This is for apetslife because I love her. No, really, we were talking and she said she wanted this, and I said: "Pet, there are very few people in the world that I would write mpreg-wingfic-incest for. LUCKY FOR YOU, you are one of them."
I love you, baby. SO MUCH. As will hopefully be apparent from the three thousand words of crackfic I just wrote for you.
Thanks to monkiedude, not only for the awesome beta, but for encouraging the addition of SCHMOOP in this. So it's, you know, schmoopy mpreg-wingfic-incest fic. Yeah. My friends are ALL fucked up and insane, and I love EVERY one of them ♥
Uhm. My apologies to everyone else. Like, in the world.
PET, I LOVE YOU ♥
Title - I Put a Spell on You (Because You're Mine)
Pairing - Sam/Dean
Rating - NC17
Word Count - 3000
Warnings - mpreg, wingfic, slight mention of tentacles? uhm, yeah. I think that's it.
I Put a Spell on You (Because You're Mine)
Sam wakes up at 5:08 AM to a weird tapping against his back. He blinks slowly at the numbers on the alarm clock and tries to add up in his head how much longer he has to sleep. The alarm is set to go off at seven, and Sam thinks that one hour and fifty-two minutes more shuteye would be perfect if Dean will quit tapping or poking or whatever the fuck he's doing to him.
He tries to roll over to tell Dean to fucking move or something, but Dean's half-curled around him and all Sam can see over his shoulder is the top of Dean's head and his face smashed into the pillow.
Sam kicks Dean's shin with his foot. Dean snuffles and snores and moves back a little, and finally - thank god - the tapping stops.
Sam doesn't even take a minute to wonder what the hell it was before falling back asleep. He dreams about Kate Bosworth in a pair of knee high leather boots, and a tub of Rocky Road ice cream, and forgets all about the five AM wake up call. When he wakes up again at seven, he realizes what a huge mistake that was.
"Dude, this is crazy," Dean says, easy as anything. He's sitting on the corner of the bed eating a box of Ring Dings. Sam stands and watches him. If it weren't for Dean's huge stomach it would seem like a normal day.
"Aren't you even a little freaked out?" Sam asks. He's leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed in front of his chest and keeps glancing down to check his own stomach. It still seems normal, but who knows how long that will last?
"About what?" Dean's voice is muffled around his food. There's a smear of chocolate on his top lip and crumbs on his shirt. Sam stares at the crumbs instead of the way the shirt is riding up on his stomach, stretched tight over the fluttering bulge there.
Sam rubs a hand over his face. Only Dean would manage to get knocked up in the middle of the night and not be worried about it at all come morning. Only fucking Dean. "About the fact that you're apparently pregnant?" Sam hisses. The you idiot at the end of the sentence is implied.
Dean grins. "Dude. It's probably just a spell or a curse or something. It'll wear off."
"And if it doesn't?" Sam can't believe he's having this conversation.
Dean brushes his hands off and tosses the empty box of Ring Dings to the floor. Pig. "And if it doesn't, I'll make a billion dollars being the first pregnant dude in the world," he says. Sam watches as Dean shoves back on the bed, pillows pushed against the headboard and the blanket and sheets in a twisted mess under his body. "Now c'mere and give your baby daddy some action," he says as he wriggles his hips.
Sam rolls his eyes. He can see how hard Dean is from here. "You're disgusting," Sam tells him.
"What?" Sam can't imagine how Dean manages to look innocent, especially in a situation like this, but he does. "Dude, I'm pregnant and horny. Now come over here and suck my goddamn dick."
Sam points a finger, even as he makes his way to the bed. "You're gross," he says again, but Dean is already wrapping his fingers around Sam's wrist and pulling him down on top of him.
"Save it, pops," Dean says, then shoves Sam's head past his stomach and pushes his pants down.
Dean's stomach doesn't go away that morning or even that afternoon. By dinnertime Sam swears it's actually gotten bigger, even though he has no idea how that's even possible.
They're sitting on the bed playing cards and watching Dean's stomach jump and flex every time the baby moves, when Sam asks, "Does it feel weird?" He throws down a three of diamonds and six of clubs and waits for two new cards.
Dean deals. "Not at all. I've been pregnant lots of times," he says flatly. Sam's head whips up in time to get a pillow to the face. "Of course it fucking feels weird, assface. Are you retarded?"
Sam shrugs and mumbles, "I was just asking." He tries to ignore how curious he is, but fails miserably. "Fine," Sam says a few minutes later, as if they were in the middle of a conversation. He tosses his cards down on the bed. "Can I, you know, touch it?"
Dean wiggles his eyebrows. "Only if you buy me dinner first."
"Dean." Sam frowns.
"All right, all right. Jesus." Dean mumbles and shifts on the bed. They're sitting so close now their knees are touching, and Sam lifts his hand and lets it hover over Dean's stomach. "The way you're acting I'm surprised you're not the one who's pregnant."
"What the hell does that mean?" Sam murmurs. He rests his hand on Dean's belly, jumping a little when the baby instantly kicks Sam's palm.
"Acting like a fucking girl, is all." Dean might be pretending to be cool about the whole thing, but when he takes Sam's hand and slides it over to the side of his stomach, their fingers lace together. "Here. You can feel better from this spot."
Sam blinks. The kicking is stronger where Dean moved his hand to, and Sam can feel everything better now. A heartbeat, even, and the whole thing is so incredible and fucked up, he loses his breath.
"Yeah," Dean says when Sam looks up. His voice is rough when he adds, "I know."
They go to sleep that night facing each other. Sam watches Dean's eyes, his mouth, the way he sucks in a breath and holds it when Sam runs his hands over Dean's chest and down. Dean is warmer now than he usually is. Sam rests his hands on Dean's belly, feeling the heat through his t-shirt, the way the blood under his skin seems to almost hum.
"Can I do this?" Sam asks him quietly. He watches his fingers trace over Dean's sides. It's like he can't stop touching him, looking at him. All he can think is, a baby. Dean's having a baby.
He touches Dean's chest and back, trying to move slow, steady, but Dean's hitching breaths tell him it's not really working. "Dean, can I-"
"Do whatever you want," Dean tells him, and moans when Sam reaches into his sweatpants and palms Dean's dick.
He strokes him lazily, bending his head to kiss Dean's mouth. Dean goes off in a minute flat, his fingers digging into Sam's shoulders, breath sweet and warm against Sam's throat.
"Sorry, sorry," Dean gasps. His face is flushed pink, sweat beading at his temples. Sam touches his thumb to the corner of Dean's mouth. "Fuck. I haven't been this horny since I was thirteen."
Sam smiles and kisses him, then closes his eyes. "Yeah. I've heard that about pregnant women."
He falls asleep to Dean laughing quietly; one hand buried deep in Sam's hair. Sam thinks to himself that a baby wouldn't be so bad. Between the two of them they would probably make a halfway decent parent, and there wouldn't be a kid alive who was protected more than this one would be.
A baby wouldn't be too terrible at all, Sam thinks again. He'd have to make sure to tell Dean that in the morning.
Sam wakes up the next day to a huge space where Dean had been sleeping. He runs his hands over the cool sheets and realizes Dean has been up for a while. Sam sits up in bed and rubs his eyes. "Dean?" he calls out.
"Yeah, what?" Dean voice is muffled through the bathroom door.
It's quick as a flash, but all of a sudden Sam remembers everything about the day before - Pregnant! Baby! Ack! - and he tosses the covers back and bolts to the bathroom.
"Dean." Sam bangs on the door. "Dean, what's wrong? Is everything okay? Are you-"
Dean whips the door open and frowns. "I'm pissing, Sam," he says. Sam's looked down at Dean's stomach and can't seem to look back up. "Do you fucking mind-"
"It's gone." Dean's stomach is flat as a board, and Sam wants to kill himself at how much that bothers him. "You-"
"Yeah," Dean scratches his flat belly and grins. "Woke up this morning fit as a fiddle. Told you not to worry," he adds, lightly punching Sam's cheek and brushing past him as he leaves the bathroom.
Sam watches him walk away and blinks slowly. Because that's not quite right either.
"Uh, Dean?" Sam waits until Dean turns to look at him to say, "Maybe we shouldn't stop worrying just yet."
"Fucking wings?" Dean can't stop saying it. Sam realizes that yes, this is kind of weird, even after the pregnancy thing, but Jesus, Dean needs to move on already.
"Will you hold still?" Sam gives Dean a little shove so he can see the marks on Dean's back better. They're dull now, more like a faint scarring, but before when Dean was walking away Sam could have sworn-
"Holy shit, Sammy, what the hell are you doing?"
Sam pulls his hand back. "I was just touching the marks. See if I could see anything."
"Well stop it." Dean steps away so fast he nearly falls over. "All right, now I'm starting to get freaked. What the hell is going on?"
Sam shrugs. "I have no idea," he says. Dean's staring at him, jaw set, mouth in a grim line. Like it's somehow Sam's fault. "Where were we the night before last that might have-oh my god." Sam can't believe what he's seeing.
"Is this turning you on?" Sam points to where Dean is visibly hard under his pants. "Dude."
Dean huffs. "It was from when you were touching me before, on my back," he tells him. Sam shakes his head, and wonders why their lives are so fucked up. "It was like you had your finger up my ass, it was so hot."
Sam grins. "Slut. I always knew you loved me fucking you."
Dean glares at him. "Can we maybe talk about who bottoms and who tops another time, and worry now about the fact that apparently I have fucking wings?" As if to punctuate the statement, from behind Dean's back, Sam watches a huge bloom of blue-black feathers frame his brother's body. They seem to grow and stretch out towards the corners of the room, the tips of the feathers touched with a shimmering, silver glow.
"God. They're beautiful," Sam says. He's completely in awe. He's never seen Dean look hotter, and how fucked up is that? "Do they-"
"Sammy, I'm sorry. I don't know what it is, and I know you want to talk about this," Dean tells him. He looks stressed out and upset. Sam walks over and lays his hand on Dean's arm. Dean shivers and grits his teeth as he adds, "But you have no idea how fucking turned on I am right now."
Sam's dick throbs in his boxers. Maybe tomorrow he'll decide to go to therapy, because he's not all that comfortable with the idea of his brother as a black-winged freak turning him on this much, but for now he thinks he can deal with this just fine.
"Okay," Sam breathes, and comes in his pants when Dean kisses him slowly, one soft wing curling up and around Sam's shoulder.
"It has to be something one of us is doing," Dean says, voice sleepy and soft. They're lying in bed, completely blissful and fucked out, Dean's right wing covering Sam's body like the softest blanket. Sunlight streams through the windows. Outside, the world is going about its day like everything is fine. Inside, Dean has fucking wings.
"Where were we the day before last?" Sam asks. He runs the tips of his fingers over the feather closest to his chest. Dean shivers beside him, and moves closer, one leg slipping between both of Sam's. They're never going to figure this out if they can't stop touching each other.
"That library," Dean finally says. "I went out to gas up the car and you stayed behind to research the-"
Sam is already shaking his head. "I was researching the real estate listings for residential areas surrounding the local cemetery," he says. "Nothing that would have done anything like this." He strokes his fingers across Dean's back, feeling the feathers ruffle under his hand. Dean sucks in a breath and Sam is blindingly hard again. He can't tell who the wings are turning on more, him or Dean.
"Can we talk about it later?" Dean asks, voice shaking. "Because I really wanna-"
"Yeah, yes," Sam says, pushing the sheets back and bending his head to suck Dean's dick into his mouth.
When they wake up again, the wings are gone. Sam blinks at Dean sleepily and worries out loud that maybe the sex won't be as good anymore.
Dean's mouth slants in a grin, and he flips Sam over and fucks him into the mattress.
"I guess that answers that question," Sam pants as Dean pulls out and comes all over Sam's ass.
Dean says, "Guess so."
They never come to an actual conclusion, but Sam thinks the changes have to somehow be his fault. It's not a spell, and it's not from anything they've hunted recently. He supposes Dean could be doing it himself, but when it comes to who has more of the freaky ass super powers, Sam usually wins that contest, hands down.
He tries to remember what he was dreaming about when he woke up the first night to the tapping against his back and can't think of anything. The night after he was definitely dreaming about the baby, but Dean woke up with wings. It doesn't make any sense, and Sam says that to Dean.
"Will you stop?" Dean complains. He shoves Sam's shoulder and Sam nearly rolls off the bed. "It's not your fault. It's not something you're doing."
"Oh, yeah?" Sam closes his eyes, concentrates hard on something, and doesn't open them until Dean shouts, "What the fuck?" and jumps out of bed.
Sam opens his eyes and sits up. Yep. Sure enough. "Tentacles," Sam says.
Dean raises his right arm and three green, slimy tentacles trail behind him. "Sammy," he warns.
"It's me, don't you get it?" Sam shakes his head. "I can control it if I know it's me doing it for sure, but I can't help what happens in my sleep, Dean. I guess as long as we know I can change you back by thinking about it hard enough, it'll be okay."
"Do we know that for a fact?" Dean is eyeing the tentacles with disgust. "Because this is gross."
Sam closes his eyes and thinks about Dean looking normal. No babies or wings or tentacles. He opens them when he hears Dean sigh in relief.
"Thank god," Dean says.
Sam smiles. All right. As long as they know this is manageable… He smiles, thinks of something else, and cracks up laughing when Dean curses him out.
"You made me a fucking chick?" Dean is trying to glare, but the hot pink lipstick makes him a lot less threatening than usual. He's standing there in a black tank top, short denim skirt, and red high-heeled boots. "That's low," Dean tells him.
"Yeah, you're right." Sam nods in agreement, closes his eyes and changes Dean back.
Dean huffs and drops back onto the bed. "You're not going to just keep doing this to fuck with me, are you?" Dean asks.
Sam crosses his fingers behind his back. "'Course not."
Sam waits until Dean goes to the bathroom before he does it again. For a minute he thinks it didn't even work, Dean is so quiet, but then the door opens and all he hears is Dean's voice saying, "Sammy, why do you hate me?"
"I don't," Sam insists.
Dean comes around the corner and bangs his head into the ceiling fan with the ten-gallon hat on his head. There's a lasso tucked into his back jeans pocket, and when he walks, the spurs on the back of his boots jingle.
"Oh, really," Dean says.
It takes Sam a while to give in - this is the best ammo he's had on Dean in years -- but they finally shake before they go to sleep that night and agree that whatever happens while Sam's sleeping is one thing, but when he's awake, he has to stop changing Dean into whatever he thinks is funny at the time.
Sam begrudgingly agrees. He'll only use it when absolutely necessary. Like a life-and-death situation. Or Sam's birthday.
Not that he tells Dean that.
The next morning, Sam wakes up long before the alarm is set to go off again. He lies completely still, trying to figure out what's different, trying to push down the weird feelings he's having.
It's bizarre. He and Dean have been together forever, but he's never felt - this is something totally different - he actually feels--
"What now?" Dean asks, awake too. "You turn me into a midget or something? Do I even want to get up and look?"
"No, Dean, it's not you this time," Sam says, because this is just weird. He doesn't know how to explain it - the way he feels - and realizes that Dean is looking at him carefully, trying to figure out what's wrong.
"Dude, you don't look any different," Dean says.
Sam shakes his head. "I know, it's not that. I feel different."
"What do you mean? How do you feel?"
Sam licks his lips. He knows this sounds insane, but, "I feel gay, dude. I woke up and feel totally gay."
Dean waits a beat then says, "Then can you wish me those wings back again? Because I can totally work with that."