Polly Plummer (nutkin) wrote,
Polly Plummer

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Ficlet: Under Wraps

Under Wraps. Sam/Dean, NC-17, 1163 words. Mild cross-dressing. Written for blindfold_spn

Prompt: Dean wearing panties, stockings, and a garter belt.

They'd been on the road for three hours, not counting a piss stop in Oklahoma.

He was so sure that was gonna be it, that Sam would finally stop acting so friggin' normal and nonchalant and finally do something. Maybe acknowledge the reason Dean was shifting in his seat so much. But no, Sam just bought a Coke and leaned against the side of the car, watching the sky idly while Dean stomped into the dingy gas station bathroom and yanked his jeans down.

The air was cold on his nylons, teasing at the skin trapped in the ridiculous, pansy-ass things. It made his nipples go hard under his flannel. He got a glimpse of himself in the mirror like that: jeans around his ankles, black stockings hugging the muscles of his legs, flimsy little straps keeping 'em up around his thighs. And the panties. Jesus fuckin' Christ, the panties. Clinging to his package like they were painted on, the satin shiny under the crappy yellow bathroom lights. There was no mistaking the fat outline of his balls pushing up against the fabric, or the awkward jut of his dick. They just weren't made to hold any of it, and there was this dirty, obvious stretch of pink at the left leg-hole where he was slipping out of 'em.

Who was he kidding? He looked pretty damn hot.

But that was back in Tulsa, and Sam hadn't bat an eye when Dean came out of the bathroom. He just smiled vaguely and said, "Hey, they had nacho flavored Slim Jims here, how weird is that?"

Dean kept his shit together until they hit Texas.

"I was thinkin' we could stop soon," he ventured when the highway signs started advertising shit in Amarillo. Sam looked up from the case file he was reading, eyebrows knitting together like he didn't get it.

"It's not even four," he pointed out. "And it's another two hundred miles till Glenville."

"Dude," Dean said warningly.

Sam's lips pulled, twitching in the irritating fuckin' way they did when he tried to not smile. He failed pretty epically, giving Dean a smug smirk.

"What's the matter, Dean?" he pressed, shutting the folder in his lap and turning to look at him. Dean shifted, heat creeping up his neck from that direct stare. "Something got your panties in a wad?"

Dean shut his eyes, white-knuckling the steering wheel. He was doing his best to pretend this was just Sammy's weird fetish, gone too long without a girl or something, and the only reason he was so god damn impatient because it was uncomfortable. But there was no denying what it did to him to hear those words.

Your panties. His panties. His panties.

Everything about them suddenly felt sexy, all the way down to the elastic cutting into his thighs and the rough, insistent itch of his lace- topped stockings.

"Yeah," he finally said, eyes fixed on the road. His voice was shot to hell, already sounded fucked out and hoarse. He really sucked at playing it cool. "I wonder what that could be."

Sam unclicked his seat belt and shoved the file on the dashboard. Dean didn't know how it was even possible for him to slide across the seat, since he already seemed to take up all available space with his sasquatch limbs, but suddenly Sam was right up in his face.

"Is that why you've been so grumpy, dude? You want me to look at your little panties?"

Dean's whole body tensed as one of Sam's mitts gripped his thigh, right where his garter belt met his stocking. He rubbed a teasing little circle through the denim, thumb finding the clasp and messing with it.

"You're gonna unhook 'em," Dean muttered, shoulders pulling up tensely. Sam let out a hot, teasing huff of laughter against his neck.

"Look at you, Dean. You've been keeping your girl stuff nice and neat for me under here, huh? It's okay, you can keep 'em on..."

Dean spread his legs a little, not even thinking about it, letting Sam slide that hand up the inside of his thigh. His cock was already chubbing up, fighting against the stupid, slippery fabric. All it took was Sam's huge, thick hand rubbing his junk, and a fat little pearl of precome cut out the slit. Yeah, he'd been keeping it all nice and neat, and now he was gonna make a fuckin' mess.

"Touch 'em," he demanded, barely keeping the car between the lines. He could smell Sam now, the tang of Old Spice and sweat. He was getting off on this just as hard, the little bitch.

"Touch what?" Sam prodded, thumbing open Dean's fly.

Fuck it, he didn't care how embarrassing it was, not when Sam's fingers were that close, brushing against the trail of pubes right above the black satin.

"Touch my panties, Sam," he barked.

Sam groaned like he was heat, like just hearing that was doing something for him, and dug his hand into Dean's fly.

"Shit," Dean hissed, toes kinking up in his boots. The slick nylon didn't have any traction, scrabbling uselessly.

Sam's hand felt huge. He could palm Dean's whole package when it was stuffed in those things, sliding around on it so fucking easy.

"Fuck, yeah," Sam hissed back, creeping a thumb over the waistband and rubbing at the sticky, hot head of Dean's cock. "You like that? God, they're so soft, Dean. You're getting 'em all wet..."

He was; even as Sam said it, he could feel another wad of precome drool from the tip, catching on his panties and the edge of Sam's hand. God, it was so freakin' dirty. And he knew dirty.

"Yeah, Sammy." He lifted his hips, shoving his cock up against Sam's palm. It was taking everything he had to not veer them off the empty interstate. His balls were full, ready to fucking blow like they had been since he put this stuff on. "I want you to see -- wanna show you how I look--"

"Oh, I'll see," Sam muttered, squeezing him. "I'll fuck you later, Dean, and you're keeping your panties on. We're both gonna come in these before you take 'em off."

He could see it, already feel it: Sam's load dripping into them, dripping out of him. Catching on the unforgiving fabric and sticking to his skin.

"Aw, fuck," he moaned, shooting right into 'em. Each string of jizz caught right there by the head, pooling against his hip. It was so fucking hot, his load hidden under his panties, under Sam's hand, under his jeans. A nasty little secret.

"Just like that," Sam promised, rubbing him again. He straightened up, tugging Dean's fly shut and sliding back to the passenger seat. Dean blinked, dazed, shifting his sweaty hands on the steering wheel, but Sam just picked the file back up and opened it over the obvious bulge of his cock. "When we get to Glenville."
Tags: fic, lameness amnesty

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