runedgirl | Man Enough, Sam/Dean, [NC17], 2/2

runedgirl

Fic title: Man Enough
Author name:

runedgirl
Artist name:

deadflowers5
Pairing: Dean/Sam, minor Sam/OFC
Rating: NC17

The proprietors of the lodge were an elderly couple who remembered John from a job he’d done in town decades ago, so there was no need to hide who they were or why they were there. George and Emily gave them a room in the far corner, with a picture window overlooking the mountain and two four-poster beds with white lace comforters and pillowcases, and bolsters cross-stitched with pink roses. There were fresh flowers on the bedside table and the shower curtain had pink ruffles.

Dean threw his duffel down on the bed near the door and frowned. “What the hell kind of place is this?”

Sam set the laptop on the other bed and shrugged. “It’s a vacation lodge. It’s supposed to be, I don’t know, fancy, I guess.”

If it was possible, Dean frowned harder. “Well, I don’t like fancy,” he insisted, sounding like a petulant two-year-old. Sam waited for him to stamp his foot.

“Feel free to take the frilly pillows off your bed,” Sam said dismissively. He didn’t say You seem to like frilly and fancy just fine when they’re on your ass.

Dean stomped over and tossed the offending pillows onto the side chair. Sam rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think I can sleep in here,” Dean complained, still petulant. “It’s too… girly.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Sam said automatically, then froze.

Dean didn’t turn around, but the tense line of his back told Sam he’d hit way too close to home.

“Uh, I didn’t,” he started to say, but Dean cut him off.

“Goin’ out,” he said gruffly, and slammed the door behind him.

Sam watched the clock until 2:37 AM, feeling like shit for bringing up the panties without even meaning to.

Your fault for thinking about them so goddamn much, he thought irritably. He finally heard Dean’s key in the door a few minutes later, along with the muttered curses and unsteady footsteps that meant Dean was drunk. Sam let him bump into the dresser and the end of one bed before he took pity and turned on the bedside lamp.

Dean blinked, then gave Sam a lopsided smile. His lips were swollen, and there was a bruise already coming up purple on his neck. “Oops,” he said unapologetically. “Did I wake ya, Sammy?”

“Out pretty late when we’re working a case, aren’t you?” Sam asked, and the question came out more biting than he intended. Dean and his stupid libido were back to normal; so what?

Dean just grinned wider. “That’s what happens when you’ve got two women to please,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at Sam.

Sam pictured it, both of them fighting to get their hands on Dean’s dick. Sam remembered how it felt in his hand, the way Dean shuddered and moaned when he stroked and squeezed it.

“Jealous, Sammy?” Dean goaded, and Sam shot him a disgusted look. Jealous, yeah. Just not the way Dean meant.

“Tired,” Sam said instead, and turned out the light. He felt a little better when Dean tripped over Sam’s boots on his way to the bathroom.

Dean was extra cranky in the morning, but they had a good lead on where the remains they had to burn were buried, so he sucked it up and downed black coffee and donuts on the way over. The easy salt-and-burn got a lot less easy when the ghost showed up to stop them and Dean inexplicably charged in front of Sam—and Sam’s raised shotgun—and almost got himself fucking killed.

“What the hell were you thinking, jumping in front of me like that?” Sam yelled once the thing was finally put to rest. Dean was covered in mud, dead leaves stuck to his back and tangled in his hair; he’d also inexplicably tackled the ghost, which only slowed down the entire process and nearly got Dean killed for the second time in ten seconds.

Dean shrugged, wiping his hands on his filthy jeans. He was watching the fire with that scary look on his face that said he liked the flames way too much.

“Seriously, dude, you almost fucked up the whole thing. What’s with you lately?”

Dean bristled at that, gathering up their shovels and glaring. “Did not,” he insisted, then abruptly spun on his heel and stalked back to the Impala.

What the fuck, Sam thought as he followed. That niggling feeling was back. Not for the first time, Sam wished they could have conversations like normal people. That he could just say Hey man, talk to me; what’s wrong?

Dean yelled from up ahead, gathering some old towels from the trunk and spreading them on his baby’s seats. “Hurry up, Sam, or I’m leaving without you!”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked faster.

It happened again in the pine barrens of New Jersey. Not only did Dean push past him to get at the thing the locals were convinced was the Jersey Devil, but he actually knocked Sam over in the process. Then he compounded the stupid move by wasting time taunting the damn thing before finally managing to lop its head off with a machete.

Sam got to his feet spluttering, the creature’s foul-smelling blood all over him.

“Dean, what the hell?”

Dean was equally splattered with blood, his white teeth bared in a grin that looked blinding in contrast.

“Got it,” he said, still breathless from the tussle.

“I would’ve had it five minutes ago if you hadn’t knocked me over!”

“You tripped,” Dean insisted. “But don’t worry, I took care of it.”

Sam saw red, even through the blood on his face. “Don’t worry?” he demanded incredulously. “I am worried, Dean, you asshole! I didn’t trip, and you know it—and you spent so much time running your mouth about what a big, macho hunter you are that you almost got yourself decapitated with your own machete! What the hell are you trying to prove?”

One second Sam was yelling at Dean and trying to wipe the blood out of his eyes, the next he was slammed up against a tree. Dean shoved him so hard, it knocked the breath out of him for a moment. His head fell back against the trunk, and when he opened his eyes, Dean was right up in his face, his blood-splattered features twisted with fury.

“What are you getting at, Sam?” Dean rasped, his voice ice cold, threatening. He had Sam by the front of his shirt, fist twisted tightly in the material. “You got somethin’ to say about me, spit it out.”

“Dean,” Sam started, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t think of any words that would get through.

“Then fuck off,” Dean spat, and shoved his fist against Sam’s chest before letting him go.

There was a bruise there for four days, a brownish-purple blotch in the center of Sam’s chest from his brother’s fist.

It was weeks between cases, both of them restless, long drives across the heartland silent except for grunted “Stoppin’ for food” or “Gas her up” or “Guess we’ll stay here tonight.” Usually the quiet between them was easy, a comfort they’d learned in childhood. Now it lay between them awkward with all the things they weren’t saying. The bruise on Sam’s chest ached long after it faded.

Their next case was just outside Las Vegas.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sam muttered as Dean picked the lock on the warehouse.

“Fuck you,” Dean growled, but he didn’t, so Sam counted his blessings. They took out one vampire carefully, but that gave the other two plenty of time to retaliate. It took Sam only a few minutes to finish off the one who’d jumped him. He rolled out from under the headless body, knife in hand, ready to help Dean if he needed it. Across the room, his brother and the third vampire were still struggling. Sam got to one elbow, then froze.

The vamp had Dean pinned against the warehouse wall, using its superior strength to lift him off his feet and keep him there, boots dangling and kicking uselessly. The thing gripped him under both arms, and though Dean was using his fists desperately, the vampire seemed hardly to feel it, keeping Dean pinned helplessly as it took its time unsheathing its fangs with a feral grin. Dean’s shirts were bunched up under his arms, the pale skin of his stomach bared, and his jeans were tugged low on his hips by the way he’d been slid up the wall. Above them, a sliver of black lace and pink silk panty were clearly visible.

Sam gaped for two long heartbeats. Then the vampire leaned in, and the moment snapped. Sam was on his feet in seconds, his knife slicing through the vampire’s neck before it heard Sam coming, the headless body slumping to the floor. Dean slumped to the floor, too, and Sam turned away to make sure the thing was dead for real before his brother could see him staring. By the time he turned back, Dean had pulled his shirt down and his jeans up.

“You okay?” Sam asked as they got in the car, and Dean scowled.

“Peachy,” he snapped, and Sam knew he should drop it. He spent the rest of the drive back to the motel trying not to look at Dean, trying not to picture the lacy panties under his jeans, Jesuschrist.

Dean went out that night, and the next, and the next, and finally Sam had had enough of sitting alone and went out too. They were still in Vegas, a particularly good stolen credit card allowing them to stay put for a week, so Sam didn’t head to a bar. Dean had the car, so he took a bus to Déjà Vu Showgirls, where all the women wore silk and lace panties, and lap dances were twenty bucks. It felt dangerous, out of character—more like something his soulless self would have done—but that only upped the thrill.

Your most secret forbidden fantasy, the witch had said when she cursed Dean, and Sam knew now what his own would be. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—go after it, but here, in the midst of other men enacting theirs, he could at least allow himself to think about it.

He sat closest to a dancer with dark hair and the body of an athlete, her curves set off by the slimness of her waist and the toned muscles of her stomach as she used the pole to show them off. She was topless, rounded breasts swinging as she moved, her long legs in black fishnets and four inch heels and her ass hugged by pink satin panties with black lace trim. Sam was already half hard when he gave her the twenty and she straddled his lap, the heat of her crotch shocking a gasp out of him when she ground down against him.

“Sandy,” she said as she rode him, her small hands teasing on his shoulders, feeling over the muscles of his biceps as he clenched his fists and reminded himself not to touch.

“Dean,” he answered, and he wasn’t sure why, only that it was the name he wanted to say.

She moved her hands over his chest, thumbed at his nipples through his tee shirt and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Back room?” she asked as she moved her hips in slow torturous circles. Sam’s fingers twitched, remembering the feel of damp satin under his palm, the tight wet heat when he slid them in.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and almost groaned when Sandy got up. His jeans were tented, obscene.

“C’mon, then.” She smiled and held out her hand. He watched her ass as she walked, the black lace striking against her pale skin.

“How do you want it?” she asked when the door was closed, and she looked like she wanted it too. Sam thought that was probably part of the job, but it was a nice illusion.

Sam swallowed hard. “Hands and knees,” he managed, his voice shaky. “Uh, if that’s okay.”

Sandy ran her gaze deliberately up and down the length of his body, pausing at his crotch. She licked her lips. “Definitely,” she said, and hooked her hands in the lace band to push her panties down.

“No,” Sam said, so emphatically that it surprised even him. “I mean—can you—can you leave them on?”

Sandy cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Sure, baby,” she said, and got on the bed, settling herself on all fours. “Like my panties, do you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and God, he did. He pulled his shirt over his head and unbuckled his jeans, stripped out of them and kicked off his boots as quickly as he could, needing to touch.

“Tell me if you don’t like anything,” Sam said as he crawled up behind her and got his hands on her silk-clad hips.

“Okay,” Sandy answered, and then cut off with a gasp as Sam licked a hot, wet stripe up between her cheeks.

“Oh, definitely okay,” she said, and Sam kissed and nipped and used his tongue on her ass while his fingers rubbed and teased the warm silk between her legs until it was soaked through, as wet as Dean had been when Sam fingered him. Sandy was making noise, her thighs trembling like Dean’s had, her hands clenched in the bedsheets.

“Can I fuck you?” he asked when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Condom,” Sandy panted, and Sam could feel the muscles in her flat belly flutter. “Hurry.”

They were right there beside the bed, of course, and Sam fumbled it on quickly, eager. He pulled the damp silk to the side and eased himself in, imagining it was Dean’s ass tight around him instead of Sandy’s slick wet folds. She rolled her hips beneath him, encouraging, and he picked up the pace.

“Are you—can you?” he huffed out, because he wasn’t soulless anymore in spite of what this felt like, and held himself up on one arm as best he could so he could slip his hand beneath her, stroking her trembling stomach and then lower, fingers splayed around his own shaft, rubbing where it made her cry out until she hissed “God, yesss,” and clenched up around him and came.

“Dean,” he gasped, and let himself go, forgetting where he was and who he was with and why it wasn’t his brother.

“You can have ‘em for another ten bucks,” Sandy offered when they were done, smoothing her hands over the silk panties. Her cheeks were flushed; maybe she really had enjoyed herself.

“Nah, they look good on you.”

“And on someone else you were thinking about,” Sandy said. She had soft brown eyes, kind.

“Yeah,” Sam admitted, and knew she could hear the longing.

“She must be nuts,” Sandy said gently, as Sam fastened his jeans.

“He is,” Sam agreed, and watched Sandy raise her eyebrows. Sam blushed, like he’d outed Dean to a stranger as a guy who liked to wear women’s underwear.

Sandy shrugged. “Hey, lotsa guys get off on wearing panties,” she assured him. Sam wondered if she thought he was really talking about himself, but found he didn’t much care.

“He looks really hot in them,” Sam admitted, his cheeks heating even more. “But he—I don’t think he’s okay with liking it, you know? He’s all—I don’t know, hung up about it, I guess.”

“If everyone was okay with their kinks, I probably couldn’t make so much money,” Sandy laughed. “Tuition’s expensive.”

Sam nodded, but the niggling was still there, under his skin. Sandy sat beside him on the rumpled bed.

“You’re wondering about the why,” she said, patting his hand, “but who knows? He wants to feel close to someone he lost way too soon…. He can only let himself be vulnerable when he dresses the part…. He wants to let go of all the macho and be needy for once… for you, maybe.”

“Or all of the above,” Sam said, and the pieces clicked into place. Dean would never admit to any of them. He gave Sandy a big tip and good luck wishes for her fall courses.

Dean was back at the room when Sam came in, all the lights on and the television too loud.

“Where the fuck were you?” he demanded as soon as Sam opened the door, already up in Sam’s face. “I only went out to grab a few things, and I come back and you’re fuckin’ gone!”

“I was out!” Sam shouted, because Dean was being loud and obnoxious and Sam had just fucked someone wearing Dean’s panties and he didn’t need Dean three inches from his face right now. “What? Are you the only one who’s allowed to go slut around all the goddamn time?”

Dean’s eyes widened, and he took half a step backwards. “You—you went out to hook up?”

“Is that so unbelievable?” The words came out more accusingly than he intended, all the pent-up fear and anger and guilt and desire tangled up and too big to stay there. “You think you’re the only one who’s got… needs, Dean?”

Without thinking, Sam shoved Dean in the chest. Dean stumbled backwards a few steps, caught off guard.

“You think you’re the only one who’s fucked up about all this?” Sam advanced on his brother, waving a finger like he was planning on poking Dean again. “You think I’m not fucked up too? Jesus, Dean, I can’t stop thinking about it!”

“Sam,” Dean said warningly, and his voice had gone low, dangerous.

“Yeah, I know, you don’t wanna talk about it, but you know what, Dean? That’s not really cutting it. You think you can walk around wearing your silk-and-lace fucking panties all day under your jeans and boots and leather jacket, all fucking macho asshole on the outside—taking all kinds of fucking stupid chances to fucking prove it and jumping into bed with strangers every damn night—while I know that underneath your dick’s all snugged up against the silk, that your panties are riding the crack of your ass. You’ve probably got something slutty and frilly on top, too, rubbing against your nipples every time you move, God!”

Dean had blushed a vivid red, even the tips of his ears on fire, and he seemed completely unable to say a word. Sam could see his throat working desperately, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t, and Sam didn’t know if Dean was about to wring Sam’s neck or burst into tears. Finally Dean swallowed hard, and hung his head.

“You have every reason to make fun of me,” he said, and it was the very last thing Sam would have expected.

Sam gaped for a few seconds, and Dean took it as confirmation.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was way too small, his eyes still downcast. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Don’t know why I… why I do it.”

Sam snapped his jaw closed. Dean was ashamed.

“Dean,” he finally managed, “there’s nothing wrong with you. You think because you get off on wearing women’s panties that makes you a freak?”

Dean still didn’t look up, a clearer yes than words.

“Seriously, dude,” Sam said, stepping a little closer. “That just makes you kinky. Nothing wrong with kinky.”

Sam could see the moment when Dean decided to lay it all out. He finally looked up, and Sam was shocked into silence once again by the sadness in his brother’s eyes. His fists were clenched; he was angry, too, but it was the hopeless expression that twisted Sam’s gut with fear.

“How about that I get off on wearing women’s panties while my brother jerks me off and fingers my ass?” Dean asked, and his voice was steely. “How’s that for secret forbidden fantasy, huh, Sam? Does that just make me kinky?”

Sam moved a step closer, and Dean backed away, shaking his head.

“Okay,” Sam said, staying where he was. “That makes you fucked up, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoed, and he dropped his gaze again.

“But no more fucked up than me.”

Dean snorted, no humor in it. “You were helping me break a curse. You saved my life, Sam.”

“I don’t think you would’ve died from lack of orgasms.”

“You know what I mean. Stop trying to make me feel better.”

Sam chanced moving a bit closer. This time Dean stood his ground, but he looked up warningly.

“I was helping you break a curse, yeah. But I’m pretty sure the fact that I can’t stop fantasizing about you in pink silk panties isn’t part of some nefarious new witches’ plot.”

Dean’s eyebrows drew together. “Don’t bullshit me, Sam. Not funny.”

Sam shook his head. “Not joking.”

Dean looked unconvinced.

“Look,” Sam said, and he could feel his neck and cheeks turning as red as Dean’s. “I was just at a strip club.”

“You?” Dean asked, his brow still furrowed.

“Yeah, me. Let me finish. I paid for a lap dance with a girl who had on pink silk panties. Then I paid for more, and I—oh God I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“Telling me what?” Dean said, and he looked genuinely confused.

“Let me finish before I fucking lose my nerve,” Sam practically yelled, then kept going in a rush. “And I fucked her from behind with the panties on and pretended she was… okay, I’m not gonna say it.” Sam cut himself off and scrubbed a hand through his hair, his face heated.

“You did?” Dean squeaked, and his eyes were wide now. The hopelessness was gone, though, so Sam didn’t care how shocked Dean was.

“I did,” Sam admitted, and it felt almost good to have it out there on the table. “I might have said the wrong name, too, when I, you know.”

Something in Dean’s expression lightened then; Sam could see his shoulders loosen.

“Sam, if you can fuck a girl and pretend it’s your brother in panties, I think you can say the sex words.”

A burst of relief rushed through Sam, adrenaline-strong. Sam shoved his brother in the chest, and Dean caught his hand and held it there. He’d been smirking a second ago; now his lips pursed and he looked Sam straight in the eye, dead serious. “You really want that, Sammy?”

Sam nodded, letting Dean pull him in closer. “So bad,” he said, and it came out pained.

Dean’s breath hitched; Sam could feel it. “Me, too,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper, their mouths inches apart.

“I wanna kiss you,” Sam mumbled, and he was already nosing against Dean’s jaw, mouthing at the stubble there.

“Yeah,” Dean said, and wrapped a hand around the back of Sam’s neck to pull him down. Dean’s mouth was hot and wet, wide open and hungry. Sam plunged his tongue in, plundering, remembering how Dean had taken his finger. He ran his hands down his brother’s sides, hooked his thumbs in the waist of Dean’s jeans.

“Do you have them on?” he asked against Dean’s lips, and Dean groaned in answer and pushed his hips against Sam’s.

“Fuck,” Sam swore, backing Dean up against the wall and fusing their mouths back together while his hands fumbled open Dean’s belt and unzipped his jeans. He slid a hand down the front as soon as he had room, and moaned into the kiss when his hand found Dean’s cock already hard under silk and lace.

Dean had one hand still wrapped around the back of Sam’s neck, kneading the nape and tugging at Sam’s long hair as they kissed. The other hand slid down the curve of Sam’s spine, grabbing his ass and digging into the firm flesh there. It felt good—amazing—to have Dean’s hands on him. Sam broke the kiss to tell him, and Dean huffed and pulled Sam’s mouth back to his own, nipping at his bottom lip in punishment and dancing his tongue just out of reach until Sam squeezed Dean's dick hard enough to make him gasp and then took advantage to claim his mouth again.

Sam could feel Dean starting to leak, the silk getting slick and slippery. Suddenly he had to taste; was desperate to. He pulled away, leaving Dean to blindly chase his mouth for a few seconds. When Dean opened his eyes, Sam dropped to his knees.

Dean made an inarticulate sound as Sam pushed his shirt up and planted a kiss on his bare stomach.

“Take it off,” Sam ordered, and Dean tugged it up and over his head. Instead of the pink and black camisole, Dean had a sheer purple bra on, flat over the points of his nipples, delicate black lace straps over his powerful shoulders.

“Shit,” Sam swore, sliding his hands up Dean’s chest to thumb the dark nubs. Dean was breathing hard, his flat belly going concave as he drew in a gasp.

“So hot,” Sam hissed, and leaned forward. Dean shuddered when Sam’s tongue circled his navel, then nipped at the trail of dark hair beneath.

“Ohgod,” Dean said when Sam followed it down to the lace band of his panties, then lower to run his tongue up the line of Dean’s dick under the stretched silk. This pair was purple, cut wider in the leg so the material skimmed Dean’s muscled thighs. Sam got both hands hooked in Dean’s jeans and tugged them down to the floor, leaving the panties in place. He felt Dean shifting his feet to step out of his pants, but Sam couldn’t wait a second longer—he leaned in and mouthed at his brother’s trapped cock, getting half of it in his mouth even with the silk still covering it.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, and Sam could feel Dean’s thighs trembling as he tried to hold it together. Sam could taste him even through the silk, salty and slick and so damn good. He sucked hard, scraped his teeth across the swollen, silk-covered head until Dean was moaning nonstop, leaking onto Sam’s tongue, fuck.

“Don’t make me come,” Dean panted, his hands tangled in Sam’s hair to slow him down. “Not yet. Wanna see you—wanna touch you, too.”

Sam had forgotten all about his own arousal in the feeling of having Dean in his mouth. Now awareness hit him like a freight train, and he stripped off his shirt still on his knees; started working open his jeans. Dean tugged on his arms until he stood, fingers eager on Sam’s buckle, on his fly. When they had Sam naked, Dean paused for a moment, his eyes raking over his brother’s body.

“God, Sam,” he said, and Sam’s cock twitched, already hard enough to cut diamonds.

“Fuck me?” Sam asked, and Dean went wide-eyed again. Sam hadn’t planned to say it, had been fantasizing about taking Dean in those insanely sexy panties for months. But Dean had his head all fucked up about being "manly," some stupid macho hangup, and Sam was going to put an end to that once and for all.

Dean looked startled for a few seconds, then that trademark smirk that Sam hadn’t seen in far too long slowly pulled one corner of his mouth up. Sam flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment this time. “I can do that,” Dean said, and started to slide the panties down.

“No!” Sam said, and Dean froze, eyebrow raised.

“Please, can you… keep ‘em on?”

Dean groaned loudly and cupped his dick in one hand; Sam could see it physically jerk with the burst of arousal that must have gone through him.

“Okay,” he said, “yeah,” and Sam could see he was fighting to keep from creaming himself just like that. Sam wasn’t much better off. He lay back on the bed and spread his legs, anticipation making his stomach flutter wildly. Dean’s eyes trailed down the length of Sam’s body to settle between his thighs, and he bit his lip.

Then he was moving, swearing as he rifled through his duffel for some lube. His fingers were sure and steady as he opened Sam up, and Sam trusted them completely, his brother’s hands that had stitched him up and rubbed him down and carried him to safety all his life.

“God, that’s so good,” Sam said, because he knew Dean needed to hear it. Dean kept going until his fingers were hitting Sam in just the right spot with nearly every push inside, and Sam’s dick had dribbled a little pool of fluid on his belly. There was no use rushing Dean, Sam knew, but he begged anyway, didn’t care how desperate he sounded if it was true.

“Please,” Sam panted for the hundredth time, half delirious with it.

“Fuck, okay,” Dean said finally, breathing almost as hard as Sam. Sam raised his head so he could watch as Dean balanced on his knees and shoved the panties down just enough to free his dick. The lace band snugged up under his balls, lifted them round and full, and Sam’s mouth watered.

“Christ, what you look like,” Sam muttered, his swollen cock twitching against his belly. He wished for a moment that he could freeze the image: Dean with his nipples taut under the transparent little bra, one of the straps halfway down his shoulder, hugging his muscled biceps; his lean stomach and abs bare, pale and freckled. He had one hand wrapped around his dick, the swollen head dark and slick, his full, red balls trapped by the lace. The purple silk panties clung to his slim hips, skimmed his thighs.

“God, Dean,” Sam said, straining to keep looking, but then Dean was shuffling closer, nudging the head of his stiff cock against Sam’s slippery wet opening, and Sam watched in awe as Dean slowly pushed inside him.

It had been a long time, but Sam remembered how to do this, pushing back as Dean pushed forward, and in his head he kept telling himself this is real, this is Dean. This is Dean. Sam wrapped his legs around his brother once Dean was buried deep; felt the scratch of lace and the softness of silk brush against his ass as Dean began to thrust.

“Sam,” Dean groaned as he moved faster, and Sam felt giddy with it, his insides melting and pleasure gnawing its way through every nerve, every cell. He reached up and pinched Dean’s nipples through the sheer material covering them, slid his fingertip through the slick sweat collected between Dean’s pecs and then tugged on them again, getting them wet, making Dean keen and whimper and snap his hips faster. He was already frantic, struggling to hang onto a rhythm.

“Shit, so close,” Dean muttered, and Sam could feel it, too, all of him tightening, heated to boiling, needing to overflow.

“How could you ever think you’re not man enough?” Sam said, because he was stupid with it, lust and love and a fierce need to make sure Dean saw it, heard it, knew it. He pulled the straps of the lacy little bra away from Dean’s chest and then snapped them back against Dean’s skin, grinning foolishly. “All man,” he mumbled, not even sure what he was saying, words flying out of him as he reached down between them to grab desperately at his own throbbing cock.

“Ohgod,” Dean panted, “Shut up,” but he started grinding his hips in tight, his dick so far up inside Sam thought he could feel it everywhere; wanted to.

“Fuck yesssss,” Sam hissed, because it felt fucking incredible. He dug his heels into Dean’s ass and pulled him down, burying his face against Dean’s neck as they rocked together. “All fucking man, God, damn, Dean,” Sam babbled, and bit down on the thick muscle at the join of Dean’s shoulder and neck.

Dean made a garbled sound and bucked wildly, and Sam held on for dear life, his dick still in his fist and pressed up tight against Dean’s tensed stomach, every frantic thrust of his brother’s hips stroking and squeezing it, almost too hard, but fuck, it was good, and shit, Sam was gonna come, had to.

Before he could say it, Dean grunted low and went taut over him, driving in deep as he came. Sam sucked in a desperate breath and followed, lost to the waves of pleasure that finally shut him up.

It hurt when Dean pulled out, but it was a dull pain, blunted by the endorphins buzzing through Sam’s body and brain.

Dean flopped down beside him, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Fuuuuuck,” he said eloquently.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, still out of breath.

They were quiet for a few minutes, long enough for Sam to wonder if he’d fixed them or fucked them up worse.

“Did you seriously just call me ‘all man’ in the middle of sex?” Dean asked finally, making it sound even more ridiculous than it no doubt had.

“You can’t hold that against me, Dean,” Sam protested, feeling the blush creeping up his neck again. “It was in the heat of the moment.”

Dean smoothed the tangled, skimpy bra down over his chest and tucked his spent cock and balls back into his silk panties. “All man, huh?” he said, and Sam didn’t miss the vulnerability there.

Sam rolled onto his side and ran his eyes over his brother, slowly, from the tips of his sweat-damp hair to his swollen full lips to the flat planes of his chest and pointed pink nipples under the sheer purple bra. He reached over and ran his hand down Dean’s midline, stroking over his muscled abs and tangling his fingers in the coarse hair above the lace band of Dean’s panties.

“Yeah,” Sam said, and he was smiling. “Hell yeah. Don’t know anyone else who can pin me eight times out of ten, kill fifty different kinds of monsters and live to tell about it, keep a ’67 Impala running like she’s brand new, fuck me into next week—and rock sexy women’s underwear.” He let his hand trail lower, over Dean’s muscled thighs and calves. Dean’s dick stirred in his panties.

“You man enough to let me fuck you into next week now?” Sam asked, running his hand back up his brother’s long, lean body, palming his balls through the silk.

Dean grinned and spread his legs.