SPN Fic: Don't Gamble (What You Can't Afford to Lose), Part 2/2
Back to Part 1
NOW
Dean’s face was dirty when he walked in the door, smudged with grit and grease, but his smile was as bright as the sunlight outside when he saw that Sam was waiting for him. Sam stared at back at him, drinking him in, determined to remember each and every detail in that instance, from the hard lines of Dean’s jaw to the rough stubble of Dean’s cheeks to the teasing welcome in Dean’s eyes. He swallowed tightly, and he thought to himself, Yes, this. This is what I’ll remember no matter what the evening brings.
Sam moved forward without thinking, and then he was in Dean’s arms. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean sing-songed as he tilted his face up for a kiss, and Sam’s eyes smarted, remembering the days when Dean was the bigger one, when Dean was larger than life and twice as grand. But Dean’s hands on his face were as tender as ever, and that was the detail which mattered.
“Hey, you,” Sam said after their lips parted, and he nudged at Dean’s nose with his own. “How was work?”
“Icky,” Dean said, and then he laughed at the expression on Sam’s face. “God, you’re gonna be easy till the day you die, aren’t you?”
Sam rolled his eyes, and for a moment, it was as if it was any other day.
Dean watched him, a couple seconds of quiet, careful study, but whatever he saw in Sam’s face only caused him to arch an eyebrow. He knew not to push. Sam’s latest days were filled with fury, with his own explosions, and Dean was being courteous, was trying to give Sam space. Sam appreciated it even as it pained him; it wasn’t Dean’s distance that he needed.
“Dad back yet?” Dean said finally, but he shook his head before Sam could answer. “No, nevermind, he wouldn’t be.”
Sam’s face had always been transparent to his brother.
“No,” Sam answered anyway. “But I’m making dinner.”
“What?” Dean asked him, frowning. “Seriously?”
“Shut the hell up,” Sam told him, and he couldn’t help but grin at his brother’s incredulous face. “Seriously. And go get showered--” he leaned in close, smiling lazily as Dean’s eyes grew dark and luminous, thin rings of green around black pupils. “-‘cause I want to fuck you before Dad gets back.”
Dean laughed out loud and ran for the bathroom.
Sam didn’t chase him. He only watched Dean go, and he tried not to fiddle with the ticket in his back pocket.
:::::::
THEN
Fifteen years old.
“Oh, come on, Sammy,” Dean said. He kept his voice low so that the teachers chaperoning them couldn’t overhear he and Sam’s whispered conversation. “Don’t go making it too easy or somethin’.”
Sam glanced around-no one was paying attention-and let his eyes focus once more on the security guard at the end of the foyer. There were two of them near the museum’s entrance, but that one, the one he had pointed out to Dean-that one was pretty.
“Just admit it, Dean,” Sam said, sniggering under his breath. “He’s way out of your league.”
It wasn’t true, as anyone with eyes could see that nobody was out of his brother’s league, but the very situation itself was promising. Dean would have to refuse for sensible reasons-he would have to, god, not even Dean could be that obnoxious--and Sam would be able to rib him over it for weeks.
“Do you want to see me get decked or something?” Dean eyed the guard out of the corner of his eye, but his lip was twitching.
“Yeah,” Sam said slowly, keeping his voice even as he tried to keep his own mirth under control. “He is kind of big for you.”
“Oh, fuck you, Sam--I can’t just go over there an kiss him outta the blue!”
His voice was kind of loud that time around, and Sam widened his eyes at his older brother in a quick signal of shut up, you dummy. Dean rolled his eyes in response, but he pressed his lips together, wiggling his head back and forth a little in a motion that said okay, okay, I’m shutting up, see?
“It was your stupid idea,” Sam told him after a moment. He tried to say the words without moving his mouth very much; it probably wasn’t working out for him pretty well, but Dean could still understand him. “If you want to welch, just go right ahead-“
“I am not welching,” Dean whispered furiously, and Sam sniggered again. Dean’s eyes on him became aggrieved. “I’m not.”
“Sure looks like it from here,” Sam said.
“Dude, this is-you’re such a brat. Talk about escalation, buddy.”
“Dean,” Sam told him, and wow, that was totally unfair. “You made me kiss the head cheerleader. I’m lucky her boyfriend didn’t try to beat me up or something!”
“You could totally have taken him,” Dean said dismissively, but Sam could hear the intent under the words: And I would never have let him touch you.
“Still,” Sam said, refusing to back down.
Fair was fair--Sam was going to see Dean kiss some other person for once, the damned hypocrite. He’d lived with Dean’s bargain for the last four months: They could have sex, goddamned finally, as long as Sam did the “normal” thing and dated other girls (or guys, Dean wasn’t picky) as well. Dean was determined that Sam’s sexual experiences wouldn’t include only those from ‘his own fucking brother,’ and while Sam was usually able to out-stubborn Dean, there were some points on which Dean remained absolutely immovable.
Sam had once made the mistake of getting nasty about it. He’d said something along the lines of Dean pimping him out-and for fuck’s sake, he remembers when that line had been a joke-and all he’d ended up with was a completely traumatized Dean and no sex for a month. He'd finally needed to hold his brother down and pretty much fuck himself on Dean’s dick before the idiot finally realized that, no, Sam did not actually consider himself to be an abuse victim, thank you very much.
Dean hadn’t so much as touched another person since getting together with Sam. He flirted, sure-oh, how he flirted, and god knew what Dad thought about that, but whatever, Dad could stay confused for all Sam cared-but he was staying faithful.
It was all completely unfair.
Dean was still looking at the security guard, but he finally swung his face around to stare at the group of students and teachers around them. “At least let me wait until everyone clears out,” he finally said.
“Dude,” Sam said reproachfully. “You suck at truth or dare. Suck.”
“Sam,” Dean responded, his voice filled with as much reprimand as Sam’s own. “I am the king of truth or dare. Recognize, bitch.”
“You’re not supposed to be able to negotiate your dare,” Sam hissed at him.
“A king,” Dean said again, pointing a long finger in Sam’s face.
“God, you’re a moron,” Sam said, and he might have ground his teeth together, not that he was letting Dean know about that. He finally relented. “Fine, you can do it when everybody leaves.”
It wasn’t exactly a tour they were on, and in a couple of seconds they’d be let loose in the Drumheller Museum; he and Dean planned to ditch soon after that. Well, not exactly-Sam planned to go see a couple of exhibits, but Dean totally didn’t know that yet.
“So,” Dean said, “a kiss?”
“With tongue,” Sam told him stanchly. “Lots of it.”
“Dude, I’m totally going to get decked.” Dean shook his head, but he started making his way forward towards the guard. Sam walked next to him; he was going to make sure this happened, damn it. “And if I do it? What do I get?”
“That satisfaction of winning,” Sam said flatly.
“Oh, come on,” Dean whined. “You’ve got to sweeten the pot more than that.”
Sam thought about it, and then he grinned fiercely. He let his eyes travel up and down Dean’s body, and he felt his smile grow even wider, showing all his teeth, as Dean shivered beneath his gaze. “I’ll take you up to the dinosaur exhibit-“
“Weak,” Dean interrupted, his frown coming back.
“-wait for it,” Sam told him, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take you up to the T-Rex,” and yeah, he totally knew his brother’s weaknesses, Dean was lighting up, “and I’ll give you the blowjob of your life while you hold on to it.”
Dean snorted. “Can’t touch the damned thing-you can’t promise that.”
“Whatever,” Sam said. “We can hide in that little alcove between the T-Rex and the Triceratops, and I’ll blow you there.”
Dean moved his head back and forth in an I’ll think about it motion, but Sam knew he was sold on the idea. “Okay, Sammy,” Dean said finally, cutting his teeth on his own shark’s grin, “you have got yourself a deal.”
Sam laughed. “So predictable.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“It saddens me, it really does.”
“Can it, butt-boy,” Dean said, and he shoved at Sam’s shoulder. The push was hard enough that Sam had to take a couple of steps back. Sam kicked at him in response-Dean’s shin was totally fair game. “Bastard,” Dean yelped as Sam’s foot connected.
“Now who’s the butt-boy?” Sam asked smugly.
“You will always be the butt-boy,” Dean said, and oh, he was asking for it. Sam was going to give it to him at the first available opportunity.
“I’m just going to pretend like I haven’t ever fucked you,” Sam said, nodding his head slowly. “And that you didn’t like it.”
“Sammy!” Dean said, glancing around them.
“Don’t get all shy now, Dean.”
Dean grumbled under his breath. Sam caught the words damned little brother and fucking sophomore and in over his head and he couldn’t help but shove Dean back a little.
“What was that?” Sam asked him innocently when Dean glared.
“You know those days when you were smaller than me?” Dean snarled, but his eyes were flashing with amusement. “You remember them? Because I do, and you know what? I miss them.”
“Poor baby,” Sam said. “I feel for you, I really do.” He drew himself up to his full height-6’2” for the win! And growing every day!-and stretched his arms above his head for good measure. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?” he added, smirking down into Dean’s grimly upturned face. “Because I can’t hear you from way up here.”
“Brat,” Dean said.
“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated himself, “still can’t hear you! This area is for the tall people--midgets need to go stand over there.” He flicked his fingers across the foyer towards the other set of turnstiles, and to his great pleasure and fortune, saw a bunch of first-graders filing through the area. “See, Dean? There are your people.”
Dean looked over and saw the kids, and then he looked back at Sam and rolled his eyes. “I brought this on myself,” he nodded. “I see that now.”
“Damn straight.”
“Next time I have to take care of a kid, I’m totally not feeding it,” Dean said darkly, looking up at Sam. “There will be no Lucky Charms.”
“What a cruel world,” Sam mourned.
“And there will be lots of spankings.”
“Promises, promises,” Sam said, and then he laughed.
They scrapped for a little while after that, a hit from Sam to Dean’s shoulder good-naturedly followed by Dean punching him back. And then Sam punching him back. And then Dean hitting him again. Then they were snapping their fists at each other surreptitiously, one-two one-two one-two, quick hidden motions that they tried to cover with laughter. It didn’t work out too well; each new hit brought them to new depths of hilarity and incredulity until one of the teachers finally turned around and snapped, “Boys!”
He and Dean stopped immediately. They turned to the chaperone with too-innocent impressions.
“What?” Sam asked finally.
“We weren’t doing anything,” Dean continued.
Sam snorted under his breath.
“We weren’t,” Dean insisted, and he gave Sam a dirty look.
“Behave yourselves,” the teacher said shortly. It wasn’t anything that Dad would have taken from either of them, but she studiously ignored them both after a while.
They stared at each other.
“Punk,” Sam said lowly, after a moment.
“Bitch,” Dean whispered back.
“Jerk,” Sam said.
“Brat,” Dean said.
They looked at each other again and then sniggered simultaneously.
Dean shrugged his left shoulder and looked at Sam aggrievedly. “Motherfucker,” he whispered, “I think you broke my arm.”
“Hah,” Sam told him.
“I’m serious.”
“No, you aren’t,” Sam said.
“Naw, I’m not.”
The group all at once seemed to be moving. Sam moved closer to Dean while everybody waffled towards the entrance, group tickets having been bought at some point and the chaperons bringing them closer to the turnstiles. Sam smiled briefly at one of the teachers leading them forward; she smiled back impersonally. He nor Dean had bothered with getting to know anybody this time around.
“I love Canada,” Dean said, out of the blue. He smiled his own cheesy little grin towards a chaperon as he took their tickets.
“Huh?”
“You know, free,” he motioned towards the customer counter. “For kids.”
“At school.”
“Your tax dollars at work.”
“Oh, shut it,” Sam rolled his eyes, thankful that passports weren’t required to cross the border, and they both walked into the museum.
Dean loitered in the foyer behind the entrance gates, dropping down to the floor as he pretended to tie his shoe. Sam walked over to the water fountains and took a long drink, watching his brother as Dean watched the security guard surreptitiously. He thought about it for a moment: He imagined Dean striding up to the man, his usual cocky “I own the world” ridiculous walk, saw the man either frown down at him-or worse, smile back.
Oh, hell no.
Sam let the water-fountain spigot go, and he walked quickly over to Dean. “I take it back,” he said softly. He would just have to lose this round of truth or dare.
Dean looked up at him; he was on his second shoe, having untied it before slowly retying it.
“Yeah?” he asked, a small smile playing over his lips.
Sam wanted to kiss him-he looked around instead. Still too many people.
“Yeah,” he said.
Dean stood up, and grabbed him one-armed, a quick, fierce hug. “Good.”
Then he thought about it. “No blowjob?” he asked mournfully.
Sam pretended to consider it.
“No,” he said.
“Oh come on,” Dean wheedled. “It’s not like I’m the one who punked out.”
“Do you want me to hit you again?”
“Give it to me, baby,” Dean laughed at him.
“Dean!”
Dean looked at him sidelong, his small smile transmuting to something else, something that made Sam’s body tighten in response. All at once Sam could feel every inch of Dean’s body pressed up against his, the hard line of Dean’s chest and tapering hips, the strength of Dean’s arm around his shoulder. God, the smell of him, rich and earthy and like Christmas and Thanksgiving wrapped up together and spread out on a platter. Sam wanted to eat his brother alive; he looked away, murmuring, “Bastard.”
Dean shifted against him, leaning even closer and brushing his mouth over Sam’s ear. “I’ll blow you,” he said lowly, and Sam shivered.
“You like that?” Dean asked quietly, not letting him go.
“Oh god,” Sam moaned escaping his lips despite his best efforts. “Just--shut up, Dean. Shut your goddamned pretty mouth.”
“Yeah,” Dean laughed softly, letting the air from the movement brush over Sam’s neck. “You like that.” Then he stepped back, looking up at the ceiling innocently. “Company,” he sing-songed, not looking Sam’s way.
One of the teachers had returned, but she only raised her eyebrows at them before scurrying off to do whatever it was she was doing. Sam looked at Dean and sighed. “I guess we should go on, then.”
Dean was already moving forward. “Look,” he said brightly, and he turned to grin wickedly over his shoulder back at Sam. “Dark spot.”
The area directly in front of them was a long, looping tunnel, the floor transparent with illuminated creatures floating in its depths. Large, crab-like looking things, deep blues and oranges and purples; the color flickered over Dean’s features as Sam followed him inside and through the exhibit, turning his brother’s features otherworldly in the dim light. The walls, too, were covered with the animals-Sam turned to the wall and read that they were small, multi- and uni-celled beings magnified thousands of times their size.
“Awesome,” Dean whispered, coming up beside him. Sam felt Dean’s fingers brush lightly against his own; he ran his index finger over Dean’s palm in response.
“And you call me a dork,” Sam said, keeping his voice low.
Dean’s hand was suddenly squeezing his ass. “Uh huh,” he said, laughter under his breath, but before Sam could panic and look around them, Dean was gone, striding down through the corridor.
The next series of rooms was a bit more conventional, long panels of fossil-filled stone lining the walls, but the place was laid out like a warren, rooms jutting out haphazardly and everywhere. Sam followed Dean from exhibit to exhibit, unabashedly geeking out when he felt like it, tapping his foot with impatience whenever it was Dean’s turn.
Then Dean was drawing him back into one of the rooms, the main space of it filled with a huge, glowing fish-tank. The corners of the room were dark even to Sam’s vision, the glare of the tank blindingly distracting, and Sam didn’t let himself worry when Dean drew him close. He closed his eyes as Dean’s mouth met his, as Dean tasted him with a warm slide of tongue in his mouth.
Then Dean’s hands were on his body, trailing slowly up his back and around his rib cage, pressing down firmly as Dean explored his chest. Sam leaned into the touch and licked back with his own tongue, small little licks designed to drive Dean crazy, and they did, Dean pressing him against the wall as he became more frantic.
“God, Sammy,” Dean whispered against his mouth.
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam said back, catching his breath, and he thought wistfully that it wasn’t fair that they weren’t allowed to get caught.
“Okay, kiddo?” Dean asked him as he drew away, seeing the expression on Sam’s face. He ran his fingers lightly over Sam’s cheekbone, over his jaw, and as Sam watched, Dean’s brows began to twist with concern.
“Yeah,” Sam forestalled him, shaking his head. He didn’t want to ruin the moment; they were able to take so few of them. “It’s nothing.”
Dean stared into his eyes for a long minute. “Okay,” he said quietly. “If you say so.” He didn’t press any further, but only grabbed Sam’s hand and dragged him further into the museum.
They continued on like that, rushing around the museum and dragging each other into dark alcoves and sequestered rooms, hiding beneath looming exhibits as they took the other’s breath away. Sam soon lost his moodiness, cheered back into happiness by Dean’s hands on his body, Dean’s mouth on his own, Dean laughing and whispering fevered, desperate words against his skin. Dean licked along Sam’s neck, bruising him more deeply with each new encounter, and Sam pressed against the growing mark as they walked down the halls.
Dean finally stopped in front of a door. There was a stretch of painted plywood along the wall, decorated only with museum signs that announced something new! And exciting! was coming soon. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean smirked down at the lock on the door; he wasn’t at all surprised when Dean levered his lock-pick set out of his leather jacket.
“Dude,” Sam whispered, pointing to the sign on the door. “Construction workers only.”
Dean knelt down and pressed his ear against it. “I don’t hear anything.” He looked at Sam. “You hear anything?”
Sam listened, decided he didn’t. “They probably only work at night. The noise.”
Dean wiggled his eyebrows as he shoved one pick in his mouth and another one into the lock. “Lucky us,” he murmured around the piece of metal in his teeth.
Sam rolled his eyes, but he turned around, playing the look-out.
Dean was laughing softly, his face flushed with triumph, when he finally dragged Sam through the door. The place was poorly-lit, the temporary lighting unplugged; Sam could see the fixtures through the far-away window in the corner of the room. There was enough sunlight to see by, however, and Sam followed Dean into the secluded space, carefully picking his way over the piled material and haphazardly placed trash. The site could use a good sweeping, he thought, but then he was being pushed against a concrete block wall. He shivered at both the chill of the stone at his back, and at Dean’s warm hands pushing under his shirt.
“Blowjob,” Dean whispered against his mouth, and they were kissing again.
Dean’s hands were on his belt, quick and steady and sure, and Sam let his stance spread wider, allowing his thighs to open up and accept Dean’s body pressing against his own. He rested his hands lightly on the small of Dean’s back, and he let himself drown in the feel of Dean’s fingers, in the smell of his breath, in the unabashedly affectionate looks Dean gave him every time he made a small, desperate, needy sound in the back of his throat.
“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean told him, reaching into his pants and drawing out his cock. “I’ve got you.”
Then Dean was on his knees-Dean, his older brother, his caretaker, his world-and Sam startled himself with his own loud moan. He pressed his fist against his mouth, biting his teeth into the soft flesh; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean’s pink, wicked tongue. Dean smiled up at him, licking his lips, and then his mouth was on Sam’s dick and god, it was amazing.
Dean didn’t bother deep-throating him; he knew what Sam liked. Dean licked along the length of him, small, slow sucks to each side of his cock, pressing his lips open-mouthed against it. Sam murmured again at the sweet burn, and then his fingers were in Dean’s short, spiky hair, and he was making an idiot of himself and couldn’t particularly bring himself to care.
“Love this,” Sam said, murmuring distractedly. Dean’s green eyes never looked away, and Sam let him see-he should have felt self-conscious, but Dean had only ever made him feel safe. “God,” Sam told him again, feeling his heart clench in his chest. “You’re perfect, how did I get this, how did I get you, god Dean, I love--”
Dean only hummed against him in response, his smile teasing as he finally swallowed down Sam’s dick.
Sam’s head thunked back into the wall behind him. The concrete totally should have hurt; it didn’t.
Dean sucked on his head, his hand coming up to jack Sam slowly. His tongue circled around Sam’s cock and pressed against the underside, and Sam could feel his legs trembling against the assault--he looked back down at Dean, wanting to watch. Dean pet him soothingly on the thigh with his one free hand, and the tenderness in the gesture made Sam’s heart tear up all over again.
“I mean it,” Sam whispered down to him, not caring if Dean teased him later. “I fucking love you.”
Dean closed his eyes with a long, slow blink, looking away from Sam for only a moment, and Sam knew from the motion that his brother was saying it back.
It didn’t take long-it never did when Dean was so determined-before Sam felt his trembling increase, felt orgasm looming over him and then pushing him over the edge, and he closed his hands around Dean’s shoulders, needing the support, needing something to hold on to. Dean only let him, sucking on his cock gently as Sam fucked his mouth with jerky, uncontrollable movements.
Then Dean was up on his feet, pressing his heavy, muscled weight all along Sam’s body, his teeth in Sam’s neck and his cock hard at Sam’s hip. He was thrusting mindlessly, groaning around the flesh in his mouth, and Sam reached up and tilted Dean’s face back, taking his brother’s lips in a sloppy, wet kiss. He cradled Dean’s face with one hand, wiping his thumb over and over across the line of his cheek, and he grasped Dean’s dick hard in his other.
Dean groaned into his mouth, fucked his tongue between Sam’s lips, and then he spilled between them.
“Gonna time you,” Sam said without thinking, and Dean pinched him hard in the side. Sam laughed but didn’t let him go. He continued to kiss Dean as Dean slowly came down, as they both did.
“Says the girl,” Dean said finally, drawing away. He rested his forehead against Sam’s for a long moment, and then he reached up, placing a soft kiss between Sam’s brows. “Emo, emo, emo.”
Sam laughed and kissed him again, a quick press of lips. “Tool,” he said.
:::::
NOW
Sam was seventeen years old. He had a duffel bag on the floor by his feet, a bus ticket in the back of his jeans, and on the table, a stack of papers with the Stanford logo emblazoned across each and every page.
The house rushed with the sound of Dean’s shower.
Dean would be out soon. Half-dressed and smiling wickedly, he would make his way to the kitchen, and then his eyes would fall on the college package. His smile would falter. It would fall away completely. But when he eventually looked back up at Sam, his eyes would fill with a pride that shone even more brightly than the wetness of his tears.
“You did it,” he murmured. He reached out and ran a hand over the top page, because he was a tactile man, and he wanted to feel his reality especially when it shifted so radically around him. “My Sammy, off to college.”
He said, “You deserve it.”
He said, “I’ve always wanted the best for you.”
Sam told him, “I never want to leave you,” and they knew that though the statement was true, it would never be enough. Sam reached for Dean, and Dean went to Sam, and they made love. Though they wished otherwise, it would very likely be for the last time.
They made promises that neither one of them could keep.
Sam opened his eyes; Dean was still in the shower. Their father was still on the road--probably on his way home, but maybe not. Sam had the papers in his hand, the ones saying he had a full ride and that his future was awaiting him, and the table was silently waiting for him to place them down.
Maybe, Sam thought to himself, it would be better than that. Maybe Dean would come with him. Maybe they could live together, and nobody would know they were related--Sam would have his lover and brother with him, and they would be able to make friends again for the first time in long years. Maybe they wouldn’t have to hide or live their old, isolated, little lives, where neither of them made connections after Sam left grade-school, where both of them left Jenny, Ben, and Jake behind. Maybe they could each have something more than hunting.
Maybe.
Sam smiled sadly as Dean walked into the kitchen.
Hope, he told himself, always springs eternal.
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End
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Comments are appreciated. *g*