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apocalypsosTitle: Keep Your Voice Down, Stupid
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,203 words
Pairing: Sam/girl!Dean
Warnings: Incest, bad language, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: Well, of course Dean as a girl would take something like this as a challenge.
Author's note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
etben with the prompt, "Sex in a library in the curse 'verse."
*****
Keep Your Voice Down, Stupid
*****
Dean might be the girlier of the two of them when he actually is a girl, always in heels or a short skirt and displaying her tits to the world in the lowest-cut tops she can get away with, but the long nails disappear on the first day, trimmed away within hours.
"Hell if I'm going to be one of those girls who bitches about breaking a nail after a hunt," she says as she files them down to almost nothing, and Sam squirms in his chair.
It's not that Sam's all that hot for a girl with long nails or anything, but the thought of Dean's nails scoring along the skin of his back as he fucks her is usually enough to make him stumble as he walks or fumble whatever's in his hands the second she whips out a nail file. And forget what happens when they go to a library to research and she starts drumming her fingertips on the table as she reads, expressing her boredom in repetitive taps that drive him nuts and make him clear his throat to keep from groaning all at once.
This trip to the library is different, though, a little past midnight at the front door of soime small-town place with Dean on her knees picking the lock, that stupid skirt she'd decided to wear draping across her thighs. If this were the middle of the day rather than the dark of night, Sam could just imagine the look he'd see on Dean's face as he glanced up at Sam as a girl, a cock of the eyebrow and a casual, "You know, while I'm down here ..."
Hell, Sam's not even sure he'd say no in that instance.
She looks at him like that right now, and he might --
Oh, God, she really is looking at him like that right now.
"Don't even think about it," he says, because it doesn't matter that they're on a side street with no houses nearby and nothing remotely resembling a security system on this old building, not to him.
She pouts as she finishes picking the lock and ducks into the library with a telltale swing of her hips.
Oh, Sam's probably going to pay for that one.
The book isn't exactly something they're going to let just anyone take out of the library, this leatherbound tome (then again, Dean's got twenty bucks on it being human skin and Sam's not sure she would lose that bet) under glass in the lobby that's supposedly a book of children's stories written by the town's founder Jeremiah Pritchard and beautifully illustrated. What nobody bothered to mention to the library staff were the symbols drawn into the inkwork on every other page, the ones drawn in his own blood that brought out old Jeremiah's ghost every six months and let him wander free in town to kill whomever he wanted.
Two weeks ago, it had been an elderly man and his grandson, and neither Winchester is about to wait six months to let that happen twice.
The good news is that Jeremiah can't exactly come out of the book whenever the hell he wants, so they really have all the time in the world to destroy the damn thing. Well, okay, five and a half months, but Sam's pretty sure they won't still be standing in a darkened library in some town in the boonies when that comes around.
Unless, of course, Dean keeps tapping her fingers on that research table like she's doing.
"Oh, Sam," she calls out in this singsong voice, and Sam immediately knows he's toast.
He doesn't bother to look up from the screws he's currently removing from the glass, as if that'll stop her. "Uh, yeah?"
"There's something we forgot to do today when we came here to stake out the book, you know."
She drums her fingertips across the tabletop again, and Sam never thought something that simple could get him so fucking hard, but apparently it's doing wonders in that regard.
He can't resist that tug at the corner of his mouth, though, that hint of a smile, because three weeks of this curse has taught Sam the exact tone of voice Dean uses when she's about to do something he's both going to regret and feel insanely good about all at the same time. "I give up," he says, loosening the last screw and setting it on the chair next to the display stand. "What did we miss?"
And Sam doesn't know how it happens, how that five seconds vanishes between the time he's putting the screw aside and the time Dean's in his lap, straddling him as she's sliding one hand to the back of his neck and the other down his chest. He shouldn't be smiling because they're breaking and entering in a library to destroy a fucking spirit, but he can't not smile because Dean's rising up in this erotic roll of her spine with her body pressed against her chest.
By the time she slides back down again, her fingers yank impatiently at his zipper and it's a damn good thing, too.
"Don't wear a skirt to break into the library, Dean," she says in this teasing tone, but he can barely hear her because he's focusing on the hot wet kisses he's leaving on her chest-- and okay, maybe he's a little grateful for those goddamn low-cut tops.
When she finally lowers herself down onto him, slow and meaningful, he catches his breath only to chuckle and say, "I don't think the librarian would have appreciated it if we'd done this here before."
Dean leers down at him and rolls her hips again, because if Sam can still form coherent sentences, then she's definitely not doing this right.
"Now, Sammy," she says, right before her tongue flickers over a spot on his neck that makes him jump, "you're not supposed to make any noise in the library, or didn't you learn that in college?"
He gives her this daring look, this silent, "Oh, really?" that makes it obvious that if what she just said is a dare -- You gonna make me scream, Sam, or are you too much of a little bitch to do even that much? -- he's more than willing to take it. He tugs her shirt up and over her head, golden hair falling to dance over her shoulders, and the next thing she knows his lips are on her breasts and she's biting back the moans that are begging to come out.
*****
An hour later, they drive the book out to the middle of nowhere and burn the damn thing, the Impala already packed so they can get the hell out of town in a hurry.
For the record, Sam wins the dare.
Dean didn't stand a chance.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,203 words
Pairing: Sam/girl!Dean
Warnings: Incest, bad language, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: Well, of course Dean as a girl would take something like this as a challenge.
Author's note: Written for
etben with the prompt, "Sex in a library in the curse 'verse."Keep Your Voice Down, Stupid
*****
Dean might be the girlier of the two of them when he actually is a girl, always in heels or a short skirt and displaying her tits to the world in the lowest-cut tops she can get away with, but the long nails disappear on the first day, trimmed away within hours.
"Hell if I'm going to be one of those girls who bitches about breaking a nail after a hunt," she says as she files them down to almost nothing, and Sam squirms in his chair.
It's not that Sam's all that hot for a girl with long nails or anything, but the thought of Dean's nails scoring along the skin of his back as he fucks her is usually enough to make him stumble as he walks or fumble whatever's in his hands the second she whips out a nail file. And forget what happens when they go to a library to research and she starts drumming her fingertips on the table as she reads, expressing her boredom in repetitive taps that drive him nuts and make him clear his throat to keep from groaning all at once.
This trip to the library is different, though, a little past midnight at the front door of soime small-town place with Dean on her knees picking the lock, that stupid skirt she'd decided to wear draping across her thighs. If this were the middle of the day rather than the dark of night, Sam could just imagine the look he'd see on Dean's face as he glanced up at Sam as a girl, a cock of the eyebrow and a casual, "You know, while I'm down here ..."
Hell, Sam's not even sure he'd say no in that instance.
She looks at him like that right now, and he might --
Oh, God, she really is looking at him like that right now.
"Don't even think about it," he says, because it doesn't matter that they're on a side street with no houses nearby and nothing remotely resembling a security system on this old building, not to him.
She pouts as she finishes picking the lock and ducks into the library with a telltale swing of her hips.
Oh, Sam's probably going to pay for that one.
The book isn't exactly something they're going to let just anyone take out of the library, this leatherbound tome (then again, Dean's got twenty bucks on it being human skin and Sam's not sure she would lose that bet) under glass in the lobby that's supposedly a book of children's stories written by the town's founder Jeremiah Pritchard and beautifully illustrated. What nobody bothered to mention to the library staff were the symbols drawn into the inkwork on every other page, the ones drawn in his own blood that brought out old Jeremiah's ghost every six months and let him wander free in town to kill whomever he wanted.
Two weeks ago, it had been an elderly man and his grandson, and neither Winchester is about to wait six months to let that happen twice.
The good news is that Jeremiah can't exactly come out of the book whenever the hell he wants, so they really have all the time in the world to destroy the damn thing. Well, okay, five and a half months, but Sam's pretty sure they won't still be standing in a darkened library in some town in the boonies when that comes around.
Unless, of course, Dean keeps tapping her fingers on that research table like she's doing.
"Oh, Sam," she calls out in this singsong voice, and Sam immediately knows he's toast.
He doesn't bother to look up from the screws he's currently removing from the glass, as if that'll stop her. "Uh, yeah?"
"There's something we forgot to do today when we came here to stake out the book, you know."
She drums her fingertips across the tabletop again, and Sam never thought something that simple could get him so fucking hard, but apparently it's doing wonders in that regard.
He can't resist that tug at the corner of his mouth, though, that hint of a smile, because three weeks of this curse has taught Sam the exact tone of voice Dean uses when she's about to do something he's both going to regret and feel insanely good about all at the same time. "I give up," he says, loosening the last screw and setting it on the chair next to the display stand. "What did we miss?"
And Sam doesn't know how it happens, how that five seconds vanishes between the time he's putting the screw aside and the time Dean's in his lap, straddling him as she's sliding one hand to the back of his neck and the other down his chest. He shouldn't be smiling because they're breaking and entering in a library to destroy a fucking spirit, but he can't not smile because Dean's rising up in this erotic roll of her spine with her body pressed against her chest.
By the time she slides back down again, her fingers yank impatiently at his zipper and it's a damn good thing, too.
"Don't wear a skirt to break into the library, Dean," she says in this teasing tone, but he can barely hear her because he's focusing on the hot wet kisses he's leaving on her chest-- and okay, maybe he's a little grateful for those goddamn low-cut tops.
When she finally lowers herself down onto him, slow and meaningful, he catches his breath only to chuckle and say, "I don't think the librarian would have appreciated it if we'd done this here before."
Dean leers down at him and rolls her hips again, because if Sam can still form coherent sentences, then she's definitely not doing this right.
"Now, Sammy," she says, right before her tongue flickers over a spot on his neck that makes him jump, "you're not supposed to make any noise in the library, or didn't you learn that in college?"
He gives her this daring look, this silent, "Oh, really?" that makes it obvious that if what she just said is a dare -- You gonna make me scream, Sam, or are you too much of a little bitch to do even that much? -- he's more than willing to take it. He tugs her shirt up and over her head, golden hair falling to dance over her shoulders, and the next thing she knows his lips are on her breasts and she's biting back the moans that are begging to come out.
An hour later, they drive the book out to the middle of nowhere and burn the damn thing, the Impala already packed so they can get the hell out of town in a hurry.
For the record, Sam wins the dare.
Dean didn't stand a chance.
