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shootingcookielover · 9 months ago

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Villain!Donald One-Shot

Alrightttt because ppl really like the donald duck villain au...

Have a one-shot. As a treat! (I'm not promising more bc my trackrecord of finishing long-form fics is. Zero. But hey, if u like... Feel free to play around w the idea urself! Tag me in that though, i wanna read it, too xD)

Somehow, Donald had thought the days would feel more... Profound than this. That there would be an invisible weight off his shoulders, that the rage and resentment would have finally, finally cut off. Released, now that he was no longer affiliated with... Everything.

But he felt pretty much the same as he always had - bar the inevitable exhaustion of raising three children as a single parent. Uncle.

Luckily they were asleep for now, down for the night. Louie and Huey had, as always, been the easiest to put down.

How could anyone, anyone look at children - these soft, small, terribly fragile creatures and... Deem them fit for adventuring? For fighting off ancient curses and monsters and the undead?

His own childhood memories sat heavily in his mind, that old, familiar prickle of fear and adrenaline running through his system for a moment.

He shook his head, eyes moving downward to the pile of bills laid out before him. A couple newspapers were spread beside them, all open to show off whatever jobs were available right now.

Most of them had already been crossed out by him, the red crayon he'd used for it still rested in his hands. The color had started staining his feathers a little, not that he particularly minded. His shirt was equally stained, he wasn't sure he actually still had a clean one anywhere on the boat.

The boat he could only just afford with the help of the state, with the help of what little financial aid it offered for single parents. An aid, of course, heavily supplemented by one Scrooge McDuck. Living off of it made Donald feel like gritting his teeth. Like breaking something.

Not that he would. He couldn't risk waking the boys. Or breaking something important he wouldn't have the money to replace.

His head thunked face-first into the tabletop, beak squished against papers. A despondent sigh left him.

Money, it always came back to the money, didn't it? His uncle's adventures had also always cricled back around to that singular goal, no matter how much he'd claimed it was about "scientific discovery" or "archiological finds".

And Della had always eaten it up. Had strived to find the most exciting, mystical artefact, not realizing that Scrooge probably would have just ended up selling it to some schmuck.

Maybe, Donald thought, he could break into the Money Bin and just take some of that money. Certainly, once his uncle realized it was him, he would be left off the hook. What, with how they'd parted ways, with how Scrooge had insisted upon being "family".

Then again, family had always ended where the money began.

Donald balled his hand into a fist and finally raised his head from the table again. He plopped his face into his hand, staring sightlessly down at the papers he'd collected.

Even if he could manage to land a job anytime in the near future, he still needed a babysitter or a daycare of some kind. Someone to take care of the kids while he wasn't here.

The mere thought of leaving the boys with somebody else nearly left him breathless with worry. Enough so that he abruptly abandoned his seat and walked through the tiny "living room" area of the houseboat to his room. Their room.

(He'd seen the kind of terrors this world was home to, had fought them himself, even. Anyone of them making their way inside, closing in on the children - he didn't want to even think about it.)

He opened the door, silently as he could, just enough to peek his head inside. He had a baby monitor, of course, charged and ready to use on his table, but that wasn't enough.

He needed visual confirmation.

And there they were, in that crib that Donald had cobbled together, while the boys had been just in his eyesight, playing with toys.

All three were snuggled into their blanket, eyes closed, breathing calmly and only occasionally letting out little snuffles.

A soft smile crept onto Donald's beak.

Despite himself, he stepped into the room. Careful to avoid the creaking planks he'd discovered within his first week living on the boat, he approached the crib.

He reached down, where the little stuffed lion had fallen, that Donald had recently bought the boys. They'd been in love with it from day one, hardly willing to share it even with each other. Donald's heart still ached at the thought he couldn't even afford two more plushies for them.

The lion was lowered carefully and Dewey, always the most active out of the three, who lay at the very right, immediately snatched it away from Donald's hand. The movement was accompanied by a soft, baby hand smacking into his brother's, Huey's, face. The boy frowned in his sleep and turned around, but didn't wake up.

Donald let out a soft breath of relief as he pulled up the blanket a bit, to properly tuck the three in again. Louie didn't acknowledge any of the changes going on within the crib, blissfully, deeply asleep.

Donald couldn't help himself as he brushed his hand over the youngest triplet's head. For a while, he had been nothing but anxious about Louie. Because the little one had been so much sleepier, much less active than his brothers. But the doctor had reassured him that Louie was perfectly fine, his energy levels simply did not quite match up with his brothers.

The doctor had also promptly slammed him with an outrageously high bill for the appointment, but Donald decided not to think about that for the moment. He didn't want to ruin his mood again, not when he'd just managed to calm himself.

He backed away from the crib, intent to go gather the bills and newspapers he'd laid out, maybe look over them tomorrow when he'd had some sleep. (He already knew Dewey was going to wake him up in the middle of the night again, hungry and fussy and bothering his brothers in the process.)

Except as he softly closed the door, making sure it didn't produce a sound, his eyes caught on the opposing wall. Or, more accurately, the window across from him. Because that window was wide open, letting in the cold night air.

Immediately, Donald was on alert. His shoulders tensed as he looked over the room, poised and ready to defend himself as well as the babies in the next room, should it come to that.

But the room looked entirely untouched, except for the open window. A bit dirty, a bit messy, sure, but not anymore or less so than before Donald had gone to check on his nephews.

His brows furrowed into a frown. Strange.

Perhaps he'd opened the window earlier and forgotten...?

Still he didn't relax, even as he approached the window and closed it again. It looked fine, really, no evidence of being tampered with or anything. And certainly Donald would have heard anyone come in, even from the boys' room. Even through the door - it wasn't exactly sound-proof, after all.

Reasanobly reassured, Donald went back to his pile of papers. A few had scattered off the table and now decorated the ground.

With a huff Donald bent down to pick them up.

But as he did so, something red caught his attention in the corner of his vision. It couldn't be the crayon - he was still carrying that around, after all - no. It was an envelope, half-hidden under the pile of other documents.

Frowning harder than before, Donald reached out and pulled it free. His tension was back immediately and his gaze hushed over to the baby monitor for a second. But no sound came from there, nothing indicating anything being amiss.

Only the red envelope in his hands.

He didn't remember it being in the pile of mail he'd grabbed that morning - mostly bills, really - and there was no address on the front, either. All that was written on it in awfully nice, unfamiliar handwriting was "For Donald Duck".

Even as he turned it, he didn't expect to find more. And he was right, the back was entirely blank.

Already over this, whatever this was, he began ripping open the letter. Meanwhile he tried composing a mental list of Scrooge's enemies and which one was most likely to send a threat to Donald, of all people, when he had so clearly distanced himself from his uncle.

The list shattered into a pile of questions as he read the words trapped within the envelope.

"Dear Mr. Duck,

It has come to our attention that you have recently split off from your uncle and are in dire need of both a babysitter and a job. To prove that we do not have any malicious intentions toward you or the children, we propose a meeting with one of our representatives."

There was more, after that, instructions about a place to meet - a public place, a playground in the middle of Duckburg, yet not too far from the boat. Donald knew it well, went there often if only to satisfy his own need for fresh air.

It was a well-frequented place, always full of other parents - some of which had helped Donald with the kids before, some of which he'd thought of setting up a play-date with. Innocent, potential victims.

The thought of agreeing to this made every single alarm bell in his head ring deafeningly loud, but at the same time... His gaze travelled to look over the newspapers he'd been attempting to find a job in.

He sighed as he put down the envelope beside his bills. His finger tapped the tabletop a couple of times, his tired mind busy debating the pros and cons of the situation.

The cons list was pretty long, at this point.

But, even though it was shorter, the pros list held a couple of very important points that Donald would be remiss to ignore.

His musings were cut short by the sudden cry of a newborn.

Red envelope forgotten, Donald dashed into the boys' room again.

----

He'd debated calling Beakley for back-up, just some silent support in case things went south.

Now he regretted that he'd decided against it.

His nerves were high as he sat on the bench, watching the boys toddle around the sandbox. They stayed close to him today, though Donald hadn't told them to. Certainly, if he had, they'd have soread out as far away from him as possible.

Perhaps the little ones had picked up on Donald's anxiety. He had heard from other parents that children often were a lot more perceptive than adults gave them credit for.

Though his nephews were still so small. How could they realize his emotional turmoil? How could he put that on them? How could he put them in danger like this?

Hardly five minutes after sitting down, Donald stood up again.

This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. Shouldn't have listened to that letter.

He was just so damn tired--

"Huey!", he had barely been able to call when an unfamiliar voice spoke up from just beside the bench.

"Mr. Duck?"

He turned and his heart sank into his stomach. He'd been right.

This was a mistake.

Stood just beside the bench were two people, one he didn't recognise, a duck with red hair who stayed in the back, not appearing to be paying attention. The second was Black Heron.

He remembered her, remembered feeling terrified, petrified as a child, faced with the supervillain. That same feeling now rushed through his veins, alongside overwhelming concern for the boys.

His eyes darted to the side for a moment, glancing to where they'd been just moments prior. They were there still, appearing unbothered as they dug through the sand.

"Black Heron.", Donald replied, voice cool as he returned her gaze.

The other grinned, reaching out with one hand. A robotic hand, Donald noted, with sharp bits and pointed ends that he wanted never, ever anywhere near his nephews. "So you do remember me. I am flattered, Mr. Duck."

"What do you want?", Donald asked, tone harsh. This sort of thing was exactly why he'd left Scrooge in the first place. He had no desire for the boys to get involved with things like this.

Pulling back her ignored hand, Black Heron rolled her eyes. "Now, please. There's no need to be so hostile."

"Yeah! It's not like we're here tl kidnap the kids or anything! Now, if we were planning that you should be concerned, but honestly I don't know if I could do that. I mean, look at them! They're so adorable, I don't think I could focus long enough to take them! Not that I'm particularly good at focussing regardless, but my point is--"

"Quiet!", Black Heron interrupted the ramblings of her... Accomplice, a severe expression in her face.

The other woman looked sheepish and yet somehow entirely clueless and unaffected as well. "Sorry.", she said simply, giving a bit of a shrug.

Donald didn't feel very comforted by what was going on, though he supposed at least they weren't openly threatening to take the boys. He stole another glance at them. They were fine, Huey was busy digging a plastic shovel into the ground, Dewey had started shoveling sand into his beak and Louie looked about five seconds away from falling asleep next to his brothers.

Wait. Dewey was shoveling sand in his mouth.

"Dew-", he began, already starting in that direction.

But he was quickly eclipsed by the red-haired stranger Black Heron had brought along. She sped past him and picked up Dewey from the ground.

Donald's heartbeat sped up faster than the Cloudslayer could fly. "What are you- Put him down!"

But the woman wasn't paying him any mind. She was swaying Dewey back and forth, and... Talking to him.

"Y'know, I thought eating sand was a really fun idea, too, when I was younger, but then I tried it again recently and oh boy, let me tell you, getting the grit out of your teeth is nearly impossible! And, well, I mean you barely even have any teeth but, still you shouldn't get into the habit, y'know? Besides, who knows what all is crawling around in playground sand! You could get all sorts of sicknesses! Why don't you chew on this instead?"

She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out... A teething ring? She held it out to Dewey and the boy eagerly grabbed it, before shoving it in his mouth. "There, see? Much better!", the woman exclaimed before setting Dewey back down on the ground.

Donald felt a little lost at the display. "I- what?", he muttered, trying and failing to keep his worldview intact. He shook his head. Maybe all the lack of sleep was getting to him.

"Hm, yes, I was surprised, too, but apparently Agent 01 is quite adept at taking care of children.", Black Heron added, arms crossed against her chest as she watched the kids now, too.

"Oh, yeah, I had to take care of my little siblings all the time when I was younger.", the woman - Agent 01? - added, grinning up brightly at them, from where she sat kneeling in the sand, entertaining Huey.

Donald blinked a few times, still feeling unbalanced. Sort of as though somebody had pulled out the rug from under him. His unease and worry were still there, but he found mild intrigue there, now, too. The letter had mentioned there would be a babysitter. And a job.

Donald's brows knitted together again.

"What do you want?", he said again, glancing Heron's way once more, tone a touch less hostile than earlier.

-----

Working for F.O.W.L. wasn't so bad, really, Donald thought. Of course he wasn't one of the actual agents - moreso filling the role of accountant, fiddling with and filling out paperwork, but Donald didn't mind.

He liked it, actually, the quiet that came with it, the calm. Certainly he wasn't used to it; his life had always been hectic, one adventure chasing the next, chasing the next and then he'd abruptly become a caregiver for three children and the very idea of having a calm day went out the window.

But now? He tapped his pen against his desk a couple of times. He had an entire little office to himself, here in F.O.W.L.'s underground headquarters.

A desk with a chair, a couple of filing cabinets, a potted plant. A cozy little carpet on the floor, a "hang in there!"-poster on one wall. A poster with the F.O.W.L. logo on the other.

This might be the most normal experience Donald had ever had. And it was in the HQ of a secret organization that strived for world domination.

Truly only in this family, Donald thought with a sigh.

He scribbled down a couple more notes on the paper he was currently working on, before shoving it aside on the "finsihed" pile. He felt almost at peace.

His teeth came down on the back of the pen. His gaze flitted to the clock that hung above the door.

The document before him was nearly ledgible.

Nearly, because Donald couldn't focus.

Who was he kidding? He was the furthest thing from peaceful!

What was he even doing?! Working for F.O.W.L.?!

He stood up, chair spinning away behind him.

His steps were quick and crisp as he crossed the room. The door opened easily, unlocked, and as he peered outside he didn't find any guards, either.

They were underestimating him, then. He could work with that. He'd worked with that constantly when he'd been a child and none of Scrooge's enemies had taken him seriously.

The hallways looked basically normal as well, as normal as one could get, who knows how many miles under the earth.

Donald strode with confidence, face set into a snarl.

He knew where the boys where, knew that Pepper - Agent 01, the woman who'd accompanied Black Heron that first time - was in charge of keeping them safe and entertained.

How could he have agreed to that? Agreed to have a F.O.W.L. agent watch over his nephews? Even one as apparently harmless as Pepper?

He found himself picking up his pace until he was running through the hallways. Eggheads shot him confused looks as he made his way past, but didn't say anything.

He slid to a stop by the door of the "daycare".

He had to restrain himself from ripping it off his hinges, in a desperate effort not to draw more attention to himself.

In the room itself - floor covered in soft, colorful mats, looking like puzzle pieces, decked out with all sorts of toys and plushies - Pepper looked up in surprise, Louie peacefully napping in her arms.

"Donald!", Pepper exclaimed in surprise, voice subdued for the benefit of the sleeping infant.

Huey and Dewey weren't far from her, distracted by their own little toys. Dewey was chewing on that same teething ring Pepper had provided him at their first meeting.

"What are you doing to them?!", Donald snapped, voice a dangerous whisper.

Pepper blinked, part confusion, part surprise. "Uh, well, I was going to lay this little one down for a proper nap soon and maybe read Huey and Louie a story, later?"

"No.", Donald replied. "What are you doing to them?! To me?!"

"Uhm.", Pepper looked entirely lost at his line of enquiry. "...nothing?"

"Impossible!", Donald snapped. "I wouldn't have agreed to this if I wasn't, if you didn't--", his words died in an unintelligible garble of noise, frustration spilling out of him.

"Mr. Duck.", a new voice spoke up, unfamiliar in tone and cadence, yet he couldn't shake the feeling he's heard it before.

"What?!", he responded, whipping around to face the newcomer.

To face--- Donald blinked a couple of times.

Was that... The head of Scrooge's board of directors? What?

"Mr. Duck, I undrstand that this is all a lot to rake in, but I assure you, we are doing nothing to you or your nephews - aside from providing them proper childcare, of course."

Donald's mind restarted suddenly and he glared. "How do I know you're telling the truth? You and your people have tried to kill me a dozen times!"

"Oh, no, Mr. Duck, I understand how you could have come to that conclusion, but that is not what we - what F.O.W.L. - is all about, not at all. We have not been attempting to kill you, as you put it, but rather to put a stop to your uncle."

There was something awfully calming, relatable even, in the old vulture's stance, in his tone of voice, the way he spoke. Donald huffed, regardless, glancing over at the kids again.

Huey was staring up at him, now, eyes big, tiny beak curving into a smile.

"So you can take over the world.", Donald scoffed, attention returning to the vulture. He didn't remember the guy's name, but he'd seen him before plenty of times. Always complaining about money spent.

Surprisingly, he didn't try to deny it. He nodded. "Indeed. To make it safer. For you, for me, for... Them.", he gestured to the children.

Pepper was humming a tune as she played with Dewey, Louie still securely wrapped in her arm.

"So that none of them have to go through what we did."

"...we?", Donald repeated, confused.

The vulture wasn't looking at him, anymore, gaze placed on something far off, distant. "Indeed. You are not the only one who suffered through a childhood of danger and adventure at the hands of their family."

Donald jerked back in surprise, eyes going wide. "What- you-"

"My grandmother. She always took me along, no matter how little I wanted to.", the old vulture sighed, gaze meeting Donald's once more. "I only want to ensure that this fate does not befall any more innocent children, Mr. Duck."

Donald glanced betweent he vulture and the children still expertly being tended to by Pepper.

Of course Black Heron had already given him a basic run-down of what had just been explained to him, but... Well, it was hard to argue with that look in the other's eyes.

Donald had seen it plenty of times; that haunted, hollow thing. Every time he'd looked in a mirror, they would stare back at him. Every villain, every menace, every danger he'd faced as a child.

Heron hadn't just made up a story to convince a poor, sleep-deprived Donald to join F.O.W.L. he realized.

Tension bled out of his frame as he stepped into the room. He knelt besides Huey, smiling as the child grabbed ahold of his finger.

"...I'm sorry.", Donald muttered, "I don't know what... I understand."

"That's alright.", the vulture answered, easily. "You were traumatized. I know from experience that trusting people can be hard after what we've both experienced in childhood."

Donald gave a quiet chuckle. It was nice to have someone who understood.

Of course, Della had been there - thinking of her made him wince with pain - but she'd never quite realized how much Donald resented the adventures she loved so much.

He reached down, pulling Huey into his lap.

The little boy giggled, gurgling a couple of indistinct sounds.

He would help make sure no other child had to grow up as he did. Especially these children.

His children.

-+-+-+-++

Wow would u look at that! I have no idea how i got here but i kinda like it lol

Poor Donald being put under a lot of pressure aint he? Idk what else to say tbh

If u liked it. Please let me know :D

If u didnt like it... I do appreciate constructive criticism lol

Yes, I made Pepper Agent 01 to insinuate that she was the first egghead that joined F.O.W.L.. I just thought that was a fun idea x3

#ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #donald duck #villain donald #no i didnt proofread this #yes this was first posted as a reblog but i kinda wanted it as its own post too #not beta read we die with the same fervor scrooge refuses to

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 2 years ago

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Make a Wish

This fic was inspired by The Time Dean was Sam’s Girlfriend by fleshflutter on LiveJournal

This is it! The thing I've been working on writing all year. It's finally done!

Dean and Jessica share a birthday, so what would happen if they both made birthday wishes at the same time that caused them to swap bodies? The inspiration story was fluffy and silly and adorable, but what if things were more explicit? Like, way more explicit?

This is a gender-bending body swap fic were the characters' sexual partners do not know who is actually inhabiting the body they are having sex with, so it's non-con. It's a bit of a dead dove, so if you don't think you'd be okay with the tags, please don't read. If you do read, I hope you enjoy it!

Relationships: Dean/Sam, Sam/Jessica, Jessica/omc

Warnings: Non-Con resulting from body swap situation and characters not making good choices

Read on AO3

Words: 14,476

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 24th, 2004

If anyone had ever tried to tell Dean that he would be spending his 25th birthday alone in some dive bar off the highway somewhere between Bumfuck and Podunk, middle America, he would have said that sounded about right. Especially after the last few years. Being alone had become, more and more, par for the course.

His dad, increasingly absent, which was fucking saying something when you considered John Winchester’s stellar trackrecord in that particular department, had been off on a solo hunt for a week now. Before heading out, he’d tasked Dean with a simple salt ‘n’ burn, a milk run that had taken all of a day and a half to complete. So now Dean was expected to just sit here, in this rest stop that was pretending to be a town, and fucking wait.

Dean hated waiting. Waiting gave you too much time to think, even though he had nothing good to think about, and thinking like that got you into trouble.

It was a Saturday night and, other than Dean, there were only four other people in the bar, three other patrons who all looked to be well into their fifties and the bartender, who was a decently handsome guy, probably did well enough with the ladies, but he had a beard and skinny jeans that gave off hipster vibes that made Dean decide right off the bat that he didn’t particularly like the guy.

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open with his thumb. The screen lit up, his thumb hovered over the button that would pull up his contacts. Once again, Sam hadn’t bothered to call him on his birthday and the urge to give his brother shit about it was strong.

Eight months.

He flipped the phone shut and sat it on the surface of the bar to the right of his beer, and tapped his ring against it twice, the silver making a satisfying clink against the hard plastic. It’d been eight months since they’d spoken.

Dean had called on Sam’s birthday, no answer, so he’d left a message, “Happy Birthday, Bitch. Call sometime, let me know you’re still alive.”

It’d taken almost another month before he’d worked up the nerve, which was almost entirely worry-fueled anger at that point, to call again. It only rang twice.

“Dean?”

Fear that had been slowly choking him from the inside let go all at once, replaced just as suddenly by irritation. “So you are alive.”

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t called you back. I’ve been drowning in finals.”

“Yeah right, you know you aced ‘em.” He could hear Sam smile, without him saying anything, and that should have made things better but it really didn’t. But they’d shot the shit for a bit, conversation light and barely surface deep, a shallow script whose only consolation was the reassurance that Sam was okay, better even, he sounded like he was thriving. A weird lump suddenly formed in Dean’s throat. “Hey, I gotta go, but happy belated.”

“Oh? Okay, thanks.”

“Later. Hey? Pick up the damn phone sometime.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

That had been in June. Neither of them had reached out since. He gave the phone a spin on the heavily varnished wood, set it twirling in place like a top before reaching for his beer. One long pull and it was drained.

“‘Nother one?” The bartender asked as Dean sat the empty bottle down.

“You know what? Fuck it, it’s my birthday, let’s step it up to bourbon.”

“Birthday, huh? And you’re lucky enough to be drinking here?” There was a barely restrained chuckle at the end.

“Yep.” Dean said with a little extra pop at the end of the word.

“Damn.” The bartender said as he turned and selected a bottle, grabbed a glass, and was back pouring two fingers of amber liquid with practiced ease. “This one’s on the house, birthday boy.”

Dean’s face lit up in a genuine, if somewhat rueful smile, “Thanks.”

The bartender nodded and busied himself further down the bar.

Dean slowly swirled the glass a few times. “Yeah.” he said, quietly, “Happy birthday.” Looking down at his phone again, he raised the glass to his lips and took a drink. He closed his eyes as the smokey, thick burn chased a wish for something out of reach down his throat.

A wave of vertigo crashed over him, so sudden and hard that he was glad he’d been sitting down. Even though he’d watched him pour the drink, the idea that maybe the bartender had drugged him suddenly seemed like a very real possibility.

Wait, why did he smell candle smoke? Shit, was he having a stroke or something?

He opened his eyes and had to grab onto the edge of the table to steady himself as his legs threatened to give out. Bar and barstool were gone, replaced with a house and a small dining table. The room he was now in was full of people looking at him with bright smiles, who all started clapping and cheering as soon as he opened his eyes. Smoke curled up from a forest of little, thin candles sticking out of a flowery cake on the table right in front of him that had, “Happy Birthday, Jessica!” written on it in fancy, blue, cursive icing.

There was a flurry of movement to his left and a pair of pretty brunettes started cutting into the cake and passing slices around. Everyone was smiling and laughing and acting incredibly… normal, like nothing weird had just happened.

Something moved way too close to Dean’s face and he flinched and tried to swat it away. As he touched it, he froze, eyes fixed on his fingers and the lock of long, wavy, blonde hair that tugged on his scalp as he tried to get it away from him. Long blonde hair that was being held not by his own fingers but by delicate, slender, fingers with nails painted pale pink, all glossy and graceful and… soft.

To say it was disconcerting would have been the understatement of all time. He was looking at a hand that was very obviously not his own, but that moved and felt as if it were. He gave another tug to the lock of hair, harder this time, and although it didn’t exactly hurt, it was definitely attached to his head, not a wig or anything like that. He brushed it back and confirmed he now had a full head of hair that came down way past his shoulders.

Chick hands, chick hair… his eyes went wide and he looked down his chest and stared right into cleavage.

He had tits!?

“Oh fuck.” he said in a chick’s voice.

“Hey?” A warm touch to his upper arm caused Dean to turn and look right into the throat of a massive guy standing behind him. Tilting his head back to look up he was met with bright eyes and a dimpled smile that he knew better than his own reflection.

“Sam?”

“Happy Birthday, Jess.” That smile, still sweet but with a gleam, a glint that Dean hadn’t seen since they were both teenagers. One of Sam’s hands came up, jesus he had big hands, and gently brushed along Dean’s jawline, thumb sweeping his cheek as long fingers slipped into his hair behind his ear. Sam’s gaze held Dean’s focus as he leaned down.

Had Sam gotten even taller?

Everything was moving in slow motion, Dean couldn’t feel his heart beating, wasn’t breathing, but his mind was spinning, scrambling to sort through way too much information, too much change, just too much, way too fast. So perhaps it was understandable that he didn’t react in time to pull back.

Just a fleeting, Oh fuck, before their lips met and Dean’s heart leapt into action like he’d been shocked awake. Sam was warm and familiar, but the way he pressed and pulled at Dean’s bottom lip, just a promising hint of more, made a small noise escape Dean’s throat that didn’t sound at all like disgust, like it should have.

Someone wolf whistled loudly nearby, eliciting another round of clapping and cheers from the crowd and Sam pulled back, twin spots of red blazing on his cheeks. He laughed in a way that Dean hadn’t seen in ages, playful and easy and open, as he glanced around at these people who were obviously his friends. A spark of something anxious twisted up in his chest. Dean blinked a few times, licked his lips, and swallowed, winded like he’d just sprinted up a hill too fast.

“Get it, Winchester!” a guy hooted from somewhere behind Dean.

“That’s real mature, Brady.” Sam said, his hand sliding down Dean’s shoulder and the back of his arm, coming to rest low on his back, fingertips brushing against the strip of bare skin between his top and skirt. The skirt thing was weird… drafty, but the warm press of Sam’s fingers sent little static sparks through him and a blush heated his cheeks, spread down his chest, and he was once again very aware of the fact that he currently had boobs… and a pussy instead of a dick.

This was bad, his mind raced like a cartoon character running in place before his thoughts finally caught traction with the ground and lunged forward. He wasn’t him, wasn’t in his own body. He was somehow in the body of Sam’s girlfriend?

Of all the bodies in all the world, I had to end up in this one?

But Sam hadn’t kissed him, he’d kissed his girlfriend, who’s birthday just happened to be the same as Dean’s? Which was… okay, yeah, that was weird as fuck. But she’d obviously just blown out the candles on her cake, which would have been the same time that he’d had swallowed down his own wishful thoughts.

Shit. He swallowed again. Shit, shit, shit.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be right back.” He said, trying not to show how unsettled he was at sounding like a chick, reminding himself that he looked like a chick, sort of was one right now. He took a breath, and told himself to play it calm and poker face the situation.

“You okay?” Sam asked, his eyes squinting slightly the way they did when he was concerned, or getting suspicious, his thumb rubbing against Dean’s skin, sending those sparks flying all through him again.

Oh, so not good. This is bad.

“Yeah, good, I just need to go to the bathroom.” Dean smiled as he felt for pockets in the clothes he was wearing, but found none. Where would she keep her cellphone? “Did you see where I put my purse?”

“Yeah, it’s right over there.” Sam looked at an end table by the sofa in the adjoining room.

“Thanks!” Dean said as he broke away from Sam and grabbed the purse.

Taking stock of his surroundings, it looked like they were in a two-story house. It was a little worn and run down, but decorated in a way that practically screamed college kids lived here. Probably a rental near campus, it had that vibe. It was also older, which meant that the bathroom was likely upstairs. He unzipped the purse as he went up the stairs, and thanked whatever luck he had that there was a little flip phone tucked inside. He found the bathroom and was punching in his number as he closed the door.

~~~

“Happy Birthday, tooooooo, yooooouuuuuuuuu!!!!”

Jessica thought of a wish and blew out the candles on her cake, then blinked and started coughing at a sudden burning in her throat. She must have inhaled the candle smoke. While her eyes were closed the room gave a lurch and she was suddenly sitting down.

A loud solid thunk made her flinch as she opened her eyes. Dark amber liquid sloshed in a thick bottomed glass that had just dropped onto a heavily varnished wood bartop a few inches below an outstretched man’s hand in front of her. Whiskey and the lingering, stale ashtray smell of old cigarette smoke hit her all at once. Looking quickly to her right, to see who had dropped the glass, she found that the man's arm that was connected to the hand that’d dropped the glass, was attached to her?

“What the…?” The voice that came out was not hers. It wasn’t even close. It was a man’s voice, with a timbre that resonated deep in her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand but then immediately jerked her hand away at the feel of a man’s fingers touching her lips and the feel of scratchy stubble against her fingertips. Her mouth tasted like whiskey, that’s what was burning in her throat, like she’d just taken a drink from the glass in front of her.

She looked down at herself and saw a broad, flat chest filling out an oversized leather jacket with a thermal shirt underneath, and long, muscular, denim-clad legs. Her hands were thicker, wider, than they should be, with short-trimmed nails, and a few scrapes and scabbed cuts across the knuckles.

Over the sound of Guns ’n’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle she could hear a couple of voices talking not too far away. She looked around. She was in some ratty, hole-in-the-wall bar that smelled like a lifetime of regret and spilled beer. There were only a few other people. An older couple that looked like they’d probably gotten here on a Harley, were sitting down the bar to her left, they were the ones talking, but they weren’t close enough for Jess to hear what they were saying. And there was a middle-aged guy who looked like he might be a trucker way down off to her right. He was drinking a Budwiser and staring into space, lost in his own thoughts. There was also a bartender busying himself with restocking the bar. He was probably in his mid-20’s, with a neatly trimmed beard, blue plaid flannel shirt that was buttoned up but not tucked into his well-fitting, black jeans that were rolled into wide cuffs above hiking boots. She watched him move some bottles around on the shelf along the wall and realized that there was a mirror there that ran the entire length of the bar.

Slowly standing and looking ahead into the mirror, she watched as a guy stood up and stared back at her. He had short, sandy brown hair, spiked a little in the front, and big light colored eyes. The dim lighting and collection of various neon in the room made it hard to tell if they were blue, gray, or green, but they were wide. He looked like he was also in his 20’s, handsome, really handsome, but no one she’d ever seen before. She raised her hand and watched as the guy in the reflection did too. She touched her face… his face? He mirrored the movement.

“What the hell?” She said, in a voice that seemed to fit the reflection.

“Everything okay, man?”

It took a few seconds to realize that the bartender was looking at her, that he’d been speaking to her.

“Uh?” What in the hell was happening? Was she dreaming? Was this some weird hallucination? A byproduct of having a stroke? Had she somehow fallen and hit her head? “I don’t know…”

The bartender’s brow furrowed. “Something wrong with the drink?”

She looked down at the glass again. Should she say anything? Say something to get some help? What would she say? Her heart was racing. Maybe she should slow down, take a minute before letting the looming panic take over. “No, it’s uh, it’s fine, it’s good. I’m good. Um, how long have I been here?”

“I don’t know, maybe about an hour.” He poured water in a glass and sat it down in front of her, next to the whiskey. “I know the bourbon here isn’t that great,” he shrugged and gestured around as if that explained it, “maybe take it easy?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just had a weird… um sort of deja vu thing for a minute there.”

He nodded at her and moved away down the bar again.

Okay, something is going on, but it’ll be okay, I can figure this out, she thought as she sat back down on the stool. That’s when she noticed the hard press of a wallet in one of her pockets. Pulling it out and flipping it open revealed a driver’s license with her reflection’s photo on it.

“James Page, huh?” She said quietly to herself as she looked through the rest of the wallet. There were a few credit cards, about a hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and a condom… classy. She looked at the ID again, it listed his birthday as 01-24-1979, “What?”

Okay, so today was also his birthday. That felt too coincidental to be a coincidence.

Absently, she took a drink of water. If this was a dream, it was the most mundanely detailed dream she’d ever had, the water tasted like chlorinated tap water. She started to pull one of the credit cards out when a cell phone sitting on the bar in front of her, had that been sitting there this whole time, started to ring with an obnoxious metal guitar riff. She grabbed it up and looked at the caller ID. It was her own cell number!

Quickly answering she said, “Hello?”

“Please tell me your name is Jessica.” a woman’s voice said.

“Um…”

“My name is De… uh… James Page, that’s my phone you’re talking on, please tell me that you’re Jessica Moore?”

It sounded weird when heard from the wrong end of a phone call, but she recognized her own voice speaking back to her.

“Yeah, yes, that’s me… what’s happening?”

The woman on the other end of the phone gave a loud sigh before continuing. “Thank god, it’s just a straight swap. Okay, so, this would normally sound really unbelievable, but you already seem kinda freaked so I’m guessing you’ve noticed that we seem to have switched bodies.”

“But, I mean how is that, how is this even possible?” Her heart was pounding in her ears. This is crazy, it’s crazy…

“Did you make a wish when you blew out your birthday candles, Jessica?”

“What? Why is that important?”

“Well, you see, today is my birthday too. Happy Birthday by the way. And I uh, I made a wish right before I opened my eyes in your body. So I’m wondering, since I know you’d just blown out the candles on your cake, did you make a wish too?”

“I… I did, yeah.”

“Okay, good. What did you wish for, exactly?”

She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her conversation before replying. “I wished I knew more about my boyfriend’s family.”

“Huh. Okay. Who’s, uh, who’s your boyfriend? What’s his name?”

“Sam… Winchester. Do you know him?”

There was a slight pause. “No. But I’m guessing he’s the really tall guy, soulful eyes, needs a haircut?”

“He doesn’t… I like his hair, but, yeah I guess that sounds like him.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

“Wait, what did you wish for?”

There was a longer pause before James continued, “To find someone I haven’t seen in a while. I dunno maybe they’re around here somewhere? Where am I?”

“Palo Alto. Uh, that’s in California. Sorry, maybe you already knew that. Where am I?”

“Missouri, kinda middle of nowhere honestly. Sorry about that. Look this may not have anything to do with our specific wishes, right? Maybe things just got mixed up because we both made wishes at the exact same time? I don’t really know how all this Freaky Friday stuff works. But with any luck it’s temporary and everything will be back to normal tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How is this even real?”

“I don’t know. Look, there’s a set of car keys in my right front pocket, they’re to a black ‘67 Chevy Impala parked out front. It’s an automatic, can you drive?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, good. If you turn right out of the parking lot, go about a mile down the road to the Sleep EZ Motel, I’m checked into room 12. The room key is in my other pocket. My stuff is already inside and the room is paid up until the end of the week, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Just don’t hurt my car and don’t get me killed, okay?”

“Wait, that’s it? I’m just supposed to wait?”

“Unless you’ve got any other bright ideas?”

“What about Sam? My friends? What are you going to do?”

“Hopefully? Nothing. I’ll pretend to be you, promise not to get you hurt or screw up your life, okay? And like I said, with any luck this’ll all sort itself out in the morning.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Well, I guess we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Hey, Jessica?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a little about yourself.”

~~~

Dean hung up the call and deleted it from the phone’s call history. When this was all over, the last thing he wanted was for there to be any way for this to get traced back to him. He tucked the phone back in Jessica’s purse and looked in the mirror.

She was a hottie, Sammy had good taste. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, full pouty lips, and with a body… Dean gave a quiet whistle. Then he looked around furtively, as if anyone else could see him in the bathroom and somehow suspect him of doing something pervy, but then he thought, fuck it, possession is 9/10ths of the law, right?

Biting his bottom lip and pulling his shirt up, exposing a lacy bra and a really nice set of tits. Cupping them with his hands, feeling their weight, massaging them a bit and feeling his nipples get hard in response was hot enough but looking in the mirror was almost too much, like watching porn that you could actually feel. Until he caught his own stare, the face of some girl that he’d just spoken to on the phone looking back at him, and it hit home that this was someone else’s body that he was a guest in.

“Ah, shit.” he said to the reflection and pulled the shirt back down, smoothed it into place. He looked down, thinking about how weird it felt to not have a dick. He looked at the toilet reflected behind him. Maybe he should at least try to pee while he was in here.

“Sorry, Jessica, but somehow I don’t think either of us is going to be able to avoid peeing all night.” It took him longer than he'd anticipated, what’s so hard about peeing after all, but there was the confusing clothing and then the wiping, and new sensations that came with that, which he definitely tried to not pay too much attention to, and then the readjustment of the clothing.

When he was done and verified in the mirror that he looked normal, you know, for being someone completely different, he took a step towards the door and froze with his hand on the doorknob.

Okay, you can do this. Just go downstairs and pretend to be a girl. How hard can that be? Just go pretend to be Sam’s girlfriend. He’s only, like, the smartest guy you’ve ever known, who’s been trained since he was a kid to notice when a situation isn’t right, when someone isn’t themselves, when they’re actually a monster… Fuck.

He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. No, it’s cool. You’re cool. You can do this. You’ve bluffed your way through more dangerous situations with less information to go off of. And Jessica told you enough to fake it for one night. It’s just one night…

“Jess,” Sam was looking at him when he came down the stairs, his face lit up despite a shadow of concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Dean smiled and walked towards him.

As he got within reach, Sam wrapped one arm around Dean and pulled him in snug against his side. Then Sam leaned in and kissed the top of his head, just like Dean used to do before Sam had the audacity to get taller than him. Dean didn’t need to fake his smile but then a wave of guilt threatened to well up, he thinks you’re her, and he had to look down, swallowing thickly. Sam gently squeezed him in a one armed hug.

When they were kids, Sam had been very touchy-feely, clingy, always in close contact with Dean, casual, almost unconscious, but now, unlike then, it seemed a lot less casual. Heat, of a sort that wasn’t just physical, flared up with every touch. And Dean could have convinced himself that it was just Jessica’s body responding in a sort of pavlovian way to a still newish lover. But the problem was, Dean knew better.

Sam’s hands were huge and gentle and warm, so fucking warm, against his side, Jessica’s side, his arm, her arm, his back, not his, his hip… It was maddening but he just needed to play along, like it wasn’t destroying him. Over the years Dean had fine tuned his resolve to push all of this away and shut it up behind a door marked “Stuff You Don’t Get to Have", and now, with a series of simple touches, Sam had unknowingly jimmied the lock and opened the door. Sam was always so good at opening doors.

The summer between Sam’s junior and senior years of high school, before the Stanford bomb had been dropped on their lives, John had been chasing down yet another lead on what had killed mom. Dean had no idea what it was, where he went, because he’d given him practically no information, which was beyond frustrating, but kinda par for the course. But John had left them with Bobby because it had been on his way, apparently.

While they were there, Dean helped Bobby fix cars, and what they couldn’t fix, they’d strip down for parts. Sam had gotten a job at a restaurant washing dishes. It was grueling in the heat and he’d be reeking of garbage from taking out the trash at the end of the night. But Dean would always be there, waiting to drive him back to Bobby’s. He’d have a cold beer open and waiting for Sam when he was showered and in clean clothes. More often than not, they’d watch a movie on the tv, choosing from Bobby’s collection of vhs tapes. They’d take over Bobby’s couch, sprawling and slowly gravitating towards each other, leaning together and laughing over what they were watching. They kept their voices quiet so as to not wake Bobby, who inevitably fell asleep in his armchair or was already up in bed. Sam had been more relaxed and at ease than he had been in a couple of years.

Life was simple and Dean felt just about as free as he could ever remember feeling, without the weight of expectations, there in that safe place and time.

When John came back he was short-tempered and easily bristled. Things between John and Sam, always rough, had gotten steadily worse. John was harder on them both, trying to establish his authority, which only made Sam withdraw when dad was around.

Sam started talking about leaving together, just going somewhere and getting real jobs, the kind that paid in cash instead of scars. But Dean wouldn’t think about it, well, he wouldn’t let Sam think that he was thinking about it. Kept putting it off, until it was too late and Sam was leaving for real, full ride to fucking Stanford, and one last attempt to get Dean to come with him. He’d pulled Dean aside while he was packing, held onto his hand like they were still little kids, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to stay here, you can come to California…”

“I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dad…”

“Dad is going to self-destruct, Dean, this life is going to kill him and if you stay… if you stay,” Sam’s eyes were swimming in unshed tears that he swallowed back before continuing, “You don’t have to stay. You can do anything, Dean, anything.”

And Dean almost believed that, for one long torturous moment, looking at his brother, the only person that stood any chance of convincing him to break away from his dad, from this life, Dean could almost see it. Sam pulled him closer, slid his hands behind Dean’s neck and rested their foreheads together, silently begging. And that door in Dean’s mind cracked a bit and threatened to break open. Sam didn’t want all that, didn’t want… no. Dean slammed the door closed and locked it.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Dean took a deep breath and placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders did the hardest thing he’d ever done, he pushed Sam back enough so he could clearly see his face and said, “I’m not going.”

Shock, grief, embarrassment, hurt and anger all seemed to flash across Sam’s face at once, but it was the anger that stayed long after the others had been packed away. The anger was what Dean had seen when he closed his eyes that night, thinking about Sam on a Greyhound to California.

But here, now, he leaned in and closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of being next to his brother for the first time in years. He breathed in and could smell Sam,even though his mind was having trouble processing the scent. It was Sam, he smelled just like he always did, but it was like this body, which didn’t have the same sensory memory of a childhood spent together in the Impala and rundown motels, processed the scent through different filters, all of which were good, all of which lit up like fireworks with each breath, and shot that giddy, new love/lust feeling through him mixing with his memories.

Sam’s hand was curled loosely around Dean’s, Jessica’s, hip, his thumb resting on the waistband of his skirt again, long fingers flexing in and gently pressing into the hollow of his hip bone, and it was doing things that were steadily eroding what tenuous self-respect Dean had.

Sam would kill him if he found out that this was him and not Jessica. Shit, maybe he should have said something right away.

“Wait, so if the wish is what switched you then that means that when I kissed… Dean, you kissed me back!”

Yeah, no, too late for that now, he just needs to make sure that Sam never finds out.

They made small talk and drank. Jessica was a lightweight, which Dean found out as he was finishing off his third beer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a room lurch that hard on three beers. He stumbled slightly as he stood up to get another. Sam reached out a steadying hand.

“Whoa. Easy there.”

Dean laughed it off, “I got it, I’m good.. Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” Dean said, softening it with a smile that may have been a bit more shmoopy than he’d intended, but it seemed to do the trick as Sam held up his hand in an “I give up” sort of gesture and let Dean duck into the kitchen.

There were photos stuck all over the fridge, and Dean recognized several of the people from tonight, including Sam. He studied them all while he drank a glass of water before grabbing a couple more beers from the fridge. There was a bottle opener on the coffee table and, sitting back down next to Sam on the sofa, Dean popped the top off one beer and sat it in front of Sam before popping the top of the other for himself.

Sam huffed an amused breath through his nose. Dean looked at him, took in the bemused look and asked, “What?”

“It’s nothing, just,” Sam laughed and shook his head, “you just reminded me of someone.”

Shit. “Oh? Who?”

Before Sam could answer, the conversation in the room reached shrill levels when Bria announced that her boyfriend Brad had proposed to her.

“Jess, I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to say anything because tonight’s your night, but…” the bottle blonde held out her left hand to show off a glittering diamond.

Everyone spent the next half an hour or so congratulating Bria and Dean tried his best to play at being interested. He was worried that that somehow he’d given himself away but Sam was smiling at him again, all dimples and teeth and just pure fucking sunshine, and Dean inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and smiled back. He was simultaneously too drunk and way too sober for this situation.

~~~

Jess should have left and found the motel, but what was she going to do in some guy’s random motel room until morning? Pace around and worry? Staying put seemed like an easier option, doing nothing usually was, at least for now. Absentmindedly she picked up the glass of bourbon and took a sip. It burned a bit but tasted surprisingly okay. She thought that James obviously drank the stuff and his taste buds must be used to it. She kept sipping at it.

This couldn’t be happening, it had to be a dream.

She realized that she had to pee. She’d had to for a little while now but had been unconsciously putting off dealing with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the sort of thing that could be ignored forever. Looking around, she spotted the restrooms. She turned around on the stool and stood up, ready to be wobbly after drinking and being in someone else’s skin. But she felt solid, and strong. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar again it occurred to her that she was going to have to use the men’s room.

This was most likely just a dream, she could do this.

Luckily, since the bar was practically empty, the bathroom was too. Stall or urinal, that was the question. She opted for a stall, just in case someone came in, it felt less weird that way. Closing the door behind her, she stared down at the toilet before looking at the front of the jeans she was wearing. For the first time she thought about the fact that some guy was in her body and would probably have to pee at some point too. Ugh.

Well, she could do this, it was just peeing, everyone does it, right? She unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped, then pulled the waistband of the boxer briefs away and down with her left hand while reaching in with her right.

Okay, yeah, weird.

A couple moments later, she was washing her hands at the sink. That was definitely an experience, odd but kinda fun in a rather intrusive feeling way.

She looked at her reflection, really studied it since she wasn’t being watched. She smiled, frowned, and tried a whole range of emotions. Damn, this guy was attractive. Big green eyes with lashes she would have killed for, freckles, perfect lips, and he was tall too, although not as tall as Sam. And he was in great condition, not like one of those guys that works out in a gym all the time, but strong and lean, solid. His hands were callused, knuckles scarred, like he worked with his hands.

“Who are you?” She asked as she looked in the mirror again before leaving the bathroom.

Sitting back down on the barstool, she caught the bartender’s attention. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jeremy.”

She nodded. “Can I get another, Jeremy?” and she tapped the empty bourbon glass with the silver ring on her right hand before sliding it forward.

He nodded, grabbed a bottle and poured a generous amount in the glass. “You feeling better?” he asked as he slid the glass back towards her.

She nodded, “Eh. It’s been a weird night.”

“Not the best birthday?”

“No. I was supposed to spend it with my boyf…” she stopped herself suddenly and tried to switch gears, “I had plans, that, no offense, didn’t include this fine establishment.” Shit, she’d almost outed this guy that she didn’t even know. Maybe he was into guys, but maybe not, how would she know, and it was always better to be safe than sorry when literally walking in someone else’s shoes.

Jeremy, if he noticed the slip, didn’t give any indication of being bothered by it. He leaned on one elbow against his side of the bar. “Are you traveling for work or something?”

She looked at him, honestly not sure how to answer that question. She knew she had a room at a motel nearby, but why?

Before she could answer, Jeremy continued, “I mean, there’s not a whole lot of here here, you know? This is not really a destination. And,“ he leaned a little closer and spoke in a more conspiratorial tone, “you’re like an eleven compared to the locals.” He nodded at the few other patrons and cracked a smile.

Okay, so maybe he had picked up on her little slip, but she didn’t think he was a threat, so she just laughed it off and took a sip of her drink.

~~~

Later, standing in the kitchen trying to follow some random friend group drama that could have almost been a telenovela storyline, Sam had come up behind Dean and wrapped him in a hug, hands crossed over his waist, his face nuzzled into his hair behind his ear. Dean’s eyes closed as a delightful shiver ran through him and settled between his legs.

“Ugh, get a room, you two!” Sam’s friend Brady said, teasingly.

Without looking, Sam grabbed a handful of chips out of the open bag on the counter and threw them right at the guy’s face, who actually managed to catch one in his mouth to raucous applause.

“Come on.” Sam breathed, low and quiet in Dean’s ear, and threading their fingers together, steered him out of the room.

“What? Where?”

“It’s getting late and I promised, didn’t I?”

Dean didn’t know how to respond because he had no idea what Sam was talking about.

~~~

Jessica sipped at the bourbon, not sure if she enjoyed the taste or not but the smooth burn was sort of growing on her. She sipped and she thought about what she should, or even could, do. Trapped in a stranger’s body, in an unknown town, states away from anyone she knows, what were her options? She could go find the motel room that matched the key in her pocket, and what? Watch crappy motel tv until she falls asleep in some stranger’s bed, hoping that she wakes up in her own body in the morning? That honestly sounded depressing as fuck. So she stalled, and sipped, and sat, and tried not to completely freak out.

~~~

His little brother was all hands, huge, long, spidery, gentle hands. Hands that covered so much, especially on Jessica’s smaller body. He smoothed over his… her long hair, down his… dammit, her arms, down her back. Eyes shining and bright, open as if to not miss anything, to catch every reaction as he walked backwards into a room to the right of the bathroom, Sam finally stepped back out of Dean’s space enough to let the warm flickering glow light up his face. The room was lit by half a dozen candles, on the dresser, the nightstand, on top of the bookshelf. Dean’s eyes went wide. Oh.

Oh no. This was, shit, this was… he looked at Sam. This was bad, he told himself. He couldn’t, it was too much, too far.

Sam, still smiling, was now a little unsure, a little embarrassed, “Too much?” His hand was rubbing gently up and down on Dean’s back, Jessica’s back, fuck, like he just couldn’t stop touching her.

Dean tried to say something, screaming internally at himself to find a way out of this, screwing things up between Jessica and Sam would be better than… He swallowed and opened his mouth, piecing together some sort of excuse, but all thought evaporated as Sam bit his bottom lip, all dimples and glinting eyes, and leaned in. Dean didn’t mean to smile, it was a reflex, a reaction to the extreme absurdity of the situation, that’s all, it wasn’t because his heart fucking swelled at seeing Sam all lit up and happy, looking at him like that.

Oh, I’m a bad, bad person.

He couldn’t look away from Sam’s mouth. And then Sam was too close to see and he nosed into his hair, speaking right into his ear, warm breath sending shivers through him, “I promised you, tonight is all about you. I want to make you feel so good, see how many times I can make you come.”

And Dean felt hellfire flare up through him, burning his cheeks, making his thighs and inner muscles clench around a deep needful longing. A gasp escaped, unbidden, from his open mouth.

You do this and you really are the scumbag you’ve always felt like. This is the line, right here, right now.

But this was something that he would never get to have normally, only this freaky occurrence giving him an impossible chance to have everything he’d ever wanted, even if just for one night, even if under duplicitous circumstances, in someone else’s body, even if it meant burning in Hell eternally for it.

One of Sam’s thumbs brushed lightly over Dean’s lips, as his fingers curled into his hair, turning his head and mouthing at his ear, nipping at and rolling his earlobe between his teeth before tracing kisses along the underside of his jaw. Dean breathed out a shiver that went all the way down to his knees. Sam kissed right up to the corner of his open mouth.

Dean didn’t believe Hell was real, not really, not an actual place like the bible thumpers would have you believe, but this, even ignoring every other horrible thing he’d ever done, this would surely damn him… but maybe it would be worth it. He could have this, and Sam never needed to know.

He turned his head just a little and caught Sam’s lips with his own.

~~~

With the bar being as quiet as it was, Jeremy took to making small talk as the evening wore on, nothing heavy, nothing too personal, just talking about sports teams (luckily a topic she knew a fair amount about) and cars (which she didn’t but luckily most guys didn’t take much encouragement to go on about that sort of thing without much more than a few interested prompts), but he was nice and kind of funny. It was better than stewing alone in her thoughts.

By the time Jess had had another bourbon, man did this James guy have a higher tolerance than she did, she had loosened up a lot.

So what if she’d probably experienced a psychotic break or something and was now trapped in this weird-ass dream, or maybe worse that she was really stuck in some dude’s body on her birthday and was now drinking alone in some shitty bar. She blinked, god was this what James’ life was like? Hopefully this was just a bad day or something. She at least had a party with all her college friends and Sam… Sam. Shit, James better be playing it cool, like he’d said he would, and not be doing anything to fuck things up between her and Sam.

~~~

For a moment, when he kissed Sam, SammySam oh fuck SAM, he’d forgotten all about his hands, like they didn’t even exist, like nothing existed outside of the bursts of confused chaos in his mind and how kissing Sam seemed to short circuit everything.

Good! No, no! I can’t. Stop. Ohhh god, right, this is right. Can’t. Fuck, finally!

Every part of his borrowed body felt like it was blushing, like he should be legit glowing, and there was this warm, aching, wetness that he was suddenly very aware of between his legs. It was a lot like how he normally felt when turned on, just not as focused, deeper inside and suffused throughout his body. He also found that he was very, very aware of his tits, every move, each breath as they lifted and fell, the way the fabric of the bra and shirt moved, every touch against Sam, he could feel all of it, and was aware of it all at once, and yet craved more. Sam’s hands were in his hair, cradling his head as they kissed. His lips tasted like home.

You can touch him!

And just like that, a lifetime of suppressed impulses and denied wants let loose as he placed his hands on Sam’s sides. Lightning-like desire, in all its terrifying glory, zapped through him, along his fingers and up his arms at the contact. Sam was solid, still lean and lanky with youth, but no longer a kid, not his little brother. Big.

It wasn’t like Dean never touched him, hell, he’d probably touched him more than anyone else. But that was different, it was checking on him, cleaning him up, bandaging and mending, little kid snuggles and hugs, holding his hand as they crossed the street, shoulders leaning together as they sat and joked quietly, just the two of them. This, though, this, was the edge of the map. Here, there be monsters, and his pulse pounded like he was on a hunt.

He ran his hands up over Sam’s chest, feeling the lines of the muscles beneath his shirt as Sam slid one of his hands down Dean’s back, pulling him closer, pressing them together. He didn’t stop at his waist this time, his hand continuing down over Dean’s ass to cup and squeeze. Dean moaned, just a little and in a way that he hadn’t expected, and his hands moved up across Sam’s shoulders and neck and into his hair, fingers tangling in his nape and pulling Sam down, or himself up, it didn’t matter which as long as they somehow got closer. Dean instinctively wrapped his legs around Sam’s hips when he lifted him up, one hand under Dean’s ass, across the back of his thighs, the other still cradling the back of his head. Sam shifted, holding Jessica’s weight easily and Dean wondered if Sam had gotten strong enough to lift his own actual body the same way. That thought made his breath hitch.

Sam pushed the door shut with one foot and then took three strides to cross the room before he dropped them both down onto the bed. Sam caught himself with his elbows, so his weight didn’t come down on Dean all at once as he bounced, a laugh bubbling out of Dean, met with a smile from Sam.

Sam looked at him for a moment, brushing hair from Dean’s face, Jessica’s face, Dean reminded himself. Sam was looking at Jessica like that, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and like he wanted to eat her up. Jealousy at the realization sparked in Dean, but it was quickly quelled because Sam looking at Jessica like that meant that Dean could look back through her in a way he never could through his own eyes.

He took in Sam’s bright, clever, magic-colored eyes, and his pointed nose that made him look fox-like and clever. That mole beside his nose, that Dean always wanted poke or to kiss, depending on the day. His hair that, from this angle, spread around his face like a dark halo and reminded Dean of that photo of Jim Morrison, the one where his arms were spread and his chest was bare. He looked like the hero of some Greek myth and he was painfully beautiful.

Then Sam was kissing him again, little nibbling kisses that wandered along his jaw, sending delicious shivers through him. Sam’s hand found the bare skin at his waist, fingers spread out across his stomach, up under his shirt to his ribs as he kissed his way down Dean’s throat.

Dean leaned his head to the side, stretching his neck as he arched up into Sam’s touch. Sam’s fingertips traced along the bottom of his bra, brushed the underside of his breast. Holy shit.

He’d gotten so caught up in the fact that this was Sam, SamSammy, that he’d almost completely glossed over the fact that he was in a woman’s body and was going to experience sex, with Sam, in a body with girl parts! What was, possibly, most disturbing was how onboard he was for this ride. Like, if he was completely honest with himself, the Sam thing had always been there, usually it was forcibly shoved into the furthest, deepest, darkest corner of his brain, and locked down tight, but sometimes it escaped and made it almost to the surface before he’s wrestle it back down again and did his best to ignore it. But beyond an occasional fleeting thought about what the woman he was with was feeling as he went down on her, thrust into her, well, he’d never actually fantasized about actually feeling whatever they felt. The prospect was surprisingly thrilling.

And this isn’t gay (or incest) if it’s Jessica’s body. That thought sent a cold shiver through him, followed very closely by a rancid tendril of self-disgust. What the hell was the matter with him?

But then Sam was cupping his breast, warm hand giving a massaging little squeeze, the nipple genty pinched in the V between his thumb and index finger, sending sparks of pleasure through him and distracting him from his thoughts. Dean had always liked having his nipples played with during sex, well, he really liked having everything played with during sex, but now, though? It was just so much more.

Sam pushed his shirt up, kissed him through the fabric of the bra, before giving a little, demanding “Off.” and worked both the shirt and bra off, undoing the back clasp one handed, that’s my boy. And then his mouth was on him again. Dean’s hands were on Sam’s shoulders, then in his hair as he lavished attention on his tits. And, yeah, definitely an area deserving of all the attention Dean was prone to give because it felt fucking awesome. Before the sensations could become too much, Sam would shift his focus to the other side, kissing and sucking, biting (which felt amazing) and pulling little gasps out of Dean.

Dean squirmed a bit, suddenly desperate for some sort of friction between his legs. Like he’d sensed it, Sam ran one hand down, using little more than the weight of his hand, over the fabric of his skirt, and rubbed, pushing a bit more with his middle and ring fingers, curving with his body, right down between Dean’s legs. It wasn’t quite like having his dick rubbed, the feeling a little more muted, more spread out. But the warmth that spread through him felt familiar as did the desire it inflamed. And he pushed his hips against Sam’s hand seeking more pressure.

The biggest difference Dean felt was where he normally would have wanted to push into his partner, to thrust into them, all he wanted now, the desire that consumed his mind, was that he needed something inside him, stretching him, filling him. This hollow, wanting, ache was new but made him unbearably warm and desperate. And he wondered, not for the first time, about how much of it was coming from Jessica’s muscle memory, because while it was new to him, it felt so perfectly right and natural in this body.

With a final playful pull on one of his nipples, sucking hard before letting it drop and the weight of the breast bounce back against Dean’s chest, Sam kissed his way down across his stomach. Jessica was a bit ticklish, it would seem, because the light scrape of Sam’s stubble sent delightful tremors through Dean. Not enough to make him laugh or pull away, but enough to make him smile.

This is crazy. This is crazy. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. This is some weirdass fever dream. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Sam reached the waistband of Jessica’s skirt, kissing and tonguing over Dean’s belly button as he worked loose the zipper and slid the fabric down, chasing it with his mouth. Dean lifted his hips so Sam could slide it the rest of the way down and off his legs, leaving him in just delicate, barely there, panties. They were silky and pink and Dean flashed back hard to six years ago, to Rhonda Hurley looking at him wearing her panties like she wanted to eat him alive, a look that was mirrored now in Sam’s eyes as he slowly looked up his… Jessica’s body. Dammit.

That look wasn’t Dean’s, it wasn’t for him. Sam was looking at Jessica like that. Fuck he shouldn’t do this. He needed to say something, stop this somehow.

“Sam…” He pleaded, but it came out too breathless and wanting, needing, and Sam smiled and leaned down, placed a kiss right on the silky pink stretched over the center of all the warmth Dean was feeling and hummed against him.

“Hmm?” and then he kissed a little lower and looked up from under his bangs as he gently stroked one hand up Dean’s thigh, fingers spreading so wide, hot and thrilling. He placed another kiss, this time below the curve of where Dean could see, so he couldn’t see Sam’s mouth as it pressed the fabric right into the wetness between his legs. Sam nosed in then and breathed deep. “All this for me?”

Dean bit down on his bottom lip, part of his mind still desperately trying to get control of this situation, to somehow, miraculously pull back before it was too late, when Sam looked up and locked eyes with him as he slowly, gently, bit the fabric covered mound, worrying it so slowly with his teeth before saying, in a voice deeper than Dean had ever heard him use, “God I want to eat you up. Will you let me? Let me just,” he licked, his tongue spread wide, right up over the now sodden crotch of those pink panties, “devour you?”

And the last vestiges of Dean’s attempts to be a better person crumbled. If he was going to hell, and he was definitely going, then he was going to make damn sure that he got the maximum value out of the trip.

“Yeah.” he said as he reached out and ran his fingers down Sam’s hair, his thumb brushing Sam’s cheek as Sam, SamMySammyMine, smiled his sharp, clever, mischievous smile and pulled the panties off and settled back between Dean’s legs, bending Dean’s knees up and over Sam’s shoulders. One hand going up Dean’s side, his long arm easily allowing him to cup around one breast, while the other spread, fingers splayed, across the tight skin below Dean’s navel, pressing down with gentle pressure to still the squirming Dean hadn’t even realized he was doing.

~~~

The last of the other customers paid up his tab and left. Jessica threw back the rest of her drink.

“What do I owe you?” she asked as she stood up to pull James’ wallet out of his pocket. The gravity in the room lurched violently to the left and she had to catch herself by clutching the edge of the bar. She barked out a laugh and sat back down on the stool. “Whoa.”

“Easy there.” Jeremy said. “No rush.”

He slid another glass of water over to her with a smile. She nodded and gratefully took a drink. It was cold and even though it still tasted a little too much like chlorine to be called good, she knew it would help.

“It’s cool, take your time, I’ve got a bunch of things to do to close up so you don’t have to leave just yet.” He said with a smile.

~~~

Sam’s attention focused between Dean’s spread legs, nosing into the trimmed little bush before licking along the folds of his pussy. His tongue, a wide and warm pressure, different from anything Dean had experienced before. It wasn’t like having his dick licked, which felt good right from the start. But the act was insanely intimate and definitely felt good, and the fact that it was Sam, samsamsam, made him shiver. And then the tip of Sam’s tongue dipped in and flicked across Dean’s clit and there it was! A burst of pleasure followed immediately by a desire for more.

A keening slipped from Dean’s throat, so much higher pitched than felt right to him. Looking down, all he could see was Sam’s shaggy brown hair and his fox-like eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, looking back at him. Sam slid his hand down, long fingers spreading Dean open. Dean felt the air stir between his legs, cooling around the edges, and he realized just how wet he was. Sam licked again, taking his time, dipping in and flicking across before gently kissing that swollen bud of nerves and then doing it again, and again. Dean gasped when he used his teeth, normally something, as a guy, that would be a complete no-go, but the nipping and nibbling here felt good, really good, primal and hungry, and Dean wanted more.

Sam pushed his tongue in, deeper each time, as he rubbed Dean’s clit, pressing and circling, circling and pressing, sucking, biting, again and again until Dean’s hands had to move because Sam was holding his hips still, so he reached down and brushed Sam’s hair back, so he could see him better, then stayed in his hair, just holding, trying not pull. And his other hand went to his breast, kneading and then pinching the sensitive nipple. Everything combined and built up like a wave swelling, growing more and more, frantic, urgent, faster, and then he was pulling on Sam’s hair, which made him groan into Dean, the vibrations sending Dean crashing over. Sam continued to gently massage Dean’s clit, while fucking into him with his tongue, as wave after wave rolled through Dean.

Just as Dean was able to breathe again, Sam shifted around a bit so that he had both hands working, the one still spreading Dean open and working his clit in slow circles, while he pressed first one finger then two into him.

There was a punk rock girl out near Salt Lake, what was her name? Brenda something, shit he couldn’t think, but she’d had a thing for sticking her finger in her partner’s ass when they fucked her, and while she’d been enthusiastically into it, and it hadn’t been bad, it was weird, kinda good weird, but weird. It was nothing like this.

Sam leaned back in as he worked up a steady rhythm, and started tonguing and sucking his clit again. Dean was so sensitive it didn’t take long for him to feel everything building again. Sam had worked another finger in and curled them forward. It was a tried and true move that Dean had used on many, many occasions, and now he knew why it always worked so well, as he gasped and came hard, muscles fluttering hard around Sam’s hand.

“Samm… Sam,” remembering just in time, “please, oh fuck, mmm, I…”

“Hmm?”

“I need,” but he hesitated before voicing the rest, bit his bottom lip, was he really going to ask for it? From Sam?

“What? What do you need, baby?” Sam asked, his voice lower than Dean had ever heard it, deep but tender and pressed right between his legs, and damn if that didn’t light something up on the switchboard in Dean’s head.

No one but Dean would ever know if he just asked for what he wanted.

“Fuck me?” he said, quiet and unsure.

“Hmm, thought I’d stay here for a little longer, make you scream my name.” Sam slowly nosed in again and licked. “You taste so good.”

“Sam.”

Bright eyes staring up at him. “Mmm?”

“Are you really going to make me beg… on my birthday?”

Sam nodded as he nipped at the inner crease of Dean’s hip.

Dean let out a frustrated groan, “Please? Get up here and fuck me, Sam.”

Sam smiled, “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He sat back, pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe his hand and face before tossing it onto the floor. Shit, Sammy had filled out since the last time Dean had seen him and, reminding himself that he could look, he let his eyes linger on his brother’s torso. He realized he was mentally inventorying the scars he could see, there were no new ones, which was good. Sam’s belt buckle jangled a little as it came undone and he unbuttoned his jeans. Sam stood and pushed them down along with his underwear, black boxer briefs, and then was kicking them off to the side and slowly crawling back onto the bed.

Holy shit! HIs baby brother was built like a Greek god! How often was he working out? He was all slick, cut muscle, long limbs, and… In what universe was it even remotely fair that his little (no longer the operative word) brother had gotten bigger than him, apparently in every way? Dean was not a small guy, over six feet and packing a generously sized dick that he’d never, not once, gotten any complaints about. In fact, he’d received more than enough compliments to give him a, possibly, over-inflated sense of pride. Dean had an amazing cock, that he knew how to use. It was a source of great joy for him. And, he soothed his ego, it was hard to get a proper sense of scale, not having access to his own hands. But then Sam was grinning at him with his wickedly clever eyes and bright, dimpled smile again and Dean felt himself smiling back, his cheeks flushing as Jessica’s body responded to a new wave of want.

Sam crawled up over Dean, stretching his long body and skimming, not quite touching, over him, supporting his weight on his knees and hands. Just as Sam zeroed in on his lips and when Dean anticipated he would kiss him, Sam kept stretching past, reaching over and easily sliding open then closing the nightstand drawer. When he pulled back, a condom packet held by a corner in his mouth, he dragged it lightly across Dean’s skin, tickling slightly and forcing a giggle out of him that Dean would cringe over later when he replayed the moment. Sam sat back on his heels and tore open the packet. A wild thought, a desire, flashed through Dean, causing his cheeks to burn.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly.

Sam stopped and looked at him, concern overriding some of the confidence he’d shown just seconds before. But Dean was sitting up and reaching out, running his hand down Sam’s thigh as he smiled Jessica’s wide smile.

“Just, let me…” and he slid his hand up, his gaze meeting his grasp as he stroked Sam’s length. Hot, velvety soft skin twitched in the circle of Jessica’s manicured fingers. Dean blinked slowly, his eyes threatening to close, to block out such a transgression, but he made himself look, burning the image into his memory. He licked his lips as he shifted so he could lean forward. He just needed to know… if he was here, if he was doing this, then he needed it all, there’d never be another chance. He rubbed his thumb through the drop of precum beaded up on the head of Sam’s cock, spreading it slick across the head, and then kissed there. He looked up to find Sam staring down, eyes dark, mouth open, a blush high on his cheeks like he was drunk, and Dean licked slowly, tasting as he stared up at him.

Dean had never gone down on a guy before, although he’d received plenty of propositions over the years. But he’d eaten out more than his fair share of women and every one had tasted different, each one unique and special and divine, and this really wasn’t much different from that. Salty, a little bitter, not bad, just intimate. And he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a deep satisfaction to sucking the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam’s fingers slipped into Jessica’s hair, fingers spanning the width of her head and gently holding there, not pressing, not pulling, as he let out a slow breath.

Dean reached up with his free hand and took the opened condom packet from Sam as he swirled his tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock. And then he pulled back and slid the condom down and gave it a couple slow pumps with his fist to make sure it was rolled all the way down.

He sat up and crawled forward, capturing Sam’s bottom lip as he pressed against him. Sam’s hand let go of his hair and like earlier, he pulled Dean in like he weighed nothing, hands engulfing his hips as he settled Dean on his lap. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, reveling in the feel of his tits crushed up against Sam’s chest and Sam’s erection hot and hard between them. His hips rubbed forward, like they were seeking friction on autopilot.

“Sam,” he keened.

Sam lifted him again and lined himself up and lowered Dean onto him. Dean’s eyes rolled closed as he stretched and was filled in a way he’d never even dreamed. He’d never be able to claim that again, he was sure he’d never get the perfect feeling of them fitting together like this out of his mind. And as his hips once again seemed more in control of things than he was, he gave some experimental grinds, and looked at Sam whose eyes were closed, his brow furrowed a little in concentration, and he looked… beautiful.

“Sam?”

Sam opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide in the candlelight and a look of pure want on his face, and he was the most gorgeous thing that Dean had ever seen. He circled his hips, trying to find the leverage to do more when Sam lifted him again, easily taking Jessica’s weight in his arms and began to thrust up. As he repeated the movement, again and again, Dean let his head fall back, his eyes closing, Sam’s mouth kissing hungrily along his jaw and down his neck, teeth nipping, stubble on his chin rough, but never hurting, never bruising, no it was just enough to feel all the way down through to where they were connected.

With his eyes closed and head tipped back, the weight of Jessica’s hair hanging down, bouncing with every forceful thrust, Dean could only hold on, losing himself in the sensations. Sam ran a hand up Dean’s back, his hand tangling in and gently but insistently pulling, causing Dean to arch further back. Sam kissed down, captured one of his nipples, his other hand sliding low across Dean hips, thumb finding and pressing into his clit and the combination of all those sensations pushed him up and over that cliff again. Being so full, having something… his brother’s cock, a thought that he really shouldn’t be so completely good with… inside him, for his muscles to squeeze, and with so much skin-on-skin contact for him to clutch onto, pushed everything up, and up, and over.

When Dean could focus again, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Sam’s, Sam who was still fucking him, and holy hell if his (not so) little brother wasn’t a goddamn freight train. The thought brought a ridiculous swelling of pride with it, some misguided feeling that he’d had a hand in raising this absolute god of a man. Dean smiled, his mouth open with every breath that Sam pushed out of him, and he traced his fingers across Sam’s face, thumb dragging across his bottom lip before Dean leaned in and kissed him.

“Come on, Baby. Come for me? I want to feel you, come on.” he said in between kisses. Sam’s arms tightened around him, his pace speeding up. “ Come on, Sammy.” Dean breathed and he felt Sam’s body tense. He leaned back enough to see Sam’s face as he climaxed. Little aftershocks from Dean’s last orgasm were still pulsing through him as Sam twitched inside him.

When their heavy breaths slowed down to contented sighs, Sam pulled out, removed the condom and tossed it in a small trash can by the nightstand and twisted the two of them so they could fall onto their sides on the bed, his arms still around Dean, facing each other.

Sam brushed a thick lock of hair out of Dean’s face, his eyes alight with reflected, flickering candlelight. He was sweaty and his cheeks were still flushed and he looked contentedly fucked out and Dean couldn’t stop staring at him.

A bemused smile flashed across Sam’s face after a moment. “What?”

Dean didn’t have the words, so he just smiled with his borrowed face, hoping it conveyed the best part of the crazed tangle of things he was feeling. When Sam returned the smile, Dean leaned in and kissed him one last time before snuggling into his brother’s broad chest, his eyelids growing heavy.

Sam placed a kiss on the top of his head. “Happy birthday, Jess.”

Dean was glad that Sam couldn’t see his face because he knew the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes anymore.

Dean lay there until Sam’s breathing evened out into sleep. And then he steadfastly refused to give into the looming tidal wave of guilt that was threatening to drown him, closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of Sam, letting all the memories it triggered carry him, finally, to sleep.

~~~

“So, I’m curious,” she asked, “you don’t seem too enthused about… wait, where are we again?”

Jeremy laughed, “Eastfield.”

“Right, right. You don’t seem too enthused about Eastfield. And you’re young, seem intelligent, so why…” she gestured around the bar. “You from here? Got family or something?”

“Nah, I mean, not exactly. I grew up near here. Went to college. While I was there, my dad got sick, cancer, so I came home to take care of him. And, I don’t know, after he passed I just didn’t go right back and now,” he shrugged as he moved glasses around, “I don’t know. I’m just sort of here because here feels as good as anywhere to be.”

Jessica nodded and took a sip of water.

“What about you? You’ve been here all night and haven’t mentioned what you do for a living once.” Jeremy carried a crate of glasses into the back, Jessica could hear it being set down, and then he was back again, leaning up against the bar across from her. “Most people don’t shut up about their jobs when they get talking here. It’s just a safe topic, you know? Not too personal but something that eats up most of their lives. But you?”

Jessica shrugged and smiled, taking another drink of water. Jeremy squinted his eyes a bit, pursed his lips.

“What if I guess?” He looked her up and down, clucking his tongue quietly. “A hit man for the Mafia? Is the Mafia still a thing?” He smiled.

She laughed, “I don’t know. But no, I’m not in the Mafia.” I think, she added internally.

Jeremy looked at her, watched her mouth as she smiled. “Are you a model or something… which as I’m saying it, sounds super cheesy.” he said with a bit of a blush rising high on his cheeks above his beard. He was flirting and she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t herself. He was flirting with the gorgeous guy who’d been drinking alone at his bar all evening.

“I don’t really want to talk about what I do, it’s just not…” she shrugged and took another drink of water, licking her lips. The room was still spinning a bit and she felt all warm and fuzzy, like this was all a weird but pleasant dream.

Jeremy leaned forward onto his elbows, only a foot or so of distance between them now. “SInce I’m already kinda making a fool of myself… you are, you know… really hot and it seems like a crime against humanity for you to be alone on your birthday.”

He had nice brown eyes, wide and clear and kind, and what should have been an overdone line came across as genuine. The only other guy she knew that could have pulled that off was Sam. Thinking of him caused a heavy lump of guilt to form in her stomach.

“And yet, here I am.”

He slid one hand closer, fingertips just brushing the backs of her knuckles where her hand was still curled around the glass.

She stared at his hand and thought about Sam, who was the best man she’d ever known, smart, sweet, funny, weirdly mysterious, how did he even know half the shit he knew? And she knew so little about his life, his childhood, just enough to know that it had been nomadic and traumatic. His mom had died when he was a baby, his dad hadn’t handled that well, and he had a brother, but he never wanted to talk about them. He was home, thinking he was with her (hopefully) if James wasn’t screwing everything up. But at the same time, the idea that Sam might not be able to tell that it wasn’t her… well, it rankled.

She looked over Jeremy’s shoulder and saw James’ reflection looking back. Maybe it was the drinks, she thought as she shifted her gaze back to Jeremy, or the dream-like unrealness of the entire evening, but she slowly licked her lips thinking about what it would feel like to kiss a guy using someone else’s mouth, a man’s mouth? Would it feel different?

There was only one way to find out.

She pushed up and forward slightly as Jeremy leaned further across the bar. They both hesitated when there were only a couple of inches of space between them, giving the other a chance to back out. Shyness was never something that Jessica suffered from. Quite the opposite. Throughout her life she’d been accused of being too forward, too bold and daring, too aggressive when she wanted something. She knew she was impulsive, but YOLO, right? She slid her hand around the back of Jeremy’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

The beard was something new to her. It was scratchy-soft and tickly in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. His lips were soft though and he knew what to do with them. After a moment, they broke apart.

“Hey, come around. I, uh, I want to give you something.”

When she stood up this time she was steady. Walking around the bar, she felt a flush of excitement, like a spreading fire flowing from her cheeks, down her chest, and into her gut. She followed him through the doorway and into the back room where Jeremy turned and pushed her up against a wall with a big, laminated, OSHA poster taped to it.

He was a couple inches shorter, so she had to tip her head down to meet his lips, a feeling so opposite of what she was used to that it added to the overall surrealness of the situation. And then he stepped even closer, one leg wedging between hers, pressing against her, his hands cupping her head, fingers rubbing into her scalp, such a different experience with James’ short hair, but pulling a pleased noise from somewhere deep in her chest. When his hips ground against hers, she was startled at the sensation. All that pooling warmth in her gut was suddenly rushing to her groin, focusing with growing insistence. She could feel Jeremy, already so hard, pressing back and the sensation left her breathless.

“Can I?” He tipped his head down as his hand skated over the front of her jeans, lightly tracing the bulge of her cock. Shit, she had a cock and this guy wanted to…

Okay, so she didn’t know if James was gay, or into guys at all, and she was seriously dating Sam, she was, but when would she ever be given the chance to experience this from this side of the equation again?

“Yeah.” she said.

Jeremy kissed her again as he undid her belt and jeans, sliding his hand down to feel her through her briefs. Her hips pressed forward, chasing the warmth and touch of his hand. And then his mouth was gone. He sank to his knees as he pulled the waistband of her briefs down and freed her straining cock. And it was like watching porn that she could feel, looking down the long stretch of her borrowed body, flat stomach and hard on, flushed dark pink with short, dark curls around the base. And then Jeremy’s tongue licked slowly up along the bottom of her shaft before flicking across the tip. Oh! That felt… good! One hand gently held the base, angling the length for better access, while his other hand cupped warm around her balls, lifting and squeezing in a way that made a small gasp escape her lips. Jeremy stared up at her as his tongue darted out again and swirled around the head of her cock, like he was trying to burn the image into his memory. But when he sucked her into his mouth and she groaned and placed a hand gently in his hair, her mouth falling open, his eyes sank closed and he got to work.

Jessica had given head, she knew her way around a blowjob and took pride in the responses she got, but to feel it, oh it added an entire other level. She couldn’t help but note what worked vs. what didn’t work vs. what really worked. She had also been on the receiving end of oral in her own body many times, something that Sam was particularly fond of (and extremely good at), but while this was similar, it was also so completely different, everything sort of flipped around in a delightful way. Her head tipped back against the wall as she let the feelings take over. Despite having no direct experience on this side of a blowjob, she felt confident that Jeremy seemed to know what he was doing. She didn’t hold back her responses and he picked them up and ran with them.

She was still tipsy enough and this was all still so new and weird, she had no idea how long it lasted before she felt herself tensing up, everything building as he worked at an increasingly frantic pace. As if he could sense how close she was, and he probably knew better than she did, he pulled back just enough to look up and say, “Come on” before swallowing as much of her as he could. A couple more pumps and the pressure in her burst, flooding out of her in deliciously violent spurts, all of which Jeremy greedily took.

When she could focus again, and looked down, he had his own dick out and was coming in his hand, his forehead resting against her thigh, still on his knees. She ran her hand through his hair, unconsciously petting him as they both came down.

When he sat back and fixed himself back into his pants, she did the same. She offered him a hand and pulled him back up to his feet. Awkwardness threatening to set in, she just smiled at him, “Thanks seems like a bit of an understatement.”

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for hot birthday boys.” He laughed, cheeks glowing with a deep flush. “No pun intended.”

Her smile spread wider.

Walking out of the bar a few minutes later, Jeremy’s number written on the receipt in her pocket, only feeling a little awkward at how quickly the whole interaction wrapped up because he seemed honestly content, Jessica looked around the parking lot. James had said it was a classic car, but she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. The long, shiny, sleek lines of the absolute beast of a vehicle that was waiting for her was a surprise though.

She fished the keys out of her pocket and opened the door with a creaking squeak that spoke of old joints formed from heavy, solid, metal. She slid in behind the wheel and pulled the door shut.

“Okay. Just an easy drive over to the motel. You can do this.” Turning the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. Nothing quiet or subtle about this car, but it felt right on a weird, deep level that she wasn’t sure was coming from her. She eased out of the bar’s parking lot and onto the blessedly deserted street, keeping it a bit below the speed limit, even though she could feel the car practically begging to go faster.

Then there was the motel, and she parked outside room 12, locked the car and went inside. The place was… well it wasn’t going to ever earn even three stars on any travel guide ever again, but it was sorta clean and had the basics covered, a bed, nightstand, little desk with a chair next to a dresser with a tv on it, open closet, and a dingy bathroom. She dropped the keys onto the nightstand, along with James’s wallet and phone, as she sat heavily on the side of the bed.

Exhaustion settled heavily on her and she felt like she was made of lead, but still managed to pull off her boots and started to lay down before stopping herself and grabbing the cheap pen with the motel name on it. She scribbled a quick note on the receipt, under Jeremy’s name and number. And then was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

~~~

The distinctive smell of stale, decades old, cigarette smoke and bleach hit him as Dean woke with a start. Sitting up and taking immediate stock of himself and his surroundings. Sunlight streamed in around the curtains, lighting up copious dust motes. The distant sound of a door banging shut reverberated through the walls.

He was still wearing what he’d been wearing when he’d left his body last night and had been sleeping stretched out on top of the covers on the bed in his motel room. His duffle bag lay seemingly untouched on the floor at the foot of the bed.

He rubbed his hands over his face and scrubbed at his hair a few times.

His wallet, keys, and phone were on the nightstand next to a note, which he picked up and read. The handwriting wasn’t his. And as he looked he realized it was likely written by two different people.

Jeremy 555-823-3467 was written in one hand, while the rest was another, messy and unsure.

You may not want to go back to that bar.

“Huh.” he tossed the note onto the bed, got up and walked to the window. A quick check outside verified that his car was there and seemed in one piece.

~~~

Jessica woke up slowly, warm and comfortable. She stretched and felt the familiar feel of her own body and smiled. The smile dropped entirely as she realized that she was naked and not alone. Sam, also naked, stirred next to her as she moved.

The night before settling like a brick in her stomach. She knew what she’d done, and would carry the guilt of cheating on Sam, but if she was honest with herself, which she tried hard to be, she believed that the extraordinary circumstances were something that she would have regretted not taking advantage of. Right or wrong, she’d made her choice and she’d live with that. But the idea that some random guy had used her body the same way, with her boyfriend, and that it turned out that Sam hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which either said a lot about how poorly he knew her, or about how good James was at pretending to be someone he didn’t really know, well, that weighed on her in a much more unpleasant way.

It wouldn’t be for another year and a half before that strange, surreal night would come sneaking back into her life in a fittingly bizarre and unexpected way.

Looking at that too handsome face again standing so close to Sam as she flipped on the light in their living room, made the floor feel like it was going to drop out from under her.

“Sam?”

“Jess. Hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.” Sam said, still slightly out of breath.

She blinked in surprise, “Wait, your brother Dean?”

Sam had never shown her any pictures of his brother, had only spoken about him a few times, and had made it sound like they were distant, estranged. She hadn’t ever questioned… why would she have questioned? This, what the hell was this? But before she could form any of her swirling thoughts into words, Dean stepped forward, an over-the-top leering grin on his face.

“Oh, I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league.”

There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in his eyes, but she still felt the hairs on her arms rise with a sense of danger at the aggressive eye contact he’d fixed on her.

Later, as she watched Sam pack and assure her that he would be back in time for his interview on Monday, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was looming nearby. But she’d never told Sam about that night, it was insane, how could she have even begun to explain it? So she didn’t know now how to articulate why she didn’t want Sam to go. The idea that James was actually Sam’s brother, that he’d… that they’d…

Sam kissed her goodbye with promises of seeing her soon and then was out the door. A familiar rumble of an engine starting up outside, and then they were gone.

#wincest #wincest fanfiction #non con #extremely dubious consent #body swap #gender swap #sam/jessica #dean/sam #long post

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