SPN Fic: Don't Gamble (What You Can't Afford to Lose), Part 1/2
Oh my fucking god, I've pretty much been writing for the last six hours straight. The fic below was written for kelleigh's prompt in the salt_burn_porn community, that prompt being "losing the bet". (A 24-hour challenge, please note. Beta-ing, it is nonexistent.)
title. Don't Gamble (What You Can't Afford to Lose)
pairing. Sam/Dean
rating. NC-17
word count. 12,000 words
status. completed
warnings. High-school fic, kissing for Sam at thirteen years old, underage sex at fifteen years old.
:::::::::
NOW
Sam looked through the front window as he waited for Dean to come home.
The door was open to let in a cool breeze--Montana wasn’t hot so much as it was bright in the summer, but the indoors were stuffy without the fresh air. Their current rental didn’t have an air conditioning unit, as was usual for a place so far north; Sam had no idea about the heating system, as they hadn’t needed to use it. Dad had not, of course, let them live there long enough to experience the winter.
One of these days, Sam thought, he would learn to appreciate the cold.
The driveway was a long, winding affair; it ran down the gently sloping hillside overlooking the city of Butte. The view was beautiful, some would say gorgeous, but Sam was perverse--he preferred the vista outside of the city. Butte was a charming little town surrounded by breathtaking mountains, and as majestic as those mountains were, the outlaying countryside was open, unconfined. There were miles upon miles of hot blue sky, rolling white clouds, the swaying whisper of green-brown grassland, and a person could feel lost in all of that space...
Where there was nothing but freedom.
Nothing but emptiness.
Sam tore his eyes away from the window. Almost despite himself, his eyes instead fell on the duffel bag slumped by his feet. A familiar sight, and a newly terrifying one. He didn't want to use the bag, and wasn't that a futile sort of thought? He’d always been an idealistic fool, always believed that hope sprung eternal--because always, everywhere, there was Dean. Dean, who would never let him use the bag, who would hate everything it meant. Dean, who would never let him need it.
Dean wasn't the problem.
Sam shook his head. There was nothing for it; it was now or never. He would collect every precious memory while he still had the time, while he still had the chance, and then Dean would be home.
:::::
THEN
Thirteen years old.
He was walking down the corridors of the school, this eight-room number that had maybe a hundred and fifty kids. It totally sucked because the town was damned small and the school even smaller, which meant that everyone already knew each other. It made Sam’s business this fucking fascinating thing to everyone.
The upside was that the school was one of those combined elementary, middle, and high school gigs. Dean was in the classroom just down the hall. Sam saw him almost hourly; they passed each other in the corridors between classes, and they hung out during study hall, recess, and lunch.
“Hey," a light, high voice said next to him. "Have you seen it?"
Sam looked up from his book, and yeah, okay, walking down the hall with his nose in it was the kind of thing that could earn him some snickering from the other students. But it was amazing what a calmly-flipped middle finger could do. “Hey,” Sam said absently. "Seen what?"
“Really?" Jenny said, laughing as she pointed to the walls. "I mean, the posters!”
“Campaign posters?” Sam blinked at her. Jenny wasn't his only friend in the place, but barring Dean, she was his best friend. He didn't know her very well, but she seemed to like him, she laughed a lot, and hey, beggars couldn't be choosers, anyway.
Sam looked around, following her waving fingers. “Yeah, so?”
“Did you see Ben’s? It’s awesome.”
Sam couldn't help himself: He mouthed the word "awesome" slowly and silently between his lips, mocking her gently. “No," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don’t think I have. I’m sure you’re going to tell me all about it?”
She nodded, her head set in a damn straight I am kind of way.
Sam sighed. Ben was a funny dude; Sam could admit it. The guy could give Dean a run for his money--well, only because Dean was doing his "low profile" thing these days, but whatever, it totally counted. The first time Sam had ever seen Ben, Ben had been ducking through their classroom doorway like he was in ‘Mission Impossible’ or something--the guy had actually rolled under the lines of desks. He'd been late to class, but their teacher had only called him a dumbass.
Sam had only shaken his head. It was apparently going to be that kind of school.
The poster Jenny dragged him down the hall to see left Sam just as impressed: SEX, read the poster in big, bold, ridiculously red letters. Teeny-tiny print followed: Now that I have your attention, vote for Ben!
“Seriously?” Sam said.
Jenny shrugged. “I like it.”
"Sure you do." Sam absentmindedly wondered, how long would it be until one of the teachers came along and took the thing down? Not that it really mattered; the thing had been up long enough. It would be the talk of the school. It was already drawing a crowd; someone was laughing next to him, their voice ecstatic--and wait, Sam knew that voice.
“Dude, that's perfect!" it was saying. Sam only rolled his eyes as a large, heavy arm wrapped itself around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. Sam looked up at Dean’s teeth flashing, shark-like, in a grin.
“That is so wicked." Dean sounded awed, the idiot.
Sam repeated the word flatly. “Wicked.”
“What?" Dean asked, shaking him with his one-armed grip. "It totally is.”
"You are beyond sad."
“Sam thinks he’s too cool to be impressed,” Jenny piped up. She sounded grateful to have another person destroying Sam’s obviously worthless opinion on the matter, and Sam sent her an irritated look.
Dean turned them both to face her. "Yeah," he said slowly, giving her a searching, almost rude cruising sort of look. Apparently deciding she passed muster, he went on more cheerfully. "He’s cute that way.”
"Dean," Sam said sharply. He felt his cheeks burning--Dean was going to try and set him up with Jenny, he just knew it. "Shut the hell up.”
“You are,” Dean told him, grinning widely.
“Am not.”
“Really are,” Dean said. He wiggled his eyebrows at Jenny. “Am I right, or am I right?”
Oh, and that was just cheating. That was totally unfair--Dean was an upperclassman, and he, he, well, he was Dean. He knew the effect he had on girls.
“Yeah,” she said, ducking her head. “He is.”
Sam was saved from further embarrassment by a loud buzzing noise and Dean's subsequent cursing at it. It was the five-minute warning--Dean gently shook Sam's shoulders, ruffled his hair, and stepped away to allow them to get back to class. Dean took one step away, two, three, and Sam watched him, feeling weirdly dazed. Feeling weirdly bereft.
Then Dean turned around.
Sam felt his own mouth twist, felt his smile grow almost helplessly--Dean’s eyes were being recaptured by the SEX sign. It was just so Dean. “No rest for the wicked, huh?” Sam laughed at him, and he made a little shooing motion towards Dean’s classroom. He felt somewhat smug, and he didn’t know why. "Don't waste any time now."
Turning to walk backwards down the corridor, Dean flipped him off.
Sam rolled his eyes and exaggerated the shooing motion, then started turning towards his own classroom. He didn't get far--Dean was pointing towards the sign, mouthing the word "sex" in Sam's direction, his expression full of mock-lasciviousness. He was triumphantly pumping his fists in the air.
“You are such a dork,” Sam told him, laughing despite himself, but Dean, of course, only smirked back at him. Sam shook his head, then waved a happy little good-bye in Dean’s direction.
:::::
Sam snarled down at his classroom assignment, but it was no good. It was just going to be one of those days. He was trying to concentrate on the video that the teacher was making them watch--it was science, all dinosaurs and evolution and natural selection, and it was interesting, damn it. But Ben and Sean, Ben's best friend, refused to shut the hell up about it.
“Virgin lizards,” Sean was spitting gleefully. There were two iguanas mating on the TV screen, and he apparently thought it was the most hilarious thing in the history of ever. “Look at that thing’s tongue!”
He whispered in a way meant to travel the room, and the girls around them giggled. Sam stared at all of them balefully, but to be honest, the boys who played at being Ben and Sean’s minions weren't doing that much better. The teacher, for his part, only looked up from his desk and sighed dramatically. Then he went back to whatever he was doing.
One of those schools, Sam thought again. He tried not to shake his head miserably.
“Dude,” Sean continued, raising his eyebrows at Ben, “give it up--you totally have a virgin tongue.”
Ben snorted. “In your dreams.”
Sam kept listening, interested in the conversation despite himself. He gave the girls a sneaking look--judging from how they sighed over Ben on a regular basis, the guy probably wasn’t actually lacking in that area.
“You're the freakin’ virgin lips,” Ben went on.
Sean looked heartily offended. “Not me."
“So are,” Ben told him, but obviously losing interest in that line of attack, he turned around, his eyes beginning to scan the crowd behind him. Sam quickly looked away. Moving as much as he did seriously had its downsides--he was thirteen, for crissake. Dean had been making out with girls at eleven.
Looking away was totally a bad move.
”Sam!” Ben called gleefully, pointing at him.
Sam looked over at Jenny helplessly.
“You have virgin lips, Sam?” Ben asked, his voice light and easy.
Too light, Sam thought, too easy. And Jenny's smile was widening by the minute; Sam would be getting no help from that quarter. “No,” he said shortly. It didn’t sound convincing, even to him.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ben continued, nodding wisely. “I’m sure,” and his eyes fell on Jenny as she started soundlessly giggling to herself, “that she’d help you out with that.”
“Oh god,” Jenny said, shaking her head.
“No,” Sam said quickly, looking at her. Then he winced apologetically in her direction--it wasn't that he particularly meant anything by it, but there was no way he was discussing any of this with Ben. It was way too embarrassing.
“Yeah,” Jenny said, her eyes widening. "No way."
They both turned to look at Ben as one, and Ben's narrowed, rapidly-becoming-amused eyes became even more gleeful. Sam abruptly decided to spare Jenny from the virgin-lips debate.
“She totally made out with my brother,” he blurted out. Then he wanted to smash his head against the wall. Ben’s face was lighting up, and Jenny was staring at him, looking totally appalled.
Sam grimaced helplessly. It wasn't what he'd meant to say. He wasn't sure what, exactly, his plan had been, but that--god, he was such an idiot. The rumors in this school spread like wildfire. Jenny was going to kill him. Dean was going to murder him. Making out with a thirteen-year-old was not his brother’s thing, no matter how much the realization made Sam squirm with annoyed displeasure--
Sam quickly buried that thought.
Ben was still focused on Sam’s red face, completely unconcerned with Sam's internal crisis. “So," he said the word slowly, drawling it out--and wow, Sam thought the guy was way too amused by the entire situation. It was just not that interesting, and if the Dean-voice in his head disagreed with him, telling him that yes, Sammy, it totally was, then Sam would just tell it to shut the hell up. He was good at that. He had a lot of practice.
“Dean is a total mac--props to your brother, man," Ben went on. "But you’re all virgin lips? Come on, Sammy, you can tell us.”
“It’s Sam,” he responded sharply. Yet another thing to blame Dean for.
“Whatever,” Ben said, waving his hand imperiously. “So, what, you ever made out with anybody?”
“Yes."
“Uh huh,” Ben said, completely not falling for it. “Did you at least get any tongue?”
“Yes,” Sam said again. He said the word staunchly.
Ben obviously didn’t believe him. “Closed-lip kiss?”
“Yes."
The giggling in the room went silent.
Ben's voice was incredulous. “Have you at least pecked a girl?”
And that’s how Sam had his own rumor going through the school.
:::::
Dean’s response, of course, was entirely predictable.
“Shut up,” Sam grumbled preemptively, when he sat beside Dean during their lunch break. Dean hadn’t even opened his mouth yet, but his face was way too excited--and for god's sake, the guy was in an entirely different classroom. It had to be the girls bathroom, Sam thought. That place was a hot-spot for gossip, a channel between the middle and high school kids.
"Virgin," Dean said the word slowly, with something close to obscene relish. "Lips.”
“Oh god,” Sam said. He buried his face in his hands.
“Virgin lips, Sammy.”
“Just shut up.”
“Virgin lips, Sammy?”
“Will you just stop?"
“Virgin lips!”
Sam turned to him. Dean met his eyes unrepentantly.
Sam hauled back and hit him in the shoulder.
“There is totally more where that came from,” Sam warned afterward, ignoring Dean's yelps of protests. He shook his fist out; the hit had been a good one. Dean would have a bruise for days. “Do not even start with me.”
“It’s okay,” Dean said mock-soothingly. He rubbed at his arm, giving Sam a reproachful look. “I understand, sexual frustration is just difficult, a strong, growing boy like you-“
Sam punched him again.
“Dude!” Dean yelped again, giving him the puppy eyes. “So not cool.”
All thing being equal, Sam should have punched him again--but it was just unfair, how that expression worked on him. Sam turned away to focus on his lunch instead, one of Dean's "masterpieces." A roast beef sandwich, the meat obviously on sale and about to turn, the crusts cut away from the bread. Lots of lettuce, light on the tomato, mustard, but no mayo. Which was also unfair: The sandwich was prepared just as he liked it.
Being grateful to Dean sucked.
“Seriously, dude,” Dean said, his voice softening. He grabbed Sam lightly by the back of the neck, gave him a quick, reassuring squeeze, then rubbed his hand up and down Sam’s back. Sam held still, forcing himself not to shiver. Unfairness #3: His hormones were working overtime. "It's cool."
“Easy for you to say,” Sam grumbled back.
“You’ll see, Sammy.” Dean's voice was low, comforting. Unfairness #4. “You’re cute--shut up, you are--and the girls here are totally checking you out. Especially that Jenny girl, and oh, by the way, thanks for that rumor,” Dean said scathingly. "I totally did not make out with her, and don’t even pretend that didn’t come from you.”
Sam hummed smugly. Point, Sam. He bit into his sandwich.
“Bastard,” Dean said fondly. “Seriously, though, she’s all yours.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed around his mouthful.
“I wouldn’t mac on your girl,” Dean told him seriously. “Just no, Sam.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s not my girl.”
“Then some other hottie,” Dean said, shrugging. “Whatever." He looked weirdly happy all of a sudden. “When you hit your growth spurt, dude, the ladies are going to be all over you! I’ll have to fight them off with a stick!” He waved an imaginary branch around.
“A stick, Dean,” Sam said, “seriously?” He looked at the girls sitting nearby, who had stopped in their chatter to listen in on their conversation. Sam made an apologetic cuckoo motion in their direction, then he pointed at his brother and shrugged.
“Or not,” Dean said quickly, his voice and expression becoming shifty. “I mean, that’d totally defeat the purpose, right?” He turned to the girls himself. “You guys would hit this, yeah?” He motioned back at Sam.
They laughed, shrugging and nodding, but many of them were eying Dean with appraisal.
Sam was used to that. Dean just had that effect on people. Fuck, Dean encouraged that response, and Sam would have been completely okay with it, if not for the part where it was totally unfairness #5. He wasn't jealous of the attention--jealousy would have been good, jealousy would have been welcome--but he was supposed to be immune to that shit. Dean was his brother.
Sam stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and got to his feet.
“Where’re you goin’?” Dean asked, alarm in his voice. He stood up as well.
“Outside,” Sam told him, waving him down. His mouth was full; he sounded like an idiot. “Gotth twenthy mintth leff.”
Immediately, Dean looked comforted. “Basketball?”
“Uh huh,” Sam said, and he swallowed down the rest of the sandwich.
Dean practically bounced along as he followed Sam through the doors of the gym-slash-cafeteria. The sun outside was high and bright, which Sam liked despite the muggy heat it encouraged, and the concrete play area was almost empty. There were a couple of guys milling around, but that was it. “We’re gonna cream those punks,” Dean was saying. “Have you seen them? They suck.”
Sam shrugged, not quite certain about that. North Carolina was a basketball state after all.
”They do,” Dean insisted. “Jake couldn’t make a three-pointer if the hoop came up and begged him for it.”
“That makes no sense--it wouldn’t be a three-pointer that close.”
“Sam,” Dean said, looking heavenward as if for patience.
“It wouldn’t be.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever,” Dean told him, and then motioned at them both. “But seriously, fuck, your aim is winner these days-you’re going to have a bitch of a time when that growth spurt comes, but for now? Dude.”
“It’s a ball, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes. “You’ve had me throwing shit since I was eight.”
“Language,” Dean said, but it was an absent-minded correction. “Still. You’re good. And fuck, you can even dribble. I did not teach you that.”
“I know,” Sam mocked him. “It’s amazing. There’s something I didn’t learn from my big brother.” He threw his arms up in apparent wonder. “The world is going to end!”
“It seriously is.” Dean eyed Sam up and down as they walked, looking pleased, and Sam felt a flush go over his skin despite himself. Damned hormones. “It’s good,” Dean continued, and then he looked a little awkward. “I mean, you’re good--I mean, at basketball.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, cutting him off. He looked at Dean with curiosity, not understanding what Dean’s problem was. “I’m good, you’re good, we’re all good.”
Dean made a choking noise.
“What?” Sam asked, frowning.
Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Seriously,” Dean told him, and if Sam wasn’t mistaken, his brother was blushing. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Okay,” Sam said slowly, and then he shook his head. “Whatever. “ He paused. “You weirdo.”
Dean snorted. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, exasperated all over again. “I really do.”
People were beginning to line up by the basketball court. Sam watched from the corner of his eye as Dean stripped down, the both of them being tagged for the “skins” part of the “shirts verses” equation. They had to stop for a moment to call Jenny over-she’d been playing on the swing-sets with some of her chick friends, but she was always up for a good game. She wore a pretty little sports-bra under her T-shirt, which she had no compunction revealing as she took her place on the “skins” team.
“Yeah, you go girl!” Dean’s response was again predictable. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and then wiggled them in Sam’s direction as if to say You’re sure you don’t want to hit that?
Jenny flipped him off. “Play the game, jackass.”
Sam snorted, feeling inexplicably pleased by her treatment of Dean. "Yeah, you jackass.”
Dean grinned at both of them. “Hey now,” he said. “Don’t be haters.”
It was a three-on-three game, and he, Dean, and Jenny were pretty good players. Jenny was better than Sam, which Dean was no doubt going to rib him about, but she was small enough to play a decent point-guard. Sam and the rest of them were still kind of gangly, getting used to their newly growing frames--except for Dean, who'd gone through his growth spurt the year before. Sam couldn’t help but keep looking at him. Dean moved like a predator, completely smooth and in control of his movements.
It was pure torture. There was a small droplet of water making its way down Dean’s neck, along the dip of his collarbone, threatening to fall over Dean’s chest-and oh my god, Sam gulped, maybe a nipple, too. Dean’s body was both white and brown, as Dean didn't bother with making his tan even or anything, and the sweat dripping off his form moved from sun-kissed to pale, shining skin. Sam breathed out hard, suddenly feeling the absurd desire to lick along the contours of Dean’s slick muscles--he jerked his eyes away, looking up at Dean’s eyes guiltily.
It was entirely too late. Dean was staring right back at him.
Sam felt his breathing pick up in a panic-
--and then he stopped.
Dean wasn’t looking at his face.
Okay then, Sam thought, calming down. Everything was cool. Sam looked down at himself, feeling a bit confused because Dean still hadn't looked away. Sam knew he wasn’t ugly or anything, and he was fit enough--it was kind of hard not to be, what with all the PT Dad gave them every day. Sam couldn’t see anything gross on him either. There was no messed-up deodorant left from this morning’s application, no food or anything smearing his skin.
“Dude,” Sam said finally, feeling the weird urge to cover himself. “What?”
Dean shook his head suddenly. He blinked down at Sam.
“Nothing,” Dean said quickly, shaking his head again. “I mean, I’m totally thinking about pimping you out.”
“What?” Sam asked again, still completely confused and beginning to feel a bit offended.
Dean’s lip twisted in a dirty little grin. “You know,” he said, motioning towards Sam’s mouth. “That problem you’re having.”
“Oh god,” Jenny said. Sam turned to her, catching her as she closed her eyes momentarily. She stood with the basketball in her hands, ready to throw it in from out-of-bounds. “You already heard about that?”
One of the guys on the other team-Jake, Sam thought, from Dean’s class-laughed. “Virgin lips?” he said.
“I hate you,” Sam said, staring at the sky. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but the situation was dire enough that he could probably mean the world and still feel at perfect ease.
“Who?” Dean said, his voice indignant. “Me? I didn’t start that.”
“Me either,” Jenny said. She only sounded matter-of-fact. “Oh, and by the way, Dean, not that other thing, either.”
“I know,” Dean told her reassuringly. “I know who to blame for that.”
Sam looked down at Dean again. “I hate you,” he said once more.
“Yeah, baby boy,” Dean snorted. “Sure you do.”
“Hate,” Sam said, emphasizing the word. He spread his arms. “This much, I swear.” He paused. “And call me ‘baby boy’ again, and I’ll cut you.”
Jake laughed. “Sounds like my brother,” he said. “Kid throws knives at me, and when my parents asked about the marks on the floor? He totally blamed the dog.”
Dean nodded wisely. “Kids are fucking menaces.”
“Fuck you,” Sam said easily.
“In your dreams,” Dean retorted, just as calmly.
“Gross,” Sam told him, not bothering to remind himself about the fact that yeah, it wasn’t so gross to him, not so much. “You’re a sick bastard.”
“Takes one to know one,” Dean shot back, but he was grinning at Sam.
The buzzer signifying the end of the lunch period sounded, cutting off the conversation for a good five seconds. Sam held his ears, grimacing in Dean’s direction; Dean just grinned back at him in a way that Sam knew was Dean calling him a little bitch. Sam motioned for Jenny to give him the ball. They’d have to shove it back in the gym on their way back to class.
“I’m serious,” Dean told him, yelling over the sound, “I’m gonna find you a girl.”
The buzzer cut off. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean--his brother had no patience. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Rhonda Peters likes you,” Jenny said idly, jumping into the conversation. “She’s planning on jumping you after school today.”
“See?” Dean said, grinning. “Easy as pie.”
“Oh, shut it,” Sam told him.
“I’m serious,” Dean said. “Hell, I bet you you’ll even get to second base.”
Jenny snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Jake laughed. “With Rhonda? I would.”
Jenny flipped him off. “She’s not like that.”
“Hey,” Dean grinned. “I’d totally be cool with it if she was, you know what I’m saying?”
“Oh gross,” Sam said again. “Just fucking shut your mouth, dude. You’re such a pervert.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re a prude, Sammy,” he said. “A big fat fucking prude.”
Sam reached out, and before he could think about what he was doing, he grabbed Dean’s hand, shoving it against the bare skin of his belly. His brother’s fingers were rough against his stomach, his palm warm and calloused, and Sam felt his heart jump in his chest, felt it beat in a wild, ungainly rhythm. For a second, he was quite sure it was going to escape from his rib cage.
Dean looked down at him, his eyes wide. His fingers twitched against Sam’s skin, but they didn’t otherwise move.
“Uh,” Sam breathed out. He could hear how unsteady his own voice was. “Um. I’m not fat?”
He said it weakly, not quite sure where he was going with the entire holding-Dean’s-hand-against-him thing. Sam looked down. Yep, even now, he still had Dean’s wrist trapped in his grasp, holding his brother’s hand in place.
Dean blinked at him, and he moved his palm over Sam’s stomach in a short, quickly aborted movement. “Uh, yeah,” he said, and his voice was low, somewhat shocky. “Not fat. Right.”
“Okay,” Jenny said finally, her voice dubious. Sam winced at the thought, wondering what it was she saw-fuck, what Dean saw. Jenny continued speaking. “Not fat. Great. ”
Dean’s eyes seemed to brighten. Sam immediately knew what was coming--he recognized that mischievous look in his brother’s eyes--but he didn't move fast enough.
“Fucking jerk,” Sam yelped, fighting his way free. His stomach was stinging like a bitch; Dean had slapped him hard.
Dean only reached out and dragged him back, tucking Sam under his arm against his sweaty, stinky body. “Yeah, that’s right,” he told Sam, laughing loudly and obnoxiously. “Take the pit. You like the pit. The pit is your friend.”
He rubbed his body against Sam’s, all wild grins and obviously aiming for a punch after being so disgusting, and Sam let it happen for a few seconds. Then a few seconds more. Then just a few more. He would hit Dean back, Sam thought eventually, he’d get him back before they went to class, so that he’d have the last word and Dean couldn’t retaliate.
It was a good plan, Sam decided. He squirmed in a really bad attempt to get away, and he tried to ignore just how much he liked the feel of Dean’s skin.
:::::
Dean passed him in the corridor between the bells for fifth and sixth period. “Rhonda Peters,” he said, smacking Sam on the shoulder. He turned around to walk backwards as he moved away from Sam. “I have a bet with her sister-she says it’s totally not going to happen.”
“It’s not,” Sam told him, turning around and walking backwards himself to keep Dean in view.
Dean gave him a thumbs up sign as he disappeared into his classroom. “I have faith!” he yelled.
:::::::
Three-thirty finally rolled around, and as expected, Rhonda Peters was waiting for him. So were a few other girls-apparently being “virgin lips” was a good advertisement for getting a girlfriend. Sam stared at all of them, feeling a bit shell-shocked. Dean would be all over this situation, he knew--but Sam, well, Sam was fucked up. There was only one person he really felt like kissing, and it wasn’t any girl.
He smiled at Rhonda and the few other girls he didn’t know, and he waved tentatively as he walked away.
“Dude, no,” Dean protested as he approached the Impala. “I’m totally going to owe Leanna a bone for this.”
Sam stared at him. “You bet a hundred dollars?”
“Well,” Dean shrugged. “Okay, not really. She said I could just by her a chocolate bar if I lost-but seriously, Sammy? There are like seven girls just waiting for you over there! Do your big brother proud!”
Sam sighed and reached for the passenger door handle. “Better hit the Food Lion, dude.”
“Fucking chocolate,” Dean groused. “Come on, Sam! Kissing! Girls! What’s not to like?”
“Not going to happen,” Sam told him staunchly, and he shot Dean smug looks as they started to drive down the winding, barren road to the nearest grocery store. “And that should teach you not to bet on my love life, you asshole.”
“Language,” Dean reprimanded him automatically, but he was rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
There weren’t many houses or any other buildings between their school and the Food Lion, just some random, torn-down farmhouses that looked like they were molding from the Carolina humidity. The air smelled green and new, but the overwhelming growing scent had already passed by, destroyed by the heat of the approaching summer. Sam was glad-hayfever in this region was a bitch.
Dean had already rolled down their windows, letting the breeze waft over their skin. Sam thought idly about stripping out of his shirt-he was still a bit tacky from their lunch-time pick-up game, and the Food Lion was at least thirty more minutes away-but he contented himself with scratching idly at his chest instead. The heat felt relaxing, made him feel drowsy; he turned suddenly heavy-lidded eyes on Dean next to him.
Dean was looking at him from the corner of his vision. “Always falling asleep,” he said fondly, and he reached out to ruffle Sam’s hair. Sam leaned into it, sighing softly at the familiar comfort. “You’ve done that since you were a baby, you know.”
Sam hummed, closing his eyes for just a moment. “Not a baby anymore,” he murmured.
Dean snorted, and Sam opened his eyes to arch a quizzical eyebrow in his direction. “Yeah, Sam,” Dean told him, seeing the look, “you’re all of thirteen. Real old, there.”
“Fuck you, jerk,” Sam said, yawning uncontrollably. “You’re only seventeen. ‘Snot like you’re ancient or anything.”
“I can drive,” Dean said proudly.
“Dude,” Sam protested, rubbing at his eyes. “You’ve been driving for, what, six years now?”
“Longer,” Dean shrugged at him. “But you know what I mean.”
Sam shifted in place, trying to get more comfortable on the Impala’s seat. It was perfectly broken to his body-had been for years from both him and Dean snuggling against the window, one and then the other as Dad sat in the driver’s seat. The back seat was even more comfy, but Sam liked being next to Dean, liked the look on Dean’s face when he was driving. “Sticky,” he said finally.
Dean looked at question at him.
“The seat,” Sam clarified. “Leather.”
Dean hummed in what seemed like agreement. “Cost of doing business,” he said.
They drove along in silence for a few more minutes, and then Dean finally said, “So, not Rhonda Peters, then?”
Sam shrugged. “Naw.”
“Not your type?”
Sam laughed-Dean didn’t even know. “Not at all.”
“Blondes, brunettes, or red-heads?” Dean asked, quirking a grin in Sam’s direction.
What the hell, Sam thought. “I like brown hair. You know, with the blonde streaks.”
“Dyed hair?” Dean asked. “Or natural?”
Sam stared at him, frowning. “Like you can even tell.”
“I can,” Dean insisted. Then after a moment, “Okay, I’m totally lying. I can’t tell.”
“Knew it.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“Sore loser.”
Dean snorted. “Never got used to it, what can I say?” He laughed obnoxiously, obviously trying to get a rise out of Sam, but Sam only smiled back at him. He couldn’t help himself; Dean just looked so damned happy. Sam reached out, and he flicked Dean lightly on the shoulder.
“Moron,” Sam told him affectionately.
“Dude, I’m brilliant,” Dean told him idly, his attention focused on the road as he hit the button for the turning signal. Sam thought that was funny; there was nobody at the intersection with them. “But enough about me,” Dean said as he drove down the new road. “So, brunettes.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. It was close enough.
“Blue eyes, brown eyes, or-what, green eyes? Are there any other colors?”
“God,” Sam said, laughing lowly. “You’re such a dork.”
“What?” Dean asked, sounding a little offended.
“Are we really doing this?” Sam asked him. “What’re you gonna do next, Dean? Pull out a Cosmo and find out my perfect man?”
“Shut the fuck up, Sam.”
“Thought so.”
“Dude,” Dean told him, and he reached over to pinch Sam’s arm lightly. “Don’t be an ass. I’m just curious. You had all those options back there-and come on, man, some of them were total babes.”
“Total babes?” Sam mimicked, and laughed to himself. “Could you be any more of a cliché?”
“Oh, shut it.” Then after a moment, “I’m serious, Sam. I’m gonna find you a girl. You totally deserve a babe.”
Sam sighed again. Dean was right, he knew, and it wasn’t like Sam had anything against finding a girlfriend. He just wasn’t sure he wanted one right then. He’d give it time, Sam told himself. This stupid crush on his brother had to pass sooner or later. It hadn’t for the past two years, but whatever, Sam could be patient.
“Green eyes,” Sam said eventually.
“What?”
“You asked-you know,” Sam waved a hand lightly around his head. “What color.”
“Like one of those Cuban babes?” Dean asked him. “Have you seen them? Dude, seriously, tan skin, long brown hair, and fucking blue or green eyes. It’s fucking fantastic.” He made a quick sweeping motion with his right hand. “And the bodies on them!”
Sam shrugged noncommittally.
“No?” Dean asked him. “White chicks, then?”
Sam waved his hand in the air again. “I’m easy,” he said.
“Whatever?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. But after a moment, he couldn’t help himself. He stared out of the corner of his eye, looking at the upturned bent of his brother’s nose. “But I like freckles.”
Dean laughed. “Well, okay then. For a second, I was thinking you’re like Narcissus or something-shut up, Sam, I totally read-“ and Sam laughed, because he was about to rib him for the name-“what with the brown hair and green eyes.” Dean frowned. “Though your eyes are more hazel.”
“Are they?” Sam asked, not really caring. He wasn’t talking about his own eyes, after all. “Bright, bright green,” he said after a moment. “And freckles.”
“And brown hair,” Dean murmured.
They drove in yet more silence after that, but the feeling was still easy, still comfortable. Sam was waking up somewhat, drifting peacefully out of his car-induced coma, but his mind continued to float around as they drove. It didn’t seem so bad, for those few minutes, that he was using his brother as a template for his perfect “woman.” Didn’t feel so awful that he was letting Dean know.
“Kind of like me, huh?” Dean said softly, and Sam was still so comfortable that he said, “Yeah,” without thinking about it.
The silence felt a lot more charged after that.
Dean was looking at him out of the corner of his eyes; Sam could see that in his own peripheral vision. He sucked in a breath sharply, trying to keep it as unnoticeable as he could, but his heart was pounding at triple-speed and he wasn’t sure if he could manage it.
“I mean,” Dean said, and he laughed uncomfortably. It hurt Sam to hear how pained Dean’s voice suddenly sounded. “Not like me, I mean, not me.” Dean let out a choked breath. “Just my features, that sort of thing.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.
“Right?” Dean said a little desperately.
“Uh,” Sam said. It was stupid, so stupid, but he didn’t want to deny it, didn’t want to lie about what and who he really wanted. It was so much better, keeping it in silence-couldn’t Dean just let it go?
“Sammy?”
Apparently not.
Sam took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes. He gave himself a count of ten, and then he looked at his brother. “Dean,” he said slowly, still wanting to give Dean one last chance to back out, “this is one of those times where you shouldn’t ask if you don’t want to know.”
Dean’s hands were clenched tight on the steering wheel. He was apparently doing his own ten-count, because it took him a while to speak. Sam gripped his knees as he waited, hoping against hope while at the same time calling himself six billion types of idiot, because seriously-who really got to end up with their own brother?
God, he was a moron.
“Sam,” Dean said finally, and he was biting his lip as he turned to meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m asking.”
“You are?” Sam said, startled despite himself. “Really?”
“God,” Dean groaned. “I’m, come on, Sam, you’re killing me here. Yes, I’m asking.”
Sam coughed, or laughed-he wasn’t exactly sure. “Yeah, Dean,” he said, blurting it out, and he winced because he sounded like such a scared little kid, and wow, that wasn’t what he was going for there, talk about bad timing. “Just like you. Exactly like you.” He paused, and then he made himself say it. “Actually, you.”
Dean seemed to be holding his breath. “Me.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, and his voice was small, so small. “You.”
“Me.”
It made Sam a little angry, how Dean kept repeating himself. “Yeah, you, okay?” he said, and if his voice went a little harsh, well, who could blame him. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m your little freak of a brother, and I want to fucking kiss you, and god, I am going to shut up right now.”
“Language,” Dean said, still looking shocked, but before Sam could turn around and kick him for it, Dean held up a hand. “Sorry, sorry, habit.”
“Seriously not a good time.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah. I get that.”
“Good.”
Dean blew out a breath. “I am,” he said finally, and then he seemed to change his mind, shaking his head a little. “Me, too.”
Sam looked over at him. “You, too?”
Dean grunted. “Yeah.”
Sam couldn’t make out his features-well, he could, but he couldn’t be reading them right, he just couldn’t be. “What do you mean, you, too?” he demanded.
“What?” Dean said, starting to frown himself. “Did I stutter?”
“Dean!” Sam almost shouted, but he kept his voice down at the very last second. “You gotta be clear here!”
“I’m, what,” Dean said, and okay, the Impala was jerking around a little bit, maybe they shouldn’t be having this conversation on the road, Sam thought a bit hysterically. “I like you too, okay? God.”
“Like, like like?” Sam demanded again.
“For fuck’s sake, Sam!” Dean shouted back. “Yes, like like. You think I’d be all worked up about the normal sort of like? Jesus.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice steady, but yeah, that was totally a lost cause; his voice was cracking all over the place and it just wasn’t fucking fair. “You like like me, and I like like you?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding his head, and then he shook it. “I mean, I think so?”
That was it. Sam couldn’t take it anymore.
“Pull over the car,” he demanded.
“What?” Dean looked over at him, his eyes wide.
“Pull over the damned car, Dean!”
Dean did so with a screech of tires, for once not at all careful with his baby. Sam was undoing his seat belt, his hands jerky and not cooperative; it took him three times to get the damned buckle off. His mind was being an absolute bitch, with thoughts of Dad and their teachers and Jenny and Jake looking at them with horrified eyes, but Sam didn’t care. He wrestled the damn belt off and with an easy kick of his legs-still so short, he thought, goddamn it-he was on Dean’s lap.
Dean was staring up at him, his hands in the air above Sam’s knees, then above Sam’s shoulders, flittering around as if he didn’t know quite where to put them. His eyes were huge, large green iris and tiny pin-pricks of pupil-and while that was not flattering, Sam knew exactly how he felt.
Sam took a deep breath.
He put his hands on Dean’s shoulders.
“Guess you’re going to win that bet after all,” Sam said, and then he kissed Dean’s lips.
:::::::
There were hours of making out after that. Hours of lips and teeth and tongue, and Sam wasn’t going to lie-Dean had to teach him how to kiss, because Sam was totally predisposed to slobbering. But it was good, and it was them, and Sam wasn’t going to let it go in his lifetime, not for fucking ever.
Later on Dean spent a couple of hours freaking out, and once Sam had him calmed down, it was apparently Sam’s turn to freak the fuck out, and he was still freaking out by the time Dad got home from whatever errand he had run out to do. He and Dean slept in their room together, sharing the one damned bed they had in the house, the both of them on opposite sides and completely not touching. Dean didn’t say a word the entire time, and Sam let himself hyperventilate into sleep.
When they woke up, Dean was still there, looking at Sam a little fearfully.
“Did I completely fuck this up?” Dean whispered.
“Dean,” Sam said, and he rolled closer to his older brother. He reached out and dragged Dean against him-or tried to, but he was the smaller one after all. He ended up mostly on Dean’s chest, looking down into Dean’s eyes. “Seriously? Shut the fuck up.”
Then there was more making out.
When Sam walked down the school corridors later that day, his nose still in a book and Jenny eventually by his side, he found himself looking up at where the ”SEX” poster had been. Like he suspected, the teachers had taken it down. Sam found himself smirking at it all the same.
Ben came up beside him, and he looked up at the spot. “Man, that’s harsh,” he said.
“Too bad,” Sam said lightly.
Ben shot him a sidelong glance. “Yeah,” he said, “it is. But there’s always the next scandal-speaking of which, you got one of them girls to get rid of that ‘virgin lips’ problem for you? I heard there was quite a line.”
Sam found himself sniggering, even though a ridiculous blush was creeping over his features; he could feel the hot flush of it on his face. He wasn’t surprised when an arm suddenly wrapped itself around his shoulders--it was familiar with its strength and scent of leather, and he knew who it belonged to instinctively. Sam looked up, and he smiled up into Dean’s grinning face.
“Naw,” Dean told Ben, and he shook Sam gently. “Kid didn’t go kissing any girls.”
Sam laughed, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was completely out of his mind with giddiness. “Got a chocolate bar, though,” he said, and Dean’s smile grew as he shook Sam again.
:::::::
Part 2
:::::
title. Don't Gamble (What You Can't Afford to Lose)
pairing. Sam/Dean
rating. NC-17
word count. 12,000 words
status. completed
warnings. High-school fic, kissing for Sam at thirteen years old, underage sex at fifteen years old.
:::::::::
NOW
Sam looked through the front window as he waited for Dean to come home.
The door was open to let in a cool breeze--Montana wasn’t hot so much as it was bright in the summer, but the indoors were stuffy without the fresh air. Their current rental didn’t have an air conditioning unit, as was usual for a place so far north; Sam had no idea about the heating system, as they hadn’t needed to use it. Dad had not, of course, let them live there long enough to experience the winter.
One of these days, Sam thought, he would learn to appreciate the cold.
The driveway was a long, winding affair; it ran down the gently sloping hillside overlooking the city of Butte. The view was beautiful, some would say gorgeous, but Sam was perverse--he preferred the vista outside of the city. Butte was a charming little town surrounded by breathtaking mountains, and as majestic as those mountains were, the outlaying countryside was open, unconfined. There were miles upon miles of hot blue sky, rolling white clouds, the swaying whisper of green-brown grassland, and a person could feel lost in all of that space...
Where there was nothing but freedom.
Nothing but emptiness.
Sam tore his eyes away from the window. Almost despite himself, his eyes instead fell on the duffel bag slumped by his feet. A familiar sight, and a newly terrifying one. He didn't want to use the bag, and wasn't that a futile sort of thought? He’d always been an idealistic fool, always believed that hope sprung eternal--because always, everywhere, there was Dean. Dean, who would never let him use the bag, who would hate everything it meant. Dean, who would never let him need it.
Dean wasn't the problem.
Sam shook his head. There was nothing for it; it was now or never. He would collect every precious memory while he still had the time, while he still had the chance, and then Dean would be home.
:::::
THEN
Thirteen years old.
He was walking down the corridors of the school, this eight-room number that had maybe a hundred and fifty kids. It totally sucked because the town was damned small and the school even smaller, which meant that everyone already knew each other. It made Sam’s business this fucking fascinating thing to everyone.
The upside was that the school was one of those combined elementary, middle, and high school gigs. Dean was in the classroom just down the hall. Sam saw him almost hourly; they passed each other in the corridors between classes, and they hung out during study hall, recess, and lunch.
“Hey," a light, high voice said next to him. "Have you seen it?"
Sam looked up from his book, and yeah, okay, walking down the hall with his nose in it was the kind of thing that could earn him some snickering from the other students. But it was amazing what a calmly-flipped middle finger could do. “Hey,” Sam said absently. "Seen what?"
“Really?" Jenny said, laughing as she pointed to the walls. "I mean, the posters!”
“Campaign posters?” Sam blinked at her. Jenny wasn't his only friend in the place, but barring Dean, she was his best friend. He didn't know her very well, but she seemed to like him, she laughed a lot, and hey, beggars couldn't be choosers, anyway.
Sam looked around, following her waving fingers. “Yeah, so?”
“Did you see Ben’s? It’s awesome.”
Sam couldn't help himself: He mouthed the word "awesome" slowly and silently between his lips, mocking her gently. “No," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don’t think I have. I’m sure you’re going to tell me all about it?”
She nodded, her head set in a damn straight I am kind of way.
Sam sighed. Ben was a funny dude; Sam could admit it. The guy could give Dean a run for his money--well, only because Dean was doing his "low profile" thing these days, but whatever, it totally counted. The first time Sam had ever seen Ben, Ben had been ducking through their classroom doorway like he was in ‘Mission Impossible’ or something--the guy had actually rolled under the lines of desks. He'd been late to class, but their teacher had only called him a dumbass.
Sam had only shaken his head. It was apparently going to be that kind of school.
The poster Jenny dragged him down the hall to see left Sam just as impressed: SEX, read the poster in big, bold, ridiculously red letters. Teeny-tiny print followed: Now that I have your attention, vote for Ben!
“Seriously?” Sam said.
Jenny shrugged. “I like it.”
"Sure you do." Sam absentmindedly wondered, how long would it be until one of the teachers came along and took the thing down? Not that it really mattered; the thing had been up long enough. It would be the talk of the school. It was already drawing a crowd; someone was laughing next to him, their voice ecstatic--and wait, Sam knew that voice.
“Dude, that's perfect!" it was saying. Sam only rolled his eyes as a large, heavy arm wrapped itself around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. Sam looked up at Dean’s teeth flashing, shark-like, in a grin.
“That is so wicked." Dean sounded awed, the idiot.
Sam repeated the word flatly. “Wicked.”
“What?" Dean asked, shaking him with his one-armed grip. "It totally is.”
"You are beyond sad."
“Sam thinks he’s too cool to be impressed,” Jenny piped up. She sounded grateful to have another person destroying Sam’s obviously worthless opinion on the matter, and Sam sent her an irritated look.
Dean turned them both to face her. "Yeah," he said slowly, giving her a searching, almost rude cruising sort of look. Apparently deciding she passed muster, he went on more cheerfully. "He’s cute that way.”
"Dean," Sam said sharply. He felt his cheeks burning--Dean was going to try and set him up with Jenny, he just knew it. "Shut the hell up.”
“You are,” Dean told him, grinning widely.
“Am not.”
“Really are,” Dean said. He wiggled his eyebrows at Jenny. “Am I right, or am I right?”
Oh, and that was just cheating. That was totally unfair--Dean was an upperclassman, and he, he, well, he was Dean. He knew the effect he had on girls.
“Yeah,” she said, ducking her head. “He is.”
Sam was saved from further embarrassment by a loud buzzing noise and Dean's subsequent cursing at it. It was the five-minute warning--Dean gently shook Sam's shoulders, ruffled his hair, and stepped away to allow them to get back to class. Dean took one step away, two, three, and Sam watched him, feeling weirdly dazed. Feeling weirdly bereft.
Then Dean turned around.
Sam felt his own mouth twist, felt his smile grow almost helplessly--Dean’s eyes were being recaptured by the SEX sign. It was just so Dean. “No rest for the wicked, huh?” Sam laughed at him, and he made a little shooing motion towards Dean’s classroom. He felt somewhat smug, and he didn’t know why. "Don't waste any time now."
Turning to walk backwards down the corridor, Dean flipped him off.
Sam rolled his eyes and exaggerated the shooing motion, then started turning towards his own classroom. He didn't get far--Dean was pointing towards the sign, mouthing the word "sex" in Sam's direction, his expression full of mock-lasciviousness. He was triumphantly pumping his fists in the air.
“You are such a dork,” Sam told him, laughing despite himself, but Dean, of course, only smirked back at him. Sam shook his head, then waved a happy little good-bye in Dean’s direction.
:::::
Sam snarled down at his classroom assignment, but it was no good. It was just going to be one of those days. He was trying to concentrate on the video that the teacher was making them watch--it was science, all dinosaurs and evolution and natural selection, and it was interesting, damn it. But Ben and Sean, Ben's best friend, refused to shut the hell up about it.
“Virgin lizards,” Sean was spitting gleefully. There were two iguanas mating on the TV screen, and he apparently thought it was the most hilarious thing in the history of ever. “Look at that thing’s tongue!”
He whispered in a way meant to travel the room, and the girls around them giggled. Sam stared at all of them balefully, but to be honest, the boys who played at being Ben and Sean’s minions weren't doing that much better. The teacher, for his part, only looked up from his desk and sighed dramatically. Then he went back to whatever he was doing.
One of those schools, Sam thought again. He tried not to shake his head miserably.
“Dude,” Sean continued, raising his eyebrows at Ben, “give it up--you totally have a virgin tongue.”
Ben snorted. “In your dreams.”
Sam kept listening, interested in the conversation despite himself. He gave the girls a sneaking look--judging from how they sighed over Ben on a regular basis, the guy probably wasn’t actually lacking in that area.
“You're the freakin’ virgin lips,” Ben went on.
Sean looked heartily offended. “Not me."
“So are,” Ben told him, but obviously losing interest in that line of attack, he turned around, his eyes beginning to scan the crowd behind him. Sam quickly looked away. Moving as much as he did seriously had its downsides--he was thirteen, for crissake. Dean had been making out with girls at eleven.
Looking away was totally a bad move.
”Sam!” Ben called gleefully, pointing at him.
Sam looked over at Jenny helplessly.
“You have virgin lips, Sam?” Ben asked, his voice light and easy.
Too light, Sam thought, too easy. And Jenny's smile was widening by the minute; Sam would be getting no help from that quarter. “No,” he said shortly. It didn’t sound convincing, even to him.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ben continued, nodding wisely. “I’m sure,” and his eyes fell on Jenny as she started soundlessly giggling to herself, “that she’d help you out with that.”
“Oh god,” Jenny said, shaking her head.
“No,” Sam said quickly, looking at her. Then he winced apologetically in her direction--it wasn't that he particularly meant anything by it, but there was no way he was discussing any of this with Ben. It was way too embarrassing.
“Yeah,” Jenny said, her eyes widening. "No way."
They both turned to look at Ben as one, and Ben's narrowed, rapidly-becoming-amused eyes became even more gleeful. Sam abruptly decided to spare Jenny from the virgin-lips debate.
“She totally made out with my brother,” he blurted out. Then he wanted to smash his head against the wall. Ben’s face was lighting up, and Jenny was staring at him, looking totally appalled.
Sam grimaced helplessly. It wasn't what he'd meant to say. He wasn't sure what, exactly, his plan had been, but that--god, he was such an idiot. The rumors in this school spread like wildfire. Jenny was going to kill him. Dean was going to murder him. Making out with a thirteen-year-old was not his brother’s thing, no matter how much the realization made Sam squirm with annoyed displeasure--
Sam quickly buried that thought.
Ben was still focused on Sam’s red face, completely unconcerned with Sam's internal crisis. “So," he said the word slowly, drawling it out--and wow, Sam thought the guy was way too amused by the entire situation. It was just not that interesting, and if the Dean-voice in his head disagreed with him, telling him that yes, Sammy, it totally was, then Sam would just tell it to shut the hell up. He was good at that. He had a lot of practice.
“Dean is a total mac--props to your brother, man," Ben went on. "But you’re all virgin lips? Come on, Sammy, you can tell us.”
“It’s Sam,” he responded sharply. Yet another thing to blame Dean for.
“Whatever,” Ben said, waving his hand imperiously. “So, what, you ever made out with anybody?”
“Yes."
“Uh huh,” Ben said, completely not falling for it. “Did you at least get any tongue?”
“Yes,” Sam said again. He said the word staunchly.
Ben obviously didn’t believe him. “Closed-lip kiss?”
“Yes."
The giggling in the room went silent.
Ben's voice was incredulous. “Have you at least pecked a girl?”
And that’s how Sam had his own rumor going through the school.
:::::
Dean’s response, of course, was entirely predictable.
“Shut up,” Sam grumbled preemptively, when he sat beside Dean during their lunch break. Dean hadn’t even opened his mouth yet, but his face was way too excited--and for god's sake, the guy was in an entirely different classroom. It had to be the girls bathroom, Sam thought. That place was a hot-spot for gossip, a channel between the middle and high school kids.
"Virgin," Dean said the word slowly, with something close to obscene relish. "Lips.”
“Oh god,” Sam said. He buried his face in his hands.
“Virgin lips, Sammy.”
“Just shut up.”
“Virgin lips, Sammy?”
“Will you just stop?"
“Virgin lips!”
Sam turned to him. Dean met his eyes unrepentantly.
Sam hauled back and hit him in the shoulder.
“There is totally more where that came from,” Sam warned afterward, ignoring Dean's yelps of protests. He shook his fist out; the hit had been a good one. Dean would have a bruise for days. “Do not even start with me.”
“It’s okay,” Dean said mock-soothingly. He rubbed at his arm, giving Sam a reproachful look. “I understand, sexual frustration is just difficult, a strong, growing boy like you-“
Sam punched him again.
“Dude!” Dean yelped again, giving him the puppy eyes. “So not cool.”
All thing being equal, Sam should have punched him again--but it was just unfair, how that expression worked on him. Sam turned away to focus on his lunch instead, one of Dean's "masterpieces." A roast beef sandwich, the meat obviously on sale and about to turn, the crusts cut away from the bread. Lots of lettuce, light on the tomato, mustard, but no mayo. Which was also unfair: The sandwich was prepared just as he liked it.
Being grateful to Dean sucked.
“Seriously, dude,” Dean said, his voice softening. He grabbed Sam lightly by the back of the neck, gave him a quick, reassuring squeeze, then rubbed his hand up and down Sam’s back. Sam held still, forcing himself not to shiver. Unfairness #3: His hormones were working overtime. "It's cool."
“Easy for you to say,” Sam grumbled back.
“You’ll see, Sammy.” Dean's voice was low, comforting. Unfairness #4. “You’re cute--shut up, you are--and the girls here are totally checking you out. Especially that Jenny girl, and oh, by the way, thanks for that rumor,” Dean said scathingly. "I totally did not make out with her, and don’t even pretend that didn’t come from you.”
Sam hummed smugly. Point, Sam. He bit into his sandwich.
“Bastard,” Dean said fondly. “Seriously, though, she’s all yours.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed around his mouthful.
“I wouldn’t mac on your girl,” Dean told him seriously. “Just no, Sam.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s not my girl.”
“Then some other hottie,” Dean said, shrugging. “Whatever." He looked weirdly happy all of a sudden. “When you hit your growth spurt, dude, the ladies are going to be all over you! I’ll have to fight them off with a stick!” He waved an imaginary branch around.
“A stick, Dean,” Sam said, “seriously?” He looked at the girls sitting nearby, who had stopped in their chatter to listen in on their conversation. Sam made an apologetic cuckoo motion in their direction, then he pointed at his brother and shrugged.
“Or not,” Dean said quickly, his voice and expression becoming shifty. “I mean, that’d totally defeat the purpose, right?” He turned to the girls himself. “You guys would hit this, yeah?” He motioned back at Sam.
They laughed, shrugging and nodding, but many of them were eying Dean with appraisal.
Sam was used to that. Dean just had that effect on people. Fuck, Dean encouraged that response, and Sam would have been completely okay with it, if not for the part where it was totally unfairness #5. He wasn't jealous of the attention--jealousy would have been good, jealousy would have been welcome--but he was supposed to be immune to that shit. Dean was his brother.
Sam stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and got to his feet.
“Where’re you goin’?” Dean asked, alarm in his voice. He stood up as well.
“Outside,” Sam told him, waving him down. His mouth was full; he sounded like an idiot. “Gotth twenthy mintth leff.”
Immediately, Dean looked comforted. “Basketball?”
“Uh huh,” Sam said, and he swallowed down the rest of the sandwich.
Dean practically bounced along as he followed Sam through the doors of the gym-slash-cafeteria. The sun outside was high and bright, which Sam liked despite the muggy heat it encouraged, and the concrete play area was almost empty. There were a couple of guys milling around, but that was it. “We’re gonna cream those punks,” Dean was saying. “Have you seen them? They suck.”
Sam shrugged, not quite certain about that. North Carolina was a basketball state after all.
”They do,” Dean insisted. “Jake couldn’t make a three-pointer if the hoop came up and begged him for it.”
“That makes no sense--it wouldn’t be a three-pointer that close.”
“Sam,” Dean said, looking heavenward as if for patience.
“It wouldn’t be.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever,” Dean told him, and then motioned at them both. “But seriously, fuck, your aim is winner these days-you’re going to have a bitch of a time when that growth spurt comes, but for now? Dude.”
“It’s a ball, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes. “You’ve had me throwing shit since I was eight.”
“Language,” Dean said, but it was an absent-minded correction. “Still. You’re good. And fuck, you can even dribble. I did not teach you that.”
“I know,” Sam mocked him. “It’s amazing. There’s something I didn’t learn from my big brother.” He threw his arms up in apparent wonder. “The world is going to end!”
“It seriously is.” Dean eyed Sam up and down as they walked, looking pleased, and Sam felt a flush go over his skin despite himself. Damned hormones. “It’s good,” Dean continued, and then he looked a little awkward. “I mean, you’re good--I mean, at basketball.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, cutting him off. He looked at Dean with curiosity, not understanding what Dean’s problem was. “I’m good, you’re good, we’re all good.”
Dean made a choking noise.
“What?” Sam asked, frowning.
Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Seriously,” Dean told him, and if Sam wasn’t mistaken, his brother was blushing. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Okay,” Sam said slowly, and then he shook his head. “Whatever. “ He paused. “You weirdo.”
Dean snorted. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, exasperated all over again. “I really do.”
People were beginning to line up by the basketball court. Sam watched from the corner of his eye as Dean stripped down, the both of them being tagged for the “skins” part of the “shirts verses” equation. They had to stop for a moment to call Jenny over-she’d been playing on the swing-sets with some of her chick friends, but she was always up for a good game. She wore a pretty little sports-bra under her T-shirt, which she had no compunction revealing as she took her place on the “skins” team.
“Yeah, you go girl!” Dean’s response was again predictable. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and then wiggled them in Sam’s direction as if to say You’re sure you don’t want to hit that?
Jenny flipped him off. “Play the game, jackass.”
Sam snorted, feeling inexplicably pleased by her treatment of Dean. "Yeah, you jackass.”
Dean grinned at both of them. “Hey now,” he said. “Don’t be haters.”
It was a three-on-three game, and he, Dean, and Jenny were pretty good players. Jenny was better than Sam, which Dean was no doubt going to rib him about, but she was small enough to play a decent point-guard. Sam and the rest of them were still kind of gangly, getting used to their newly growing frames--except for Dean, who'd gone through his growth spurt the year before. Sam couldn’t help but keep looking at him. Dean moved like a predator, completely smooth and in control of his movements.
It was pure torture. There was a small droplet of water making its way down Dean’s neck, along the dip of his collarbone, threatening to fall over Dean’s chest-and oh my god, Sam gulped, maybe a nipple, too. Dean’s body was both white and brown, as Dean didn't bother with making his tan even or anything, and the sweat dripping off his form moved from sun-kissed to pale, shining skin. Sam breathed out hard, suddenly feeling the absurd desire to lick along the contours of Dean’s slick muscles--he jerked his eyes away, looking up at Dean’s eyes guiltily.
It was entirely too late. Dean was staring right back at him.
Sam felt his breathing pick up in a panic-
--and then he stopped.
Dean wasn’t looking at his face.
Okay then, Sam thought, calming down. Everything was cool. Sam looked down at himself, feeling a bit confused because Dean still hadn't looked away. Sam knew he wasn’t ugly or anything, and he was fit enough--it was kind of hard not to be, what with all the PT Dad gave them every day. Sam couldn’t see anything gross on him either. There was no messed-up deodorant left from this morning’s application, no food or anything smearing his skin.
“Dude,” Sam said finally, feeling the weird urge to cover himself. “What?”
Dean shook his head suddenly. He blinked down at Sam.
“Nothing,” Dean said quickly, shaking his head again. “I mean, I’m totally thinking about pimping you out.”
“What?” Sam asked again, still completely confused and beginning to feel a bit offended.
Dean’s lip twisted in a dirty little grin. “You know,” he said, motioning towards Sam’s mouth. “That problem you’re having.”
“Oh god,” Jenny said. Sam turned to her, catching her as she closed her eyes momentarily. She stood with the basketball in her hands, ready to throw it in from out-of-bounds. “You already heard about that?”
One of the guys on the other team-Jake, Sam thought, from Dean’s class-laughed. “Virgin lips?” he said.
“I hate you,” Sam said, staring at the sky. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but the situation was dire enough that he could probably mean the world and still feel at perfect ease.
“Who?” Dean said, his voice indignant. “Me? I didn’t start that.”
“Me either,” Jenny said. She only sounded matter-of-fact. “Oh, and by the way, Dean, not that other thing, either.”
“I know,” Dean told her reassuringly. “I know who to blame for that.”
Sam looked down at Dean again. “I hate you,” he said once more.
“Yeah, baby boy,” Dean snorted. “Sure you do.”
“Hate,” Sam said, emphasizing the word. He spread his arms. “This much, I swear.” He paused. “And call me ‘baby boy’ again, and I’ll cut you.”
Jake laughed. “Sounds like my brother,” he said. “Kid throws knives at me, and when my parents asked about the marks on the floor? He totally blamed the dog.”
Dean nodded wisely. “Kids are fucking menaces.”
“Fuck you,” Sam said easily.
“In your dreams,” Dean retorted, just as calmly.
“Gross,” Sam told him, not bothering to remind himself about the fact that yeah, it wasn’t so gross to him, not so much. “You’re a sick bastard.”
“Takes one to know one,” Dean shot back, but he was grinning at Sam.
The buzzer signifying the end of the lunch period sounded, cutting off the conversation for a good five seconds. Sam held his ears, grimacing in Dean’s direction; Dean just grinned back at him in a way that Sam knew was Dean calling him a little bitch. Sam motioned for Jenny to give him the ball. They’d have to shove it back in the gym on their way back to class.
“I’m serious,” Dean told him, yelling over the sound, “I’m gonna find you a girl.”
The buzzer cut off. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean--his brother had no patience. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Rhonda Peters likes you,” Jenny said idly, jumping into the conversation. “She’s planning on jumping you after school today.”
“See?” Dean said, grinning. “Easy as pie.”
“Oh, shut it,” Sam told him.
“I’m serious,” Dean said. “Hell, I bet you you’ll even get to second base.”
Jenny snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Jake laughed. “With Rhonda? I would.”
Jenny flipped him off. “She’s not like that.”
“Hey,” Dean grinned. “I’d totally be cool with it if she was, you know what I’m saying?”
“Oh gross,” Sam said again. “Just fucking shut your mouth, dude. You’re such a pervert.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re a prude, Sammy,” he said. “A big fat fucking prude.”
Sam reached out, and before he could think about what he was doing, he grabbed Dean’s hand, shoving it against the bare skin of his belly. His brother’s fingers were rough against his stomach, his palm warm and calloused, and Sam felt his heart jump in his chest, felt it beat in a wild, ungainly rhythm. For a second, he was quite sure it was going to escape from his rib cage.
Dean looked down at him, his eyes wide. His fingers twitched against Sam’s skin, but they didn’t otherwise move.
“Uh,” Sam breathed out. He could hear how unsteady his own voice was. “Um. I’m not fat?”
He said it weakly, not quite sure where he was going with the entire holding-Dean’s-hand-against-him thing. Sam looked down. Yep, even now, he still had Dean’s wrist trapped in his grasp, holding his brother’s hand in place.
Dean blinked at him, and he moved his palm over Sam’s stomach in a short, quickly aborted movement. “Uh, yeah,” he said, and his voice was low, somewhat shocky. “Not fat. Right.”
“Okay,” Jenny said finally, her voice dubious. Sam winced at the thought, wondering what it was she saw-fuck, what Dean saw. Jenny continued speaking. “Not fat. Great. ”
Dean’s eyes seemed to brighten. Sam immediately knew what was coming--he recognized that mischievous look in his brother’s eyes--but he didn't move fast enough.
“Fucking jerk,” Sam yelped, fighting his way free. His stomach was stinging like a bitch; Dean had slapped him hard.
Dean only reached out and dragged him back, tucking Sam under his arm against his sweaty, stinky body. “Yeah, that’s right,” he told Sam, laughing loudly and obnoxiously. “Take the pit. You like the pit. The pit is your friend.”
He rubbed his body against Sam’s, all wild grins and obviously aiming for a punch after being so disgusting, and Sam let it happen for a few seconds. Then a few seconds more. Then just a few more. He would hit Dean back, Sam thought eventually, he’d get him back before they went to class, so that he’d have the last word and Dean couldn’t retaliate.
It was a good plan, Sam decided. He squirmed in a really bad attempt to get away, and he tried to ignore just how much he liked the feel of Dean’s skin.
:::::
Dean passed him in the corridor between the bells for fifth and sixth period. “Rhonda Peters,” he said, smacking Sam on the shoulder. He turned around to walk backwards as he moved away from Sam. “I have a bet with her sister-she says it’s totally not going to happen.”
“It’s not,” Sam told him, turning around and walking backwards himself to keep Dean in view.
Dean gave him a thumbs up sign as he disappeared into his classroom. “I have faith!” he yelled.
:::::::
Three-thirty finally rolled around, and as expected, Rhonda Peters was waiting for him. So were a few other girls-apparently being “virgin lips” was a good advertisement for getting a girlfriend. Sam stared at all of them, feeling a bit shell-shocked. Dean would be all over this situation, he knew--but Sam, well, Sam was fucked up. There was only one person he really felt like kissing, and it wasn’t any girl.
He smiled at Rhonda and the few other girls he didn’t know, and he waved tentatively as he walked away.
“Dude, no,” Dean protested as he approached the Impala. “I’m totally going to owe Leanna a bone for this.”
Sam stared at him. “You bet a hundred dollars?”
“Well,” Dean shrugged. “Okay, not really. She said I could just by her a chocolate bar if I lost-but seriously, Sammy? There are like seven girls just waiting for you over there! Do your big brother proud!”
Sam sighed and reached for the passenger door handle. “Better hit the Food Lion, dude.”
“Fucking chocolate,” Dean groused. “Come on, Sam! Kissing! Girls! What’s not to like?”
“Not going to happen,” Sam told him staunchly, and he shot Dean smug looks as they started to drive down the winding, barren road to the nearest grocery store. “And that should teach you not to bet on my love life, you asshole.”
“Language,” Dean reprimanded him automatically, but he was rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
There weren’t many houses or any other buildings between their school and the Food Lion, just some random, torn-down farmhouses that looked like they were molding from the Carolina humidity. The air smelled green and new, but the overwhelming growing scent had already passed by, destroyed by the heat of the approaching summer. Sam was glad-hayfever in this region was a bitch.
Dean had already rolled down their windows, letting the breeze waft over their skin. Sam thought idly about stripping out of his shirt-he was still a bit tacky from their lunch-time pick-up game, and the Food Lion was at least thirty more minutes away-but he contented himself with scratching idly at his chest instead. The heat felt relaxing, made him feel drowsy; he turned suddenly heavy-lidded eyes on Dean next to him.
Dean was looking at him from the corner of his vision. “Always falling asleep,” he said fondly, and he reached out to ruffle Sam’s hair. Sam leaned into it, sighing softly at the familiar comfort. “You’ve done that since you were a baby, you know.”
Sam hummed, closing his eyes for just a moment. “Not a baby anymore,” he murmured.
Dean snorted, and Sam opened his eyes to arch a quizzical eyebrow in his direction. “Yeah, Sam,” Dean told him, seeing the look, “you’re all of thirteen. Real old, there.”
“Fuck you, jerk,” Sam said, yawning uncontrollably. “You’re only seventeen. ‘Snot like you’re ancient or anything.”
“I can drive,” Dean said proudly.
“Dude,” Sam protested, rubbing at his eyes. “You’ve been driving for, what, six years now?”
“Longer,” Dean shrugged at him. “But you know what I mean.”
Sam shifted in place, trying to get more comfortable on the Impala’s seat. It was perfectly broken to his body-had been for years from both him and Dean snuggling against the window, one and then the other as Dad sat in the driver’s seat. The back seat was even more comfy, but Sam liked being next to Dean, liked the look on Dean’s face when he was driving. “Sticky,” he said finally.
Dean looked at question at him.
“The seat,” Sam clarified. “Leather.”
Dean hummed in what seemed like agreement. “Cost of doing business,” he said.
They drove along in silence for a few more minutes, and then Dean finally said, “So, not Rhonda Peters, then?”
Sam shrugged. “Naw.”
“Not your type?”
Sam laughed-Dean didn’t even know. “Not at all.”
“Blondes, brunettes, or red-heads?” Dean asked, quirking a grin in Sam’s direction.
What the hell, Sam thought. “I like brown hair. You know, with the blonde streaks.”
“Dyed hair?” Dean asked. “Or natural?”
Sam stared at him, frowning. “Like you can even tell.”
“I can,” Dean insisted. Then after a moment, “Okay, I’m totally lying. I can’t tell.”
“Knew it.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“Sore loser.”
Dean snorted. “Never got used to it, what can I say?” He laughed obnoxiously, obviously trying to get a rise out of Sam, but Sam only smiled back at him. He couldn’t help himself; Dean just looked so damned happy. Sam reached out, and he flicked Dean lightly on the shoulder.
“Moron,” Sam told him affectionately.
“Dude, I’m brilliant,” Dean told him idly, his attention focused on the road as he hit the button for the turning signal. Sam thought that was funny; there was nobody at the intersection with them. “But enough about me,” Dean said as he drove down the new road. “So, brunettes.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. It was close enough.
“Blue eyes, brown eyes, or-what, green eyes? Are there any other colors?”
“God,” Sam said, laughing lowly. “You’re such a dork.”
“What?” Dean asked, sounding a little offended.
“Are we really doing this?” Sam asked him. “What’re you gonna do next, Dean? Pull out a Cosmo and find out my perfect man?”
“Shut the fuck up, Sam.”
“Thought so.”
“Dude,” Dean told him, and he reached over to pinch Sam’s arm lightly. “Don’t be an ass. I’m just curious. You had all those options back there-and come on, man, some of them were total babes.”
“Total babes?” Sam mimicked, and laughed to himself. “Could you be any more of a cliché?”
“Oh, shut it.” Then after a moment, “I’m serious, Sam. I’m gonna find you a girl. You totally deserve a babe.”
Sam sighed again. Dean was right, he knew, and it wasn’t like Sam had anything against finding a girlfriend. He just wasn’t sure he wanted one right then. He’d give it time, Sam told himself. This stupid crush on his brother had to pass sooner or later. It hadn’t for the past two years, but whatever, Sam could be patient.
“Green eyes,” Sam said eventually.
“What?”
“You asked-you know,” Sam waved a hand lightly around his head. “What color.”
“Like one of those Cuban babes?” Dean asked him. “Have you seen them? Dude, seriously, tan skin, long brown hair, and fucking blue or green eyes. It’s fucking fantastic.” He made a quick sweeping motion with his right hand. “And the bodies on them!”
Sam shrugged noncommittally.
“No?” Dean asked him. “White chicks, then?”
Sam waved his hand in the air again. “I’m easy,” he said.
“Whatever?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. But after a moment, he couldn’t help himself. He stared out of the corner of his eye, looking at the upturned bent of his brother’s nose. “But I like freckles.”
Dean laughed. “Well, okay then. For a second, I was thinking you’re like Narcissus or something-shut up, Sam, I totally read-“ and Sam laughed, because he was about to rib him for the name-“what with the brown hair and green eyes.” Dean frowned. “Though your eyes are more hazel.”
“Are they?” Sam asked, not really caring. He wasn’t talking about his own eyes, after all. “Bright, bright green,” he said after a moment. “And freckles.”
“And brown hair,” Dean murmured.
They drove in yet more silence after that, but the feeling was still easy, still comfortable. Sam was waking up somewhat, drifting peacefully out of his car-induced coma, but his mind continued to float around as they drove. It didn’t seem so bad, for those few minutes, that he was using his brother as a template for his perfect “woman.” Didn’t feel so awful that he was letting Dean know.
“Kind of like me, huh?” Dean said softly, and Sam was still so comfortable that he said, “Yeah,” without thinking about it.
The silence felt a lot more charged after that.
Dean was looking at him out of the corner of his eyes; Sam could see that in his own peripheral vision. He sucked in a breath sharply, trying to keep it as unnoticeable as he could, but his heart was pounding at triple-speed and he wasn’t sure if he could manage it.
“I mean,” Dean said, and he laughed uncomfortably. It hurt Sam to hear how pained Dean’s voice suddenly sounded. “Not like me, I mean, not me.” Dean let out a choked breath. “Just my features, that sort of thing.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.
“Right?” Dean said a little desperately.
“Uh,” Sam said. It was stupid, so stupid, but he didn’t want to deny it, didn’t want to lie about what and who he really wanted. It was so much better, keeping it in silence-couldn’t Dean just let it go?
“Sammy?”
Apparently not.
Sam took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes. He gave himself a count of ten, and then he looked at his brother. “Dean,” he said slowly, still wanting to give Dean one last chance to back out, “this is one of those times where you shouldn’t ask if you don’t want to know.”
Dean’s hands were clenched tight on the steering wheel. He was apparently doing his own ten-count, because it took him a while to speak. Sam gripped his knees as he waited, hoping against hope while at the same time calling himself six billion types of idiot, because seriously-who really got to end up with their own brother?
God, he was a moron.
“Sam,” Dean said finally, and he was biting his lip as he turned to meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m asking.”
“You are?” Sam said, startled despite himself. “Really?”
“God,” Dean groaned. “I’m, come on, Sam, you’re killing me here. Yes, I’m asking.”
Sam coughed, or laughed-he wasn’t exactly sure. “Yeah, Dean,” he said, blurting it out, and he winced because he sounded like such a scared little kid, and wow, that wasn’t what he was going for there, talk about bad timing. “Just like you. Exactly like you.” He paused, and then he made himself say it. “Actually, you.”
Dean seemed to be holding his breath. “Me.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, and his voice was small, so small. “You.”
“Me.”
It made Sam a little angry, how Dean kept repeating himself. “Yeah, you, okay?” he said, and if his voice went a little harsh, well, who could blame him. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m your little freak of a brother, and I want to fucking kiss you, and god, I am going to shut up right now.”
“Language,” Dean said, still looking shocked, but before Sam could turn around and kick him for it, Dean held up a hand. “Sorry, sorry, habit.”
“Seriously not a good time.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah. I get that.”
“Good.”
Dean blew out a breath. “I am,” he said finally, and then he seemed to change his mind, shaking his head a little. “Me, too.”
Sam looked over at him. “You, too?”
Dean grunted. “Yeah.”
Sam couldn’t make out his features-well, he could, but he couldn’t be reading them right, he just couldn’t be. “What do you mean, you, too?” he demanded.
“What?” Dean said, starting to frown himself. “Did I stutter?”
“Dean!” Sam almost shouted, but he kept his voice down at the very last second. “You gotta be clear here!”
“I’m, what,” Dean said, and okay, the Impala was jerking around a little bit, maybe they shouldn’t be having this conversation on the road, Sam thought a bit hysterically. “I like you too, okay? God.”
“Like, like like?” Sam demanded again.
“For fuck’s sake, Sam!” Dean shouted back. “Yes, like like. You think I’d be all worked up about the normal sort of like? Jesus.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice steady, but yeah, that was totally a lost cause; his voice was cracking all over the place and it just wasn’t fucking fair. “You like like me, and I like like you?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding his head, and then he shook it. “I mean, I think so?”
That was it. Sam couldn’t take it anymore.
“Pull over the car,” he demanded.
“What?” Dean looked over at him, his eyes wide.
“Pull over the damned car, Dean!”
Dean did so with a screech of tires, for once not at all careful with his baby. Sam was undoing his seat belt, his hands jerky and not cooperative; it took him three times to get the damned buckle off. His mind was being an absolute bitch, with thoughts of Dad and their teachers and Jenny and Jake looking at them with horrified eyes, but Sam didn’t care. He wrestled the damn belt off and with an easy kick of his legs-still so short, he thought, goddamn it-he was on Dean’s lap.
Dean was staring up at him, his hands in the air above Sam’s knees, then above Sam’s shoulders, flittering around as if he didn’t know quite where to put them. His eyes were huge, large green iris and tiny pin-pricks of pupil-and while that was not flattering, Sam knew exactly how he felt.
Sam took a deep breath.
He put his hands on Dean’s shoulders.
“Guess you’re going to win that bet after all,” Sam said, and then he kissed Dean’s lips.
:::::::
There were hours of making out after that. Hours of lips and teeth and tongue, and Sam wasn’t going to lie-Dean had to teach him how to kiss, because Sam was totally predisposed to slobbering. But it was good, and it was them, and Sam wasn’t going to let it go in his lifetime, not for fucking ever.
Later on Dean spent a couple of hours freaking out, and once Sam had him calmed down, it was apparently Sam’s turn to freak the fuck out, and he was still freaking out by the time Dad got home from whatever errand he had run out to do. He and Dean slept in their room together, sharing the one damned bed they had in the house, the both of them on opposite sides and completely not touching. Dean didn’t say a word the entire time, and Sam let himself hyperventilate into sleep.
When they woke up, Dean was still there, looking at Sam a little fearfully.
“Did I completely fuck this up?” Dean whispered.
“Dean,” Sam said, and he rolled closer to his older brother. He reached out and dragged Dean against him-or tried to, but he was the smaller one after all. He ended up mostly on Dean’s chest, looking down into Dean’s eyes. “Seriously? Shut the fuck up.”
Then there was more making out.
When Sam walked down the school corridors later that day, his nose still in a book and Jenny eventually by his side, he found himself looking up at where the ”SEX” poster had been. Like he suspected, the teachers had taken it down. Sam found himself smirking at it all the same.
Ben came up beside him, and he looked up at the spot. “Man, that’s harsh,” he said.
“Too bad,” Sam said lightly.
Ben shot him a sidelong glance. “Yeah,” he said, “it is. But there’s always the next scandal-speaking of which, you got one of them girls to get rid of that ‘virgin lips’ problem for you? I heard there was quite a line.”
Sam found himself sniggering, even though a ridiculous blush was creeping over his features; he could feel the hot flush of it on his face. He wasn’t surprised when an arm suddenly wrapped itself around his shoulders--it was familiar with its strength and scent of leather, and he knew who it belonged to instinctively. Sam looked up, and he smiled up into Dean’s grinning face.
“Naw,” Dean told Ben, and he shook Sam gently. “Kid didn’t go kissing any girls.”
Sam laughed, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was completely out of his mind with giddiness. “Got a chocolate bar, though,” he said, and Dean’s smile grew as he shook Sam again.
:::::::
Part 2
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