Getting used to being a guy again is actually incredibly easy. For one thing, Dean's got his dick again, which makes pretty much everything awesome. For another, he doesn't have to move the front seat of the Impala so damned far forward anymore. For a third, all of his favorite t-shirts fit.

There's basically nothing bad about it at all, actually, except for one thing: his underwear feels weird. It's pretty stupid. His jeans fit fine. He's thrilled not to be swimming in his leather jacket anymore, and the fact that his boots fit again is awesome. But there's just something about the underwear that's driving him crazy.

He hasn't worn boxers in a couple of months, but he never would have thought they'd feel so itchy when he put them back on. And no matter which pair of jeans he's wearing, they get all bunched up at the top, even when he's wearing that one pair that's three sizes bigger than the others from when he got cursed fat for three weeks a couple of years ago. He would've thought the bunching problem wouldn't be so bad in those, but he still ends up spending half of his time with his hands in his pockets trying to smooth his boxers down. If that isn't awkward to explain he doesn't know what is, especially since Sam calls him on it when they're standing in line at McDonald's.

Sam pulls him into the men's bathroom -- because that totally doesn't get them any awkward looks at all -- and hisses, "Seriously, dude, what is your problem?"

Maybe I'm just happy to have my dick again, Dean almost says, because that's sure to make Sam shut up and leave him alone, but guilting Sam isn't really that much fun since afterwards Sam invariably looks like he just watched you take a sack of puppies down to the river and drown them. So instead Dean gears up for Sam's "my brother's an idiot" face and says, "My boxers are bunchy."

There's the face, right on cue. "You have got to be kidding me," Sam says.

"Nope," Dean says cheerfully. "It's driving me crazy."

"You're driving me crazy," Sam says. "Everyone we meet thinks you're a pervert!"

That's a little unfair, Dean thinks. Not everyone. The chick with the nose ring in that diner in Austin leered at him when she handed him his change and said, "You can do that any time you want." She'd thought he was awesome.

"I can't concentrate on anything if my boxers are all bunched up," Dean explains. "It's distracting."

Sam sighs heavily and says through clenched teeth, "So wear your boxer-briefs, Dean."

"Huh," Dean says. "I hadn't thought about that."

Sam smacks the flat of his hand against his forehead and goes back into the restaurant.

The girl who takes their order grins hugely at Dean and gives him a thumbs up while Sam's digging for his wallet, though, so Dean's counting the whole thing as a win. It occurs to him once they're in the parking lot that she was probably grinning because she thought he and Sam had just gotten off in the bathroom, but whatever, it still counts.

So, boxer-briefs. Dean's kind of amazed that he hadn't thought of that himself. He always wears them when there's even the slightest chance that they're going to be running, because having your junk swinging all over the place when you're trying to chase shit down sucks a whole lot. Boxer-briefs are good, though. They're tight around his cock, keeping it close against his body, but he doesn't like the way they're tight around the tops of his thighs. He doesn't do anything about it -- he's kind of sick of Sam giving him crap -- but he might be twitching a little too much or something, because Sam finally says, a few days in, "God, Dean, just buy yourself some new underwear if it'll make this stop."

Dean's not much of one for department stores, but you can't exactly buy underwear at the thrift store and there aren't any Wal-Marts near their motel, so that's where he ends up. Sam refuses to come along. "I'll just be researching the Nantucket case," he says -- something about fishermen disappearing from their boats during the new moon -- and honestly it's probably for the best that Sam didn't come with, because this way Dean can walk through the underwear section without worrying about Sam staring at him while he feels the different pairs of underwear for softness and stretch. It sounds kind of creepy when he thinks of it that way, but whatever, he's not going to buy underwear that's no better than what he's already got.

There's still the same problem with all of it, though: every pair of boxers feels too scratchy, and he knows they're going to bunch up, and the boxer-briefs are going to be too tight in the wrong places.

There's other stuff here, but he doesn't look at it. He doesn't really think about what he's doing. He just puts back the couple pairs of boxers he'd picked up thinking they might not be too terrible, although they were expensive as crap -- who pays $20 for a pair of boxers, seriously? -- and makes for the escalator. Down a floor and slightly to the right and there: plain white cotton underwear. He exhales in relief as soon as he picks up the package of them and checks the size. It should work. He picks up another pack of them, just in case, and heads for the register.

The woman who rings him up gives him an odd look, but he doesn't even care. He pays for the underwear with hustled cash and heads immediately for the bathroom. He's out of his jeans and boxers so quickly he almost falls over on the floor of the stall, and then he's pulling one of the new pairs of underwear out of the packaging. He moans a little as he pulls them on, because seriously, they are so much better than anything else he's worn in the past three weeks, and if he'd had to deal with the whole underwear problem for too much longer it might have actually driven him insane. He stuffs the boxers back in the bag with the rest of the underwear and pulls his jeans back on. He grins at his reflection as he heads out of the bathroom. He feels awesome. As an afterthought, he pulls the boxers back out of the shopping bag and chucks them in the trash on the way out. It's not like he's going to be wearing them anymore, anyway.

It's been a couple of hours by the time Dean gets back, and Sam hasn't moved at all from where he was the last time Dean saw him. "You making any progress there?" Dean asks, shutting the door behind him.

Sam doesn't look up from the computer. "Kind of. Not really. You have any luck with your underwear problem?"

Something about the way Sam says underwear problem has Dean's dick hardening in his new underwear instantly. "Uh, yeah, I'm good. I'm going to go take a shower, is that cool?"

Dean doesn't really know how it happens. One moment Sam's staring disinterestedly at his computer screen, and the next Sam's up and in his personal space, way too close for it to be anything but wholly deliberate. "Why do you want to take a shower now, huh?" Sam says, low enough for it to be almost a growl.

Dean is all too aware, suddenly, that they might have kissed and gotten each other off in the dark a few times since he changed back, but they haven't actually fucked in three and a half weeks exactly and Dean-- He wants Sam to do it. He wants Sam to fuck him. It should be a weird realization but it isn't really, not any weirder than anything else they've been doing, and from Sam's expression he thinks Sam has a pretty damned good idea of what Dean's thinking and approves of it.

"Take them off," Sam says. "Your jeans. Take them off."

Dean doesn't even think about disobeying. He kicks off his boots and pulls his jeans off a little less clumsily than earlier and then stands in front of Sam in nothing but his underwear. Sam is staring at him hungrily.

"I knew it," Sam says. "I fucking knew it. Women's panties, Dean. Jesus."

Dean's jaw is hanging open with want -- he can't seem to get it to close again -- and Sam takes advantage of that, surging forward and kissing Dean hard. "I'm going to fuck you," Sam whispers, "going to come all over your ass."

"Yeah," Dean says, "yeah, come on, do it."

Sam pushes him down onto the bed and says, "Not yet, though. Just want to--" He doesn't finish the sentence, but what he wants is clear enough anyway. He presses Dean down onto the bed and pulls his own jeans off one-handed, quickly, and sprawls out all over Dean's back, notching his dick against Dean's crease and pushing, and if Dean doesn't come in the next thirty seconds it's going to be a goddamned miracle. Sam rocks hard against his ass and works a hand up between Dean's body and the bed somehow and grinds it against Dean's dick. It's sloppy, shouldn't work at all, but Dean's coming on the bed and Sam's hand and not long later Sam's coming against Dean's ass, all over the new underwear.

Minutes later, when blood finally works its way back up to his brain again, Dean says, "So, Sam, you got a women's panties kink you weren't telling me about?"

"Says the guy who bought them for himself," Sam replies, sprawled on the bed by Dean's side. "So are you going to stop whining about your underwear now?"

If this is any indication of the kind of results he's going to get for wearing women's underwear, definitely.