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Lace up my heart

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They were now firmly situated in the bunker, had their own bedsheets and dirty dishes in the sink and tumult of mud caked boots by the door. Sam was officially nerding out in the expansive and decadent Men of Letters library and Dean, well, Dean was still getting used to the fact that they finally had a home.

A real, four walls and a working toilet, home.

The concept of having his own bedroom had never really been high on his list of wants; he’d accepted early on in life that the lifestyle his father cajoled them into meant not having his own space with Batman sheets and nooks and crannies filled with stolen porn mags, discarded study guides and nostalgia lingering titbits from his childhood.

He’d never had that option of building memories within a static space, not apart from the Impala anyway, and for the longest time that had been good with him, had meant no long standing and possibly damaging attachments, had meant no messy break ups or accumulation of random crap that could’ve easily turned into meaningless hoarding.

But now, they had a home, and it was ginormous, and Sam…Sam deserved a home, even if Dean had given up on having that cookie cutter front door shtick a long time ago. His brother deserved to feel settled, to have somewhere to darn his socks or iron his newspapers or whatever crap his baby brother wanted to do to embrace his old man tendencies.

They finally had a home outside of each other, and even though Dean hated it, he’d try and get into it, because Sam needed him to; would look to him for affable confirmation of the joy of having a forever home, and would otherwise become disenchanted and restless if Dean appeared to be so.

All of this however didn’t help Dean with the fact that for weeks now, he hadn’t been able to sleep alone.

He’d tried everything: had tried pills, no coffee after 9pm and even, at Sam’s insistence, some skeevy heavy breathing meditation that had only made him need to pee with the stupid rain sounds it insisted in playing. He’d even asked Cass to send him into Angelic knock out sleep, but he’d chickened out before he’d even got him to do it; somehow hadn’t preferred the idea of being comatose in case Sammy needed him in the night or the world decided to end whilst he was drooling, unresponsive and high, into his blanket.

No, he’d tried everything short of spelling himself asleep, and there was no friggin way he was about to trust some witch to do that.

Sam seemed to have no issue with their sudden separation, instead started to take himself off to his bedroom early, saying he wanted to ‘read in bed’ or ‘do a workout’, leaving Dean bereft and painfully alone in the Bunker’s echoing old tech hallways.

At first, he’d tried to embrace it, had played beer pong against the multiple stone pillars dotted about the bunker’s expansive ground floor, had cooked greasy bacon in the kitchen without Sam bitching about the smell and had even skidded around the bathroom in some thick morning socks he’d found bundled away in an old closet.

All in all, the ‘fun’ aspect of discovering their new home had lasted about two hours, and that was only because Dean had accidentally locked himself in the bathroom after crashing into the door and was too proud to call Sam for help.

They’d been at the bunker approximately a month now, had signed up for a reward card with the local supermarket like the most nauseating middle-class civilians, and had even done a taste testing of every take-out option within a five-mile radius. Dean had eaten better in the past month than he had in his entire life, and yet somehow, it wasn’t cutting it.

Presently, Sam was at his laptop at the bunker’s illuminated tracking map table, tapping away as he researched cases or librarian porn or whatever he was into whilst Dean, exhausted and grumpy, sat opposite him scowling into his dozenth cup of coffee.

“Dean.”

“Mh?”

Sam arched an eyebrow at him as his chin slid ungracefully from it’s perch on his palm.

“Dude, you need to get some sleep.”

Like that hadn’t been what he was trying to do every damn day for the last thirty days, Dean scowled at his brother darkly. “Gee, what gave you that impression Mr. Know-it-all?”

Sam’s other eyebrow joined his previously raised one. Bemused, he huffed out a concerned half chuckle “Mr. Know it all? That’s the best you’ve got? You really are tired.”

“Hey” Dean jabbed a finger at him spikily “not all of us can drop whenever we want, some of us are trained in the art of survival. Like, this whole world is one big game of Survivor and I’m the reigning champ. S’not like I can just drop the ball now.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam’s eyes lingered on him a moment before dropping back to his laptop once more. “Even the people on Survivor sleep, Dean. That’s how they survive.”

“I know that.”

“Then?”

“What? You think I haven’t tried?” Dean defended snappily “you saw how useless that hippy swaying of yours was.”

“It wasn’t useless” Sam looked up at him again “you just wouldn’t shut up and sit still.”

Bone tired and offended that his brother was right, Dean scoffed. “You’re just pissed your new age voodoo crap is fake.”

“It’s yoga, Dean, not voodoo.”

“Same thing.”

“Dude.”

“Look-“ Dean shoved up from the table, grimacing when his chair made a horrific screech across the flooring below. “I’m gonna turn in. If you see me wandering around, you know what to do.”

Long suffering, Sam sighed sharply through his nose, tired bemusement in his eyes as he said “don’t feed you after midnight?”

Dean shot him a poisonous look and his brother put his palms up placatingly. “Just a suggestion.”

“Hilarious.” Dean mocked icily. He grabbed his coffee mug dramatically. “Now, go to sleep or jerk off or somethin’, just keep the noise down.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

Eugh, don’t.” Dean grimaced, glowering at Sam as he grinned into his own mug of herbal tea “just- don’t.”

“Okay.” Sam tried hard not to laugh. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah, whatever Pillow Princess.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means” Sam’s voice followed him as he walked away, his brother’s humoured yet pained tone bracketing his haggard shoulders as he shoved his way into his bedroom.

His room was decorated minimally, not because he liked it that way, but because he really didn’t own anything. There were a few books he’d tried to get into late at night scattered around the floor, discarded when they lacked the sufficient amount of action to boobs ratio he needed to keep himself engaged. A few guns proudly displayed atop the shelf mantle above his bed, his treasured pictures of him and Mom and him and Sam, dog eared and lined from travelling pocket to pocket for decades, and then the customary crusty looking plates he’d kept meaning to take to the kitchen but instead started stacking and making his own ant colony with.

After a lifetime of take-out cartons and paper plates, the concept of having to wash a dish was not one he found most appealing.

He’d leave that up to Sam anyway: a housewife in training if there ever was one.

Since moving Sam had been hot on chores, had insisted they write up a schedule for laundry and sanitisation. Dean had pointed out that if the bunker still looked as good as it did after decades of neglect, then them putting off laundry day for a week or refusing to soak a casserole dish, wasn’t about to change that.

All that comment had earned him however was a petulant frown and his brother’s refusal to clean up after him. Hence, the ants.

Dean had to say though, he was rather impressed ants could even break their way into the underground bunker, and with that thought was more proud than pissed at their multiplying presence amongst his crockery.

There was no way he would be able to sleep, and so Dean settled himself in for a night of bad action movies and comic books. Sam’s room was down the hall from his and so he heard when his younger brother retired for the night, the walls and locks between them rendering Dean vaguely panicked in a way he tried very hard to ignore.

All his life, or at least all of Sammy’s life, he’d been there to protect him whilst he slept. For the six months that they’d had a constructive family home, Dean had crept into Sam’s crib and curled around him as he’d gargled and napped. Then, after the fire that ravaged their mother and left Dean mute to any and all people except his brother, he’d rocked Sam to sleep and played with him into the early hours of the morning, had kept him company on long car rides and introduced him to their ‘new home’ at whichever shithole motel of the week they were staying at.

Throughout childhood they’d topped and tailed dozens of times, either in the Impala or in a single bed, John not wanting to stretch to cover the price of a roll away on top of a double, and then as adults, Sam now back on the road with Dean after the hellish torture of losing Jessica to the yellow eyed demon, and for all the years that came after, they’d shared a room.

They’d spent nearly their entire lives breathing each other’s air, sharing blankets or bathrooms or clothes, and now they were suddenly separate, and Dean couldn’t stand it. He’d liked being able to see Sam fall asleep, had felt in control taking the bed closest the door so that whatever monster tried to get in would have to get through him first.

His brother’s natural rhythm had become his own personal lullaby: salt the exits, secure your gun, make sure Sammy is safe, and then sleep. He’d grown up with it, had had a rough and alcohol soaked few years without it, and then had gone through into adulthood with his brother’s gentle sleeping breaths only a few feet from him at all times.

He’d become dependent on Sam’s closeness even in slumber, and now it seemed he’d never sleep again.

Feeling sincerely pathetic, Dean wondered idly, and not for the first time, how Sam would react if he just pitched up outside his door and demanded he be able to sleep on the floor.

He imagined the horrified and then pitying disdain on his brother’s features and he couldn’t bare to put himself through the awkwardness and the mocking that would prevail. Because he had no doubt Sam would let him, but he’d pay for it for years.

He knew Sam had always felt like the freak, but at least he could be a functional human being without him. I mean, what kind of grown ass man can’t sleep without his baby brother by his side? None. Zilch. Zippo. No grown ass man in the history of grown ass men, that’s who.

Dean was severely fucked, and feeling very sorry for himself, and so that called for more alcohol.

He’d had a stash of his favourite cheep supermarket brand six pack under his bed but he’d burned through that in time it took for Jack Torrance to go all psycho and axe wielding on Wendy, and so he decided to go in search of the stash of decent well aged and preserved liquor he knew the Men of Letters had hidden in one of the back rooms they never used.

Dressed in lounge pants (yes, he has lounge pants now, what of it?) and a Henley, and not to mention his old man slippers, Dean made his way out of his room and down the hall, past Sam’s room, and took two rights and a left. Eventually he found himself in a sort of grid locked storage area, and beyond that there were two rooms filled to the brim with shelves of booze, books and on one memorable occasion of exploration, a 1940s brasserie.

Sluggish but not inept, Dean saw the light filtering out from under the second of the two storage rooms before he’d even got within decent range. It was yellowish but also kinda pink and undulating, shifting in irregular flickering and swirling patterns as it crept underneath the door frame to kiss his slippered toes.

Offended, Dean stepped back instantly.

“What the…” he murmured, squinting as he suddenly realised that not only was there fucking disco lighting in there but also music playing. Music!

It sounded like smooth jazz, or potentially that alternative mod-rock crap Sam liked to bore him with, but it was hard to tell with the way the bunker’s heavy insulated walls bounced sound around. His right hand drew back to grab his gun and then faltered when he found the remains of a Cheeto stuck to his hip rather than his trusted weapon.

Crap. Pyjamas. Old man pants. Defenceless.

Brushing off the Cheeto and grimacing disgust at his own uncleanliness, Dean quickly looked around until he saw a magenta red fire axe encased on the wall, hidden behind a metal grated storage rack. He debated for a moment whether he could get to it without causing a ruckus, and then decided he didn’t care: if there was someone in there, they were a threat to not only him, but also Sam.

He really hoped it wasn’t Crowley.

Taking off his shirt, Dean bound his right fist up within the material and then, when the music lilted higher, he punched his hand through the safety glass as effectively and as quietly as he could muster.

He paused for a moment to see if anyone or anything would suddenly come flying out the room in a pissed spectral rainbow but when nothing happened, he carefully withdrew his hand, scattered off the broken glass fragments and reached for the axe inside.

Feeling much more secure now he had a weapon, Dean turned his attention to the door at hand, made sure he wouldn’t see any shadow of a person or monster beneath it, and then rolled his shoulders in preparation.

With a running start, Dean kicked in the door as forcefully as his slippered feet would allow. The door crashed inward, breaking off it’s hinges pitifully as it fell with a wallop to the floor. Not wasting any time, Dean charged forth into the room, red axe wielded high over his head as he swung around looking for the intruder.

“SHOW YOURSELF YOU SON OF A- Sammy??”

Frozen in place, Dean’s little brother stared at him owlishly, his palms up as he breathed hard, his chest heaving and straining against-

A corset. Sam. Sam was wearing a corset.

“Dean” Sam gulped, looking panicked as his face flooded with crimson “Dean, before you say anything-“

“What are you doing?” Dean looked around the room quickly, an excuse as much as a necessity to not look at his brother’s corset clad form, and, upon further inspection, nothing else but tiny ass panties and thigh high stockings.

“I mean- what-“ Dean fumbled for words, his heart thundering in his ears, his throat dry “what?”

“You’re meant to be in bed!” he accused, pointed a damning finger toward his brother’s lingerie clad form and then snatching it back toward himself when even that felt like too much of an intimate act. “You’re meant to be asleep!!”

Visibly unsure what to say to that, Sam desperately looked around himself instead of at Dean.

It was then that Dean realised that he’d never put his Henley back on before rampaging the room.

“Oh for-“ Sam caught the shirt as his brother threw it at him, looked at the bundle of fabric in confusion before quickly putting it on.

It barely came to his midriff, and Dean found that in itself irrationally humiliating.

“What the hell, Sam??”

“Okay!” Sam sighed, his hands up again “okay, just-“ he turned his burning face to the side and then ducked his chin, his hair falling about his face before his nose swan dived up again, his mouth pinched. “Just promise to hear me out before you start judging me.”

Dean scoffed in a strangled sorta way and Sam glared at him warningly.

“Fine” Dean relented a moment later, huffing as he crossed his arms defensively across his chest, feeling way too exposed standing there in just his sleep pants.

“Go ahead.”

Sam eyed him distrustfully for a moment more, and then with a wetting of his lips, he began to explain. “I got into it whilst you were-“ his eyes dipped down as his eyebrows drew together “whilst you were gone. I found some online-“

“Corsets” Dean clarified.

Sam eyed him cautiously, and then nodded. “Corsets.”

“So, I found some online…and got them and tried them and just- they’re made for men now-“

“Good to know.”

A piercing look, and Dean mimed zipping his lips shut with a roll of his eyes.

“So anyway” Sam said pointedly “I got some…and uh, didn’t want to risk you walking in on me wearing one, so I came in here.”

“And the Discotek lighting and the music?”

Aggrieved that Dean had started speaking again, Sam’s nostrils flared before he answered. “I didn’t just want to come in here and wear it and leave, Dean.”

“So, you made your own lil Corset Cave.” Dean realised “wow, Sammy, that’s pretty kinky.”

His brother looked at him as if he’d grown two heads, and Dean forcefully bit back the smirk that had crawled on his face without his approval. Man, if he’d felt dirty just seeing Sam in a corset, it was nothing compared to how he felt now that he’d openly commented on it.

“It’s just a hobby.” Sam defended, tugging at the too short sleeves of Dean’s sleep shirt as he stood there becoming increasingly more knock kneed with embarrassment.

Suddenly however, Sam seemed to notice the axe in his big brother’s hands.

“What were you gonna do?” he demanded, shyness turning to indignancy “hack me to death??”

No!”

Sam looked at him reproachfully.

“Well-“

DEAN!”

“HEY!” Dean pointed accusatorily at him once again “I thought you were a MONSTER! I didn’t expect to find my baby brother in here re-enacting ‘Super Heroes’ from Rocky Horror Picture Show!”

Sam was already shaking his head, his hands clasping the air in subdued annoyance “The fact you even know the name of that song-“

“What’s wrong with that??”

“Is that really what you want to talk about right now??” Sam hit back in disbelief.

“No!” Dean said sharply “no, it’s not! but you know what Sam- I don’t wanna talk about this!” a frantic waving of his hands as he sought out the door behind him “You do- whatever you do and I’m gonna-“ he wheeled around to step over the carnage of the door smashed to pieces at his feet, his brother standing stock still behind him.

“Dean-“

“Night, Sam!”

DEAN!”

Heart thundering and neck red with heat, Dean legged it out of the room before Sam could take a single step toward him, scurried back to his porn and his horror movies and discarded beer cans and the now pressing knowledge that his baby brother wore specially made men’s corsets and stockings and looked damn good doing it.

He locked his bedroom door upon his return and refused to answer his brother’s pleading knocks when he came by, too embarrassed and worked up to even know where to begin because Sammy, well, Sammy had looked hot.

And not in like he could appreciate his brother was fit way, because he was, but in the way that he’d noticed everything about his brother’s form in that outfit. The corset had been shimmering black, satin looking and affixed with a scooped neck and silver clasps. It almost looked like a vest, but the way it cinched in at his brother’s waist made sure that you knew it was a corset.

He hadn’t waited to find out but he imagined it laced up at the back, and the idea of Sam teaching himself how to lace and draw together a corset single handedly...well, Dean wasn’t just fucked because he couldn’t sleep without Sam. He was fucked because now he wanted to sleep with Sam.

He’d had these feelings before, had felt them lapping the brim of his sanity before Sammy left for Stanford, had felt them overflow when Sam had clung to him again after Jessica died, and had dealt with them privately and effectively ever since throughout the crest and fall of his and Sam’s tumultuous relationship.

He’d thought that Sam’s inability to look for him in Purgatory had nipped those feelings in the bud; learning that Sam had shacked up with some girl and a dog instead of finding him having quenched his thirst for his brother, but seemingly, he had been wrong. Dead wrong.

Because the sight of Sam, toned swimmer’s body, broad shoulders to tiny angled waist, wrapped up all pretty within lingerie that totally adhered to his Western fetish, well, he was well and truly fucked. Stick a fork in him because he is done. He had reached his quota on crazy, and it was his own desire for his baby brother that got him there.

Sam’s hair was longer now, more wavy and sun kissed from the summer, and Dean felt rabid as he spent the night rocking backward and forward remembering the way the sheer black stockings of his brother’s get up had moulded to his sculpted legs. How goddamn smooth they’d looked as they’d trailed up to the silk of Sam’s tiny ass panties…wondered if Sam had indeed shaved himself to softness and lost it all over again.

He managed around two hours black out sleep thanks to a bottle of cooking sherry he found in his one desperate break for freedom to the kitchen during the night, but otherwise Dean spent his evening destroyed by the visual impediment of his brother’s body enveloped in satin and awoke to not only a killer hangover, but the horror of realising he wanted to bend his baby brother over and demand to see how that corset looked from the back.

Whether he also wanted to be inside Sam when that happened, well, that was a whole other issue.

Around seven AM his brother’s feet came to hesitantly rest outside his door, the shadow of his cautious foot falls wavering as he debated whether to knock or not. Eventually however, with Dean holding his breath as he waited anxiously on the other side of the door, Sam dropped something on the ground, obscuring the hallway light dipping under the door frame, and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Dean hadn’t opened the door for a good five minutes, had been too scared Sam was playing a trick on him and would be waiting outside to bait him, but when he did it was to find his Henley freshly folded on the concrete, a cup of steadily cooling coffee next it and a bottle of aspirin alongside it.

Begrudgingly he’d taken it, his brother’s scent having impregnated the fabric of the sleep shirt so much that he wondered if Sam had worn it to bed himself. As he rubbed the soft material between thumb and forefinger, he couldn’t help but think how the shirt had touched his brother’s corset. How it had laid atop the sculpting panels of the vest like garment and how it had concealed his brother’s well-toned and heaving pectorals as he’d stared at him in horrified fluster.

He wondered if Sam would flush that same heady pink if he tightened the corset for him, if he wound the strings around and between his fingers and drew the lingerie to a tightly zipped close that kissed his brother’s spine with firm and enticing sureness.

The coffee was cold by the time Dean had calmed himself down enough to drink it, his body reacting to the idea of Sam’s corset clad body with fierce and unforgiving horniness. He’d jerked off into his borrowed Henley and came so hard he had to bite back a shout as he imagined watching his brother’s tanned back muscles shifting and straining against his constricting chest garment as he fucked into him from behind.

As if he knew what Dean had done, Sam didn’t come near his room again all that morning, and by the time he had just about given up on hoping that his brother would bring him a sandwich, Dean made the damning decision to finally leave his room and face the music.

Ironically, music was the first thing Dean heard as he left his room. It was the same new age rock / instrumental / jazz mash up that Dean had heard the night before, and it was unashamedly awful. It was an offence to the art of hearing, and he felt compelled to leave his room just to tell Sam to shut it off as much as anything else.

“Sam?” he called, rubbing at his eyes groggily as his second dose of aspirin began to truly kick in. “Sam, why are you tryin’ to kill music? Come on man, this isn’t even-“

Dean staggered to a halt as he reached the kitchen door. Inside, his brother stood at the kitchen island, stocking legged and clad in one of the ‘old men robes’ Dean had found them in the Men of Letters laundry room.

Sam obviously hadn’t expected to see him, yet again, as evidenced by the way he leapt out his skin at the sight of him. His baby brother grabbed at the lapels of his robe and tried desperately to tug it over what Dean could now see was yet another corset, this one crimson in colour and ribbed with jets of black velvet piping to accent its panelled front.

Neither brother spoke for a moment, but then Sam cleared his throat loud enough that it shook both of them into panicked lucidness.

“I made toast. I was gonna bring it to you.”

Dean found he couldn’t comprehend much beyond the curve of Sam’s sweetheart necked corset poking out between the flaps of his grey flannel robe. “What?”

Pained, Sam repeated himself. “I was making you toast.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Toast?”

Sam bit his lip hard and nodded, his eyes flitting around doggedly before they flicked over again to look at him. “Yeah.”

“I like toast.”

“I know.”

“Bacon?”

Sam looked slightly aggrieved. “No…”

Dean tried hard not to follow the line of his brother’s clavicle with his eyes. “I could use some meat.”

Another moment of silence, and when Dean looked back up to his brother’s face, he found it beetroot red.

“Dude, are you…hitting on me?”

Instantly horrified, Dean heard more than felt the panicked laugh punch it’s way out of his throat, a croaky and garbled wheeze that was far from being believable. “What?? No!” he looked away quickly. “Damnit Sam, way to make it awkward-“

Flabbergasted and pink, Sam scoffed loudly. “I’m the one making it awkward? You’re the one-“

“I’m the one what?”

A bitchy cock of his head and a pinching of his sloped lips. “You’re the one undressing me with your eyes!”

“What??” Dean barked out another high-pitched laugh. “No I’m not! I’m just trying to get over the fact that my BROTHER is wearing sexy lingerie in his own private clubhouse with sucky music and porno lighting! AND THEN!” Dean gestured wild and desperately around them “and THEN he makes me toast whilst he’s WEARING IT!”

“I TOLD you!” Sam snapped back, moving away from the counter now and storming toward Dean “it’s a hobby! And I thought you were ASLEEP! I was never gonna wear this around you normally!”

Dean’s nostrils flared, anger and sudden heated arousal swarming through him.

“Well, why the hell not?!”

Whatever Sam had expected to be thrown back at him, it certainly wasn’t that.

“What?” the younger Winchester asked weakly, stared at Dean as though he were a three headed chicken.

Dean stared back at him in equal horror.

“I-“ he swiped his tongue anxiously across his lips “I just mean, you should be able to!” Dean rushed, forcing fake bravado and insistence into his words as he quickly scrambled to cover himself. “You should be able to wear this shit if you want to!”

Unable to decipher the look Sam was giving him, Dean continued.

“So, yeah I’m PISSED!” he shoved at his brother’s chest harshly with his palm, Sam allowing himself to be swayed backward “because you- you’ve been hiding this from me! And it’s not okay! Be free, man! BE FREE!”

Sam looked just about as uncomfortable as Dean felt on the inside, his eyes narrowing and his face splotched with embarrassment and confusion as he tried to ascertain whether Dean was serious or not. Finally, he grabbed Dean’s wrist, staying his hand over the place it had fallen atop the dip of Sam’s sweetheart neckline black velvet trimmed corset.

“So, you’re saying you want me to wear these? In the day? Around you?” Sam pushed, obviously trying to make a point but also growing that smarmy shit eating tight lipped grin he always had when messing with Dean at his most stubborn and proud.

“Yep.” Dean forced out, popping the p for added emphasis. “Yeah, yep. Everywhere. Even on hunts!”

“On hunts?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Dean insisted, voice cracking “Load one of those bad boys up with rock salt and silver and you’re good to go!”

Sam’s hazel eyes bored into his so intensely that Dean had to look away, his fingers furling against his baby brother’s iron clad hold on his wrist.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice, softer now, understanding and reaching in that way he had of making you open up.

“No, look, uh, s’cool man, really.” Dean withdrew his wrist quickly from his brother’s hold.

“Just wear what you want! It’s fine.”

“Dean-“

“Where’s the toast? I’m starving.”

“Dean.”

“We got any butter? PB?”

“Dean.”

“Oooh what about PB and bacon, huh? Man, that sounds good. Did I ever tell you about the time that-“

Dean!”

Dean turned around from trying to loot the kitchen cupboards and as he did the two slices of toast his brother had made him slipped between his fingers to crash unceremoniously to the floor.

Sam was standing there, stockings shimmering with a previously unseen glimmer of crimson glitter. His robe was gone, discarded somewhere off to the right and pooled against the kitchen tile. The corset he wore was as decadent and glorious as Dean had hoped it would be. From it’s sloped top to its black velvet lined cage of a front, to the little golden clasps that hooked it together, it was a work in artistry unlike anything Dean had ever seen.

Dean had had girls dress up for him sure, he’d even worn pink satin panties for Rhonda Hurley, but this was on a whole other level. Because this was Sam, the boy he’d raised, the boy he’d died for, and the man he’d been falling for since before he was legally old enough to drink.

He’d tried to ignore it, had tried to punish and beat it out of himself, but still this fatal and sinful attraction to Sam had remained. He didn’t know how to turn it off, had never thought about acting on it, had never dreamed of touching his brother in any other way than familial, and yet, here and now, his brother, his jaw droppingly handsome and blessedly beautiful brother, was offering himself something he’d only allowed himself to dream of in fantasy.

“Do you like this?” Sam said quietly, his jaw tight as he took a gigantic leap of idiotic faith that could irreparably destroy them or, if they allowed it, irretrievably change them for the better.

“I saw the way you looked at me last night” his brother continued, his fingers flexing as he touched the velvet ribbing of his top “I thought I imagined it, but I thought about it all night…and I know I didn’t.”

Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he said nothing, his heart hammering painfully in his concave chest.

“It’s the same way you’ve been looking at me for years now” Sam revealed cautiously “I noticed it before, when I’d walk out the shower or you’d be driving and think I wasn’t looking when you looked over at me.”

“It’s been happening for years, but I didn’t know what it meant, whether you just…appreciated the way I looked” Sam chewed his cheek in between his teeth as he spoke “or whether it meant something more. Because guys, they know other guys look good, they have eyes, and it could just be that. But sometimes, the way you’d stare at me or I thought you were looking at me-“ he shrugged weakly, the corset shifting slightly as he did so, Sam’s left pec bulging upward in a show of flesh that had Dean instantly throbbing with the need to touch it. “I just- am I wrong? Or is there something there?”

Mind over exhausted and heart palpating painfully, Dean stood there gormlessly, his mouth flapping open and closed like a fish as he tried to put into words how he felt knowing not only had Sam noticed all those little glances he’d thought he’d concealed so well, but that he was now standing there offering himself up and basically confessing to wanting Dean to act on whatever feelings he had writhing and coiling within him.

“Would you want that?” he managed eventually “is that what you want?”

Sam looked at him silently, and then, like Dean was an idiot, snorted softly. “Dean, I’ve wanted that for years.” He looked at him imploringly, his eyes gentle as Dean immediately recoiled. “I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I have.”

“And no-“ Sam was quick to say “it isn’t because of anything you did.”

At that, Dean looked at his baby brother sharply, unnerved by Sam’s innate ability to see through to the core of his worry and strife no matter how convoluted their relationship got or how many years had passed.

“How do you know that?” Dean asked “how do you know you’re not…presenting yourself to me, because I ruined you for other non-related-to-you….people?”

Sam looked at him blankly, and then he rolled his eyes so hard Dean saw the whites of his eyes.

“Are you seriously asking me if I’m only here wearing a corset in front of you and asking if you want me because you were, what? Too much of a ‘stud’ growing up?”

Lips pulling down and his head rocking left and right in internal contemplation, Dean considered that. “Well- yeah.”

“I mean” he raised his voice as Sam immediately opened his to interrupt “I was a looker, you can’t deny that. Lotta girls wanted this, Sammy, there were a lotta broken hearts.”

Sam scoffed, throwing his hands up as he began to bend down to retrieve his robe. “Okay-“

“Wait” Sam paused mid bend and looked up at his brother. “Just-“ Dean wet his lips, pursed them and then grit his teeth when his tiredness got in the way of his brain formulating a worthy enough response.

“Oh, what the hell-“ If he couldn’t tell Sam, then he’d just have to show him.

Sam was wholly unprepared for Dean to grab him and so he stumbled back as their mouths crashed together. He grunted as his back hit the wall behind him and then he was grabbing Dean’s face between his hands as he surged forward and kissed him back like his life depended on it.

“Yeah” Sam breathed desperately into Dean’s mouth, huffed a hysterical little warble of disbelief against his big brother’s lips before Dean swallowed it down with reckless abandon.

He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to claim. Sam had been wanting this, he’d been wanting this, and he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a month. Sam owed him this, keeping him awake with his stupid independent sleeping arrangement when really he’d been sneaking to their back room and dressing up like a burlesque slut in private.

Sam’s thumbs pressed hard into the sides of Dean’s ears, his thumb nails piercings Dean’s tragi with the sharp intensity of his grip. The kiss was messy and needy, was forcing itself to heightened depths of lust and fervour and leaving no room for love making and only for claiming. They’d get to all that soft shit, but for now, they’d waited too long, and Dean had no qualms with taking what was rightfully his and putting an end to all the bullshit sleepless nights and pining filled days.

“Stay still” Dean huffed into Sam’s mouth, jerking him backward again as Sam’s traitorous hips tried to careen upward once more, his body jerking and flailing beneath Dean’s as he tried to pin him against the wall behind using only the weight of his own body.

“Not very good at that” Sam had the audacity to pant back, his fingers digging into Dean’s scalp now as he dragged his face toward his neck, arching it so that it offered itself up sweaty and veined, pinpricks of pebbled skin lifting delicate hairs up and tempting Dean with the expanse of unmarred and delicate flesh.

“Do you ever shut up?” Dean chastised with a groan, forcing his own hand behind his brother’s nape and tugging on Sam’s overly long sun kissed hair, eliciting a moan from his baby brother so sensual that even he felt flustered.

“No.” Sam looked at him breathlessly beneath dark fanned lashes, his mouth tipped upward on one side as he smirked at him coquettishly. “but I’m a good listener.”

“Damn right you are” Dean growled, frustrated in more ways than one. “So, you better shut up and listen to me.” He jerked a fistful of Sam’s hair between his fist and thrilled when he saw Sam’s body react to the pressure “I haven’t slept in weeks because of you, and now, I’m gonna keep you up all day, and all night and I’m gonna keep you beggin’ and needy, gonna keep you filled Sammy, and if you even think for one second about asking me to stop, I’m gonna remind you of what you put me through.”

“But I didn’t-“ Dean yanked on Sam’s hair so hard he yelped.

“You did, and you’re gonna let me do whatever I damn well want, Sam.” Dean insisted darkly, his mouth skating over his brother’s leaping pulse as he tongue teased snaking out to taste the skin of his throat. “I waited too damn long for this, and I’m not gonna wait any longer.”

“Especially when you’re looking like that.”

Sam was squirming now, his chest heaving against the dipped restraint of the crimson corset he wore. “Dean” he pleaded, making a grab for his brother’s forearm and whimpering high pitched and hissing when his brother’s teeth sank down into the meat of his neck, tongue and lips making a purpled blotching mess of his previously unmarred flesh.

He should stop, he should stop and think about this, but Dean has always been an act first and think later kinda guy, and he was too damn tired to keep pretending like he didn’t want this. And maybe, just maybe, if he finally scratched the itch of his desire for his brother, he might even be able to sleep through the damn night once more. So yeah, he was being self-indulgent, being selfish even, but Sam had basically offered himself up a silver platter, and he wasn’t stopping him. He wasn’t stopping him at all.

If anything, he was begging for it.

“Dean” Sam gasped, fingers slipping where they tried to grab onto the too short strands of his brother’s buzzed nape “Dean, please-“

“You wear this for anyone else?” Dean demanded, shoving away from his brother and taking in the cinch of his tiny waist, the incline of his smooth inner thighs as they trembled beneath his shimmering stockings. “You ever been fucked in this before, Sammy? Anyone ever told you how damn pretty you look?”

Sam, lips pinked with spittle and kisses, shook his head quickly, his hair falling forward from its tucked position behind his ears. “No” he said hurriedly. “No, I didn’t show anyone.”

“What about Amelia?”

Something akin to hurt and guilt flashed over his baby brother’s face, and then he shook his head again, hesitant this time as he said “No. Just you.”

Then, as if he had just registered the compliment, Sam suddenly began to smile, a tremored flicker of a grin as his chest swelled under the praise. “You think I’m pretty?”

Dean glowered at him, not liking the smugness he now saw in Sam’s face. “Sam.” He warned.

“You can touch it, you know.” Sam continued as if Dean hadn’t said anything, moved away from the wall his brother had crowded him up against and instead backed Dean up against the silver chrome kitchen island behind him.

Dean’s throat bobbed, and he glared harder. “I know.”

“Then why don’t you?” Sam asked, pushing Dean’s legs apart with his stockinged knee and stepping between them with purposeful intent.

“Why don’t you touch me?”

Dean’s cock gave a throb, already half hard just from the sight and feel of his brother in the few sparing looks and touches he’d managed. Sam was like a walking wet dream, was everything he’d never realised he’d wanted as he stared at his brother’s full get up for the first time. He allowed his eyes to linger now, to take in his brother’s firm and tanned muscles, the heave of his pectorals against the red of the corset.

His eyes tracked the narrowed shape of his brother’s ribs, the corset trimming the already lean musculature of his brother down to an even more delicate and strong ensemble. Unlike some party corsets Dean had seen on rowdy drunk girls, this corset didn’t flare up at the bottom and offer an ugly ledged lip, but stayed kissing his brother’s toned abdominals all the way to the red satin panties he wore beneath.

As if on cue, Sam turned himself around, his hips lifting up and back as he bared his pert and delicious backside up for Dean’s viewing pleasure. The panties he wore were tight, frilled at the edges, and Sam’s ass looked incredible, like an apple or a peach or any other globular fruit that Dean had no interest in eating unless it was baked into a pie.

His hands bracketed his brother’s waist, slipping into the indents the corset made above the bony outliers of his hipbones and then he saw it: the lacing. He’d been daydreaming about the possibility of it all night, had hoped his brother’s specialist wardrobe would be the kind that required more than a simple zipper, and now he was faced with the tightly woven silken ribbon of his brother’s back, well, his arousal overflowed with urgency.

“Holy crap, Sam.” He ran his fingertips down the snugly laced fabric. “You did this yourself?”

“Took me a while to get it right” Sam admitted, his shoulder muscles bunching as Dean’s fingers reached the top of the corset “I had to watch tutorials.”

Dean huffed out an aroused and bemused breath “Nerd.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at him, his eyes dark “I don’t see you complaining.”

And he really wasn’t.

Unable to withhold any longer, Dean began to grind himself against the offering of his brother’s ass, fully hard now and aching with adrenaline fuelled urgency. Sam immediately groaned, a soft “fuck, Dean” escaping his lips as he immediately began to rock back against him, his back muscles rippling as his crimson wrapped body undulated with each ragged and needy breath.

Dean reached around his brother’s body and pushed his hand into the front of his brother’s panties, the burning heat of his brother’s cock pressing against his fingers within an instant. “Fuck, Sammy.” Sam was big, he’d known he was, but holy shit it was one thing to know it and an entirely different thing to feel it in his palm, to grip his hard cock within his fist and swipe his thumb over the head with teasingly slow swipes to drive his brother insane with whimpering longing.

His baby brother reacted as though he’d been scorched, his hips bucking forward and then shoving back, sending his butt right up against Dean’s straining dick, letting it glide along the crease of his succulent ass in a pre-show of what he so desperately wanted to do.

“Dean” Sam garbled a moan, “Dean, fuck-“


“You like that, Sammy?” Dean tightened his grip, jerking Sam hard before slowing his movements, “you’re so damn needy, anyone would think you’d been dreamin’ of this” he smirked, rocking himself against the buck of his brother’s hips.

“Anyone would think that you’d been getting yourself off just thinking about me finding you” Dean continued, withdrawing his hand and spitting into his palm before replacing it against Sam’s throbbing and overheated cock “I mean you could’ve gone anywhere, could’ve barricaded the door, could’ve done it a thousand different places I’d never have found you. But you didn’t.”

Sam whimpered below his hand and his head thrashed, the nubs of his vertebrae pushing upward as his head hung down, his body and mind overstimulated and desperate.

“You chose to make it obvious” Dean began moving his hand over Sam faster. “You wanted me to find you. You knew I was up; you knew I hadn’t been sleeping. You wanted me to see you like this. My pretty little brother, all dressed up.”

“Dean” Sam tried to turn himself around, tried to pull away from Dean’s incessant touching.

“Am I right?”

“Dean” A breathy whimper.

“Am I right, Sam?”

Yes” Sam finally exploded, his breath punching out of him followed by a torrent of curses and whines. “Yes, fuck, okay, yes. I wanted you to find me.”

And just like that, Dean didn’t want to wait anymore.

“Mirror room. Now.”

Sam nearly collapsed as Dean hold on him suddenly disappeared and then he was following, scrambling after his big brother as Dean led them out of the kitchen and down the hallway. They’d discovered pretty early on that one of the lounge rooms, a discarded ‘break’ room for the Men of Letters, was panelled in full ceiling to floor mirrors, a questionable and yet highly arousing design choice.

Dean had dreamt of fucking in there a thousand times in the last month, but his lack of sleep and lack of sexual conquests had left that certain want unsated. Now however, he had a more than willing consort, and sleep deprivation or not, he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

“Walk into the middle of the room and take those off” Dean pointed to Sam’s silken panties “but keep the corset on. Then bend over.”

Sam looked at him sharply, expression warring between his incessant need to talk about things and his desire to be fucked, but only a moment later the latter won out, the younger Winchester striding into the middle of the mirrored break room and undressing swiftly and unapologetically. Sam kicked the panties away where they skidded to a halt against one of the brown leather sofas that made up the room’s reading nook, and then, as he had been asked to, bent over.

Dean’s heart swooped dangerous and feral in his chest as he slammed the door shut behind them, locking it for good measure in case they had any sudden and unwanted visitors. If he was the first one to get to see Sam like this, he certainly didn’t want to risk anyone else seeing his baby brother in such a compromising position.

Shucking off his clothes, Dean tried not to feel insecure next to the Adonis that was Sam. His brother was lean, was beautiful and muscular and the epitome of health: his brother ate carrot sticks for fun for God’s sake, and although Dean wasn’t unfit, he was certainly no Men’s Health cover model. Sam on the other hand, he could model the crap out of such a publication, not to mention Playboy whilst he was at it.

Keeping his eyes firmly on his brother’s sloping back, Dean, now naked, stepped behind Sam and edged his fingers between his legs, trailing a tentative finger over the furl of Sam’s pink hole.

He frowned however upon doing so, jealousy suddenly rearing its ugly head as he found his brother already eager to welcome him. “You’re wet already.”

Sam, his eyes glassy as they regarded Dean in the highly polished mirror before them, wet his lips nervously. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Dean spread the lubricant coating his brother’s hole around with his fingertip, noted how his brother was smooth even here.

Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, his mouth parting on a shuddered breath, and Dean could see how his cock, now free of it’s confines, strained with need.

“I got off last night. And this morning.”

Dean met his brother’s eyes sharply. Sam looked away quickly, but then back again, a high blush attached to his cheekbones.

“You left me your shirt.” He admitted timidly, like that explained everything.

And in a way, it did. And suddenly, Dean had to be inside him.

“Fuck, Sammy” Dean marvelled, thought of how he’d fucked into that very same shirt just that morning to chase his brother’s scent, thought how he’d really been using his brother’s very own come rag to milk his orgasm.

Sam, body trembling beneath Dean’s, let out a strangled moan as Dean’s fingers, coated with the generous remnants of lube he’d left behind, pushed greedily inside him. Dean didn’t waste time with niceties, not with Sam as fucked open as he found him. He easily pushed two fingers inside him, watching as his brother’s hole, deep pink and glistening, swallowed him needily.

Unable to focus for long on any one aspect of his brother, Dean instead watched Sam’s face as he fucked him open on his fingers. Sam’s mouth was hanging open, his face flushed red as he gasped and moaned increasingly loudly and wantonly. His hair was everywhere, stuck to his cheek, plastered to his forehead, and not for the first time, Dean wondered what it would look tied up, imagined balling his brother’s soft strands between his fist as he fucked into him roughly.

“Dean” Sam whined, forcing his attention back toward his brother’s face and away from watching the corset as it chafed deliciously against the angry red of Sam’s neglected dick.

Please.”

Sam wasn’t gonna last long, that Dean could tell for certain, recognised the breathless and whimpering whining he’d heard from a decade of sharing unspoken beat offs in paper thin-walled motel bathrooms.

“I got you, Sammy. So goddamn pretty, look at you.”

Sam looked at him pleadingly, his eyes watery as he fucked himself back against his fingers. “Dean.

Pulling his fingers out of his brother, Dean readied himself with the sweetness of the warmed lubricant from his brother’s hole, his toes curling as he grew close from even the illusion of the sensation of Sam around him.

Watching Sam’s body contort, his stockings slipping down his trembling muscular thighs, Dean wasted no time in lining himself up against his brother’s hole and finally, driving it home. His desire for his brother was indescribable, was reckless and immersive and possessive, and as he found barely any resistance to sinking inside of him, Dean found he wouldn’t want to feel any other way.

Sam all but yelled as Dean filled him, his hips shuddering with violent spasms as he tried to keep himself still, to not fuck back against his big brother before he was ready.

“Dean, Dean, oh god, Dean!”


“Fuck, fuck Sammy feel so good, fuck, god look at you, taking me like such a pretty lil slut-“

Dean couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back the torrent of foul-mouthed bravado that spilled from his lips, his verbal filter destroyed by his tiredness and his insatiable desire to own and claim his beatific baby brother.

Sam didn’t seem to mind however, instead he just moaned louder, his hands flailing as he reached for purchase upon something, anything, to give him leverage. Dean however, wasn’t that kind, wanted to see Sam as he fucked into him, wanted to see every inch of his brother’s corset clad body as it fell apart under his ministrations.

“Touch yourself, Sammy.” Dean ordered gruffly, withdrew his hand and instead grabbed Sam’s, guided it to hold his desperate and rock-hard cock. “Want you to come as I fuck you, wanna feel you tighten around me as you lose control.”

“Better do it fast.” Sam panted, but he complied, gripped himself tight and began to pleasure himself, his throat arching as he moaned, his head falling back, his knees quaking as Dean began to quicken his pace also.

Since the entire room was mirrored, everywhere Dean looked there was another variation of him fucking his brother reflected back at him, and it was to these multiplications of the visual confirmation that he was finally inside his baby brother, his baby brother who was wearing a skin tight corset nonetheless, that got him riding the wave to his orgasm.

With his hands on his crimson hips, Dean pounded into Sam with abandon, losing himself in the feel of Sam’s willing and heated body as it enveloped him. Sam was loud, could rival any porn star with the noises that left his whore’s mouth, and Dean made it his personal mission to drive as many whimpers and groans and half screamed bellows of ecstasy from his brother as he could before he came.

Sweat pooled in the indents of Sam’s collarbones, his corset rubbing his pectorals red raw as the repeated motion of Dean fucking into him loosened his oh so smugly self-tightened lacing.

Slowly and then all at once, Sam suddenly became unbearably tight around him, his body convulsing as without warning, he became to come, his body arching with the forcefulness of one possessed, his hand stripping his cock in desperation as he ruined the velvet of his corset with streak after streak of white pearlescent come.

Fuck” Dean barely had a second to compose himself and then he was coming too, his body jerking sporadically as he pumped his brother full of his own jubilation.

Sam yelled a deep and throaty moan as Dean filled him, his hands flying off his spent and twitching dick to clasp Dean’s fingers where they gripped his waist painfully tight. Forcing his eyes to remain open, Dean felt every crest and fall of his orgasm as it ripped through him, watching as Sam rocked himself back against him, fucking himself on Dean’s cock even if he had to be sore by now, his corset ruined with the mark of his own sacrilegious need for his big brother.

Finally, after he’d milked himself of a second and less intense but equally jarring orgasm within the confines of his brother’s tight and pliant body, Dean finally allowed himself to slow, his body a live wire of over exertion and adrenaline as he Sam, fucked out and trembling, pulled his body separate from his brother’s.

Their separation lasted only a moment though, because the next thing Dean knew Sam was kissing him, was grasping his face within his come streaked and clammy hands, kissing him like the world would end if he dared stop. Barely lucid, Dean tried to kiss back with the same fervour, but found himself sluggish and unmatched in his baby brother’s determination.

After a minute or so, Sam’s plundering of Dean’s mouth softened to gentle pecks and drags of lips, and a second after that, Dean found himself enveloped in his brother’s strong and supportive grip as his body slumped with tiredness, his eyes fighting to keep open as all of his arousal fed strength fled him.

“Come on” Dean heard Sam’s gentle soothing voice kiss his ears, a throaty chuckle suddenly followed by the feeling of himself being leveraged up onto something soft.

“Sammy” he reached out, trying to make sure his brother stayed close, and Sam, compliant as ever, obeyed.

“Get some sleep” Sam’s voice floated to him, a warm body wrapping around him as Dean’s eyes stubbornly refused to open now he was finally able to lay with his brother.

He should feel embarrassed, should feel indignant, but all he felt in that moment was the intense and overpowering need to sleep.

Dean’s body shuddered as a feather light kiss graced his temple, and then finally, miraculously, he was lost to the tumultuous land of sleep.

=

When Dean woke up his first instinct was panic. Firstly, he was naked, and secondly, he wasn’t alone. It was only when he tried to bolt upright, that he realised he recognised the arm that restrained him, the scar Sam had got when he’d tried to make Dean pasta that one time as a kid in some shithole motel room, glimmering puckered and silver up at him as Dean’s brain correlated his current state with finally feeling wholly awake.

As if he had felt Dean stir, Sam himself began to move, a gruff and stretch heavy huff of a groan huffing against Dean’s neck as his brother raised himself up on his elbows. Watching in the mirror opposite them, Dean observed silently as Sam, still dressed in his now dry come splattered corset, rubbed his eyes and swept his hair back away from his face, looking groggy as he too took in his surroundings.

“Hey” Sam glanced down at Dean as he spoke, pausing a second, his body tense, before he realised no freak out was coming, and he sighed a relieved and tentative smile.

“Hey.”

Dean rolled onto his back, looking up at Sam as he leant against his chest, his brother’s arms bracketing him securely. His eyes flicked over the stubble that began to shadow the youngest’s jaw.

“So.”

Sam’s fingers twitched where they rested against Dean’s thigh. “So.”

“You have any more of those corsets?”

Whatever he had expected Dean to ask, it certainly hadn’t been that. Sam’s hazel eyes blinked slowly, and then his head tilted to the side, his soft hair swaying as he contemplated his response.

Feeling sated physically and mentally for the first time in a long time, Dean put aside his scheduled freak out for later as he took in the gentile way his brother composed himself, the way he seemed so at home within his own body for the first time in his life, laying there corset clad and well fucked.

Sam’s smile could’ve launched a thousand ships when it finally came, as bright and striking as it was, and Dean ached with the knowledge that he hadn’t seen that smile in so long, that he could’ve had that joy and luminosity directed at him for years if he’d just put his ego aside and taken a chance.

That being said, as he reached up to kiss Sam’s smile and claim it for his own, now he knew he could cause it, he knew he would never relinquish that power ever again. It was like he had just won the Superbowl and Sam was the glimmering golden trophy at the end.

He had won this fair and square, and he wasn’t about to let it go.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” Sam replied coyishly, his smile furthering as Dean tried to deepen their kiss.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” Dean conceded, fingering the trailing ends of his brother’s well loosened corset strings and then letting his eyes slid closed in blissed out contentment as Sam finally kissed him back with the same zeal and determination as he had longed for.

“Maybe you’ll even try one on.” Sam suggested heatedly, his hands already sliding to grip Dean where he grew hard yet again, the only encouragement he needed his brother’s body against his own.

Dean smirked, and Sam’s eyes flinted with sudden and intense arousal as his suggestion went un-vetoed.

“Come on-“

“What?” Dean asked, jolted into standing by Sam’s insistent twining of his fingers through his as his baby brother began dragging him toward the door.

“Now.”

“Sam.”

"Now."

Dean sighed, but he couldn’t help himself smiling, and so he let himself be dragged, couldn’t ever say no to his brother, and didn’t know how to start now.

And anyway, he couldn’t blame Sam’s enthusiasm, he knew he’d look damn good in a corset.