Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: Happy Birthday, my dear friend, kattrip033!!
Warning(s): (W)Incest, Crossdressing
Word Count: 934
Date Written: 3 July 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.
Dean paces in the room that suddenly seems far too small for him, his arms folded before his chest. He must have been crazy to agree to this! But he has agreed. He's told his little brother he'd give him what he wants, and in the end, he's always tried to give Sammy whatever he wants, regardless of what it costs him. Dean's accustomed to giving his life for his beloved brother, but not his pride.
He makes a face and looks down again at his attire or, rather, lack thereof. He's gotta be freaking nuts! He turns one last time and is about to strip out of the teddy when a knife slides through the door and its jamb. He turns back swiftly, his brown eyes widening with surprise, just as the door slings silently open. Sam is dressed from head to foot in solid black, a far cry from Dean's frilly, pink teddy.
Dean swallows hard. He knows what's expected of him next, but how is he supposed to play a crying woman?! There's nothing feminine about him! Maybe he should have done things the way Sammy wanted to start with. Maybe he should have been the bad guy, but he can't hurt Sammy. He's never been able to hurt him, unless they're both pissed and knocking each other around.
But maybe hurt is the answer here? he realizes and clears his throat to try a cry. "Please -- " He snorts at his own masculine voice and tries again. "Please!" he squeaks. "Please . . . Please don't hurt me!"
Sam brandishes the silver knife, flicking it around in his hand, and for just a moment, something touches his big, dark eyes that makes Dean swallow hard and, for just a second, wonder if Sammy's gone soulless again. But he knows better than to think that. His brother's soul is well in tact, but for some reason, this game appeals to him. He turns an instinctive flinch into a roll of his muscular shoulders, then remembers his role and tries again, his voice sounding far more delicate, shrill, and feminine than it's ever been before! "Please don't hurt me!"
He throws up his hands for good measure, and as Sammy's eyes lock with his and his little brother runs his tongue over his parched lips, Dean finally begins to think that maybe there's something to this game after all. Regardless, it's Sammy's birthday, and this is what he asked for -- or as close to it as Dean can give him any way. He'd wanted their roles reversed, but when Dean had blatantly refused, stating he couldn't hurt him, Sam had rolled his eyes and retorted, "Fine. You play the victim, and I'll be the bad guy!" So it was that Dean finds himself here in this tiny room in the bunker, dressed in nothing more than a mere, bright pink scrap of cloth, and waiting for his brother, with a knife in his hand, to approach him on a hot, Wednesday afternoon.
Sam flips the knife around again and keeps approaching Dean. "You're a pretty, little thing," he croons, flicking his tongue in and out of his mouth. Dean snorts and almost asks him if he's supposed to be a snake Demon or something, but the words stick in his throat as disappointment flickers in Sammy's eyes. He's always hated to disappoint his brother.
"Don't hurt me!" he wails, giving his role his all and throwing his hands up over his face like a scared chick. "Please don't hurt me! OH!!" He gives a startled cry that sounds close to a scream as Sammy cuts his bodice with his knife. A thin trickle of crimson appears, though Dean isn't hurt, and Sammy licks the ketchup from the knife, his eyes practically gleaming with delight.
"You're so big, so bad!" Dean shakes visibly and is surprised by Sammy's bark of laughter.
"Stop it," his lover commands between chuckles, "before you have me rolling! Come here!" He reaches out, grabs the torn neckline of Dean's pink teddy with his free hand, and snatches his big brother to him.
"Oh, please! Please! I'm so afraid!" Dean just barely manages to keep from laughing. Sam silences them both by slamming his lips on top of Dean's, but after just a brief but passionate kiss, he breaks away, laughing. He lets the knife fall to the floor.
"Feel better now?" Dean teases. "All big and bad?" He reaches out and tickles Sammy, but as Sammy rolls with laughter, Dean's hands suddenly go soft. He begins to stroke him instead as he pulls him close. "Happy Birthday, nut," Dean growls with a smirk and kisses Sammy until he's out of both laughter and breath.
Then he pushes him back against his bed and lowers him down across it. He may be willing to do everything Sammy ever asks of him, but he's still the one in charge -- and the one who's going to make dang sure that this the best birthday his beloved, little brother has ever had! He covers him with kisses and wishes this night could last forever, but although he knows the night won't, Dean also knows their love will last forever, past death and monsters, past sacrifices of both sides, past the end of time itself. He'll always love Sammy, and Sammy, no matter what he says, will always love him too! That truly is the best present for which any man could ever ask from a woman, another man, or even their brother, and Dean gives it freely and joyously.