and Dean isn't sure he can take much more of this.

“C’mon,” he mutters, nails digging into Sam’s shoulders, but Sam just nips at the rise of Dean’s hipbone and slides a second finger in next to the first – too deliberate, too gentle.

Soft, damp lips drag along the crease of Dean’s thigh, following the same path Sam’s fingers had earlier, with the same intent. Dean’s breath catches painfully in chest. “Oh god, oh god, Sam.”

Then Sam's fingers are spreading Dean apart and his tongue is lapping at Dean. Dean can feel it in every part of his body, hot and incredible, and he grabs the sheet so tightly he rips it. Sam’s mouth knows what it’s doing, has sharp spikes of pleasure racing up Dean’s spine and heat pooling in his belly. He comes so hard and so suddenly that his vision blurs. When it clears and he stops gasping for breath, he realizes that Sam is staring at him with a slightly strange expression.

"I think we just found out how to break the curse," he says tactfully, voice deep again, and when Dean gapes down at his body, his view is an awful lot less impaired by breasts than it was before.

It’s possible he makes an embarrassing, feminine squeak as he reaches down to touch his own cock with delight, but he’s just spent a significant amount of time as a girl so he figures he’s got an out.

“Oh god,” he blurts, blissful, “I missed you so much.”

Sam snorts and rolls off of Dean, splaying out on his back and putting a hand over his eyes. Dean spares him a glance and notices that – wow, Sam’s hard.

That’s interesting.

His hand is on Sam’s flat stomach before he knows it, and the slight crinkle of hair under the pads of his fingers is somehow reassuring, more real and familiar than the smooth expanse it had been when Sam was a woman.

“This is weird,” Dean says, and doesn’t stop. Sam’s stomach quivers against his fingers, a wet smear under the head of his cock. “This is so weird.”

It’s weird, yeah, but Dean wraps his hand around Sam and Sam’s dick curves into the dip of his palm perfectly. Sam gasps his name, throat bared and sweaty. Dean leans in and bites just above the hollow, sucking a deep bruise there, feeling the catch in Sam’s breath with his mouth just before Sam lets out a loud moan.

“Dean,” Sam whines again, hips arching off the bed, and Dean tightens his grip, pulling hard and fast until Sam shakes and comes.

Dean licks his lips and flattens his sticky hand on Sam’s abdomen, holding him down gently through it. Sam’s mouth is open and wet, his eyes closed tight; he looks wrung out and strangely beautiful. “Fuck, Sammy.”

“We just did,” Sam says with a quirk of his mouth, and Dean bursts out laughing. Sam grins, reluctantly at first, and then he starts laughing too.

“It’s not funny,” Sam wheezes, his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Stop it, Dean.”

But it is funny, so funny Dean almost cries with it.

“You made a pretty hot girl, Sammy,” he says when he’s calmed down. They’re still lying on the bed, shoulder-to-shoulder and naked, and Dean has to press against Sam just a little for warmth.

“Yeah, well, you made a pretty slutty girl,” Sam retorts affectionately.

“I prefer promiscuous, Sam.”

“Oh, so you were listening to that contemporary music station you pretended to hate. You’re such a liar, Dean.”

“’Contemporary music station’?” Dean repeats, incredulous. “You’re like an eighty year-old. There’s tweed in your duffle, isn’t there. I don’t know where I went wrong raising you, Sam, I really don’t – I taught you the way of Zeppelin and yet you turned away from the light.”

Sam’s hand smacks down on top of Dean’s mouth hard enough to sting, but Sam’s grinning and he doesn’t even twitch when Dean bites his palm meanly.

“Jerk,” he murmurs fondly. His eyes are warm and bright and Dean just knows he wants to cuddle.

Dean groans and pushes Sam off the bed, listening with grim satisfaction to the oomph! Sam makes when he hits the ground. “Bitch.”

Link to the fanmix at Robin's journal: Want To Be With the Girls