Pretty in Pink (Isn't He?) Chapter 7: Demolition Woman Can I Be Your Man?

[justinedelarge]

Title:  Demolition Woman Can I Be Your Man?
Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 1700
Warnings: Wincest, crossdressing
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own.
Summary: Sam puts on a show for Dean to Def Leppard's Pour Some Sugar on Me

Dean couldn’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off Sam.

Vicki couldn’t keep her eyes off them.

Dean kept touching Sam, brushing his hands over Sam’s hips. They breathed things to each other that Vicki couldn’t hear. Dean’s face was lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He murmured something that made Sam’s face soften in wonder, tears spilling down his cheeks. Dean gently brought Sam’s mouth to his and kissed him, achingly soft.

Vicki took a few steps back, moving into shadow. Just once, God. Please. Just once. Let someone look at me like that. Kiss me like that. She withdrew farther into the corner of the bar, praying no one would see her weep.

* * *

A crowd of new arrivals had livened up the bar, working the stripper pole on the stage, drinking and yelling, “Woo!” and all the other things that pack behavior and alcohol can unleash.

Dean couldn’t stop touching Sam, lightly tracing his fingertips over his arms, the backs of his hands, back up to his neck, painting circles in the hollow of his throat. He brushed his fingers up Sam’s silky-smooth thigh and buried his head in Sam's shoulder to muffle a groan. “Oh god.”

Sam grinned.

And then it happened.

The blonde girl that Sam had been dancing with took Sam’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Here we go.” She tugged him toward the stage, shooing the other girls away. Seeing Sam, all 6’7” of of breathaking gorgeousness in stiletto heels, they made way for him, eyes wide with anticipation. Sam hid behind his long wig, blushing, but allowed himself to be pulled and positioned. He appeared to plead with the blonde for mercy, but she prodded him and whispered something in his ear, staring at Dean the whole time. Sam swallowed, blinked his long dark eyelashes, and took a deep breath.

The jukebox blared.

Step inside, walk this way, you and me babe… hey hey!

Dean gritted his teeth and muttered, “Oh. Fuck ME.”

The familiar drum pattern kicked in, followed by the inimitable guitar riff. Sam faced away from the gathering crowd, marking the rhythm with subtle flicks of his hips. Pivoting to press his back against the pole, he flipped his hair, and looked out at everyone, a little shy.

“Woo!” hollered a dramatic-looking drag queen nearly as tall as Sam.

Sam bent his knees and slid halfway down the pole, running his hands up his thighs. The movement flexed the muscles in his long, bare legs, the heels heightening the emphasis. The effect was stunning.

A few people in the crowd gasped. Sam smiled at that, drawing confidence from it.

Lookin’ like a tramp, like a video vamp, demolition woman, can I be your man?

Sam spun around the pole, holding on with one hand, undulating in a full-body roll, daring to steal a glance at Dean.

Dean’s mouth was literally hanging open.

Sam turned so he was in profile, hands on the pole, dropped to a crouch, then immediately popped back up, his straight legs spread as far apart as the leather miniskirt would allow, bending forward at the waist, showing off his perfect ass kissed by the tight black leather.

Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah

“Jesus Christ, the legs on her…” groaned someone standing behind Dean. “What I wouldn’t give to have them wrapped around my face.”

Dean turned his head and growled. He actually growled.

“Ooh, sorry.” The offending speaker backed away, palms up in surrender, faced with the very fucking clear and present danger of a jealous Dean Winchester. “That’s your girl?”

Dean glanced back at Sam, face softening again.

Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love

“Yeah. That’s my girl.”

The guy shook his head in wonder. “You are the luckiest bastard walking the earth.”

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off his Sam. “Yeah. No kidding.”

Sam had some moves on him. No idea where or how he’d picked them up, but he moved with a grace and strength that mesmerized Dean. His body, so powerful and masculine, now moved with such fluidity and eloquence, Dean was speechless. And now he was flirting with the crowd, feeding off their response, a sly smile on his gleaming red lips, leaning against the pole and stroking his bare stomach in the way Dean had seen him do a hundred times, pulling up his t-shirt and rubbing his belly with his lower lip sticking out, knowing what it did to Dean—to anyone—to see that.

But Sam made it perfectly clear to everyone who he was performing for. Dean still quivered with jealousy when he flicked his eyes to someone else, giving them a smile or a sultry look, but when he looked at Dean, the heat roared off him. Nothing else existed in that moment for Sam. The focus, the passion, the love was palpable.

He kept his eyes locked onto Dean, dropping to his knees, crawling forward on his hands, arching his back, jutting his ass into the air, perfectly outlined in black leather, then lifting his head and peering up at Dean through a veil of reddish-brown hair.

Dean didn’t know that something could literally take your breath away until he felt light-headed and realized he hadn’t inhaled in what felt like minutes. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

Sam rolled onto his back, knees bent, stretched his hands above his head, arched his back, those long, tanned legs parted just slightly, let his head fall to the side and looked at Dean, biting his lower lip.

I’m hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah…

A quiet voice in his ear. “Magnificent, isn’t she?”

Dean couldn’t turn his head. Couldn’t miss a second of Sam on the stage, running his hands up his smooth thighs, rolling over again, rising to his feet, holding on to the pole in a cocky stance, like he was starting to believe how fucking beautiful he was as a woman, swinging his hips to the side, watching Dean, lips pursed, making so many wordless promises it made Dean dizzy.

He couldn’t turn his head. But he knew it was the blonde girl. “Nobody like my Sammy.”

The song had barely finished when Dean held out his hand to Sam and helped him off the low stage.

Sam was breathing fast, his cheeks flushed. “So, what did—”

Dean crushed Sam to him in a hard kiss, claiming him in front of everybody. Sam melted into the embrace.

The crowd erupted in applause.

Dean dragged Sam toward the door.

“Wait. Dean. Vicki…I gotta.”

Dean spun around, his motion bordering on the violent. "Sam, we gotta get out of here, or I'm gonna fuck you right here."

Sam's mouth parted slightly, spurred by disbelief or desire. Or both.

Dean grabbed his hand. "Don't tempt me.” He pulled Sam toward him, murmuring in a desperate whisper, “You wanna get arrested? I will fuck you. Right now. Swear to God.” His lips brushed against Sam’s neck, whispering, “That what you want, sweetheart? Get me so worked up, I’ll fuck you in public?” He glanced up, scrutinizing Sam’s face. “I’ll do it. You know it.”

Sam did. The thought, absolutely not part of his plan, was so shocking and primal, he couldn’t speak.

“But I wanna get you alone.” Dean nuzzled Sam’s neck. “Pretty girl.”

Sam shivered all over. “Let’s go.”

Dean took Sam’s hand and practically pulled him out of the club. Sam twisted to look for Vicki. She stood near the jukebox, a brilliant smile on her face. She waved him on, teeth flashing in a huge grin, and mouthed, “Go get him.”

In the low light of the bar, Sam couldn’t see her eyes suddenly glisten.

* * *

Dean flagged down a cab, in ready supply on the busy San Francisco street. Sam leaned in to open the door, but Dean stopped him.

“Uh-uh.” He stepped forward and opened the door. “My baby doesn’t open her own doors.”

Sam sat in the back seat and pivoted in place, bringing both legs into the cab at the same time. Like a woman in a short skirt would do. Dean stared at the graceful motion, at Sam’s impossibly long, bare legs and gleaming black stilettos, up to his bare stomach under the half-top and the breasts pushing through the t-shirt. When he raised his gaze to meet Sam’s, the barely-restrained heat behind it sent a visible shiver through Sam. He felt like a gazelle face to face with a half-starved lion.

Without conscious volition, Sam lifted his head, baring his throat for Dean.

Dean crossed around the back of the cab and slid in alongside Sam. He gave the driver the address. And he held up two folded twenty-dollar bills. “And that’s extra. For keeping your eyes on the road. Not us.”

The cab driver took the money. “I am known for my discretion.”

The driver pulled out into traffic, studiously avoiding looking in his rear-view at the couple in the back seat.

Dean rubbed his thumb over Sam’s lower lip, then leaned forward and trapped it between his teeth, worrying it lightly. Sam gasped.

“Got me so worked up.” Dean pressed the palm of Sam’s hand to the front of his jeans. His cock was so painfully hard and swollen, Sam winced in sympathy. “You gotta take the edge off.”

Sam unzipped Dean’s jeans and took his cock into his mouth, red lipstick staining his skin as he slid up and down, staring up into Dean’s eyes. “Unbelievable,” Dean breathed, brushing the long locks of hair away from Sam’s face, watching that wicked red mouth rise and fall.

Dean really had been skating right on the edge. Within seconds, Dean threw his head back and bit back on the sounds his orgasm tried to force him to make. He came, sweet-bitter and salty, in a flood, and Sam swallowed, and swallowed again. 

“Fucking perfect,” Dean whispered, caressing Sam’s smooth cheek. “You’re fucking perfect.”